“Why won’t you kill me?” The words were little more than an agonized whisper, but the night was so silent that Stevie Rae had no trouble hearing him.
She could have pretended she didn’t hear what he’d said, or at least didn’t understand him, but she was sick of evasions and lies, so she continued to hold his gaze and told him the truth, “Well, actually, that has a lot more to do with me than you, and that makes it a kinda long, confusing story. I guess mostly I’m not real sure why I won’t kill you, ’cept for the fact that I tend to do things my own way, and I can definitely say I’m not a big fan of killing.”
He stared at her until she wanted to squirm under that strange red gaze. Finally he said, “You should.”
Stevie Rae’s eyebrows went up. “I should know, I should kill ya, or I should do things my own way? You’re gonna have to be more specific. Oh, and you should also consider being less bossy. You’re not exactly in a position to tell me what I should do.”
Obviously at the very end of his strength, his eyes had begun to close, but her words had him reopening them. She could see some kind of emotion changing his expression, but his face was so foreign, so unlike anything or anyone she was used to, that she couldn’t read him. His black beak opened as if he was going to say something. At that moment a shudder rippled through his body. Instead of speaking, he closed his eyes tightly and moaned. The sound was filled with an agony that was completely human.
Automatically she took a step toward him. His eyes reopened and, even though they were glazed with pain, she could see his scarlet gaze was focused on her. Stevie Rae stopped and spoke slowly and distinctly. “Okay, here’s the deal. I brought water and stuff to bandage you up with, but I’m not really cool with coming over there by you unless you give me your word you won’t try anything I’m not gonna like.”
This time Stevie Rae was sure the emotion she saw within the red of those human eyes was surprise.
“I cannot move.” His words were halting, and it was an obvious effort for him to speak at all.
“Does that mean I have your word you won’t bite me or do anything else that’s not very nice?”
“Yesssss.”
His voice had gone all guttural and the word ended in a hiss, which Stevie Rae didn’t find at all reassuring. Still, she straightened her spine and nodded like he hadn’t just sounded like a snake. “Well. Good. Okay, let’s see what I can do to make ya feel better.”
Then, before she could talk some sense into her own dang head, she walked right up to the Raven Mocker. She plopped the towels and the moss on the ground beside him, and set the water bucket down more carefully. He really was big. She’d forgotten that. Well, maybe it was more like she’d blocked it from her memory, because “forgetting” his size was pretty hard. It hadn’t been exactly easy to drag/carry him into this shed before Erik or Dallas or Heath or anyone had seen her, even though he’d been weirdly light for how heavy he looked.
“Water.” The word was almost a croak.
“Oh, yeah, sure!” Stevie Rae jumped and then fumbled with the handle of the dipper. It fell on the floor, and as embarrassed as she was frazzled, she dropped it again—had to pick it up, wipe it on a towel, and then finally dip it into the water. She moved closer to him. He stirred weakly, obviously trying to raise an arm, but the attempt caused him to moan again and his arm seemed to only be able to hang at his side, as useless as his broken wing. Not pausing to think about what she was doing, Stevie Rae bent, lifted his shoulders gently, tilted his head back, and held the dipper to his beak. He drank thirstily.
When he’d had his fill, she helped him lie back, but not until she’d put one of the towels under his head.
“Okay, I don’t have anything to clean you up with except water, but I’ll do my best. Oh, and I brought some strips of moss. If I pack your wounds with them, they’ll help.” She didn’t bother to explain that she really didn’t know how she knew the moss was good for his wounds—it was just one of the snatches of information she’d get from time to time—out of nowhere. One second she wouldn’t have a clue about something. The next she’d be sure of how to, well, plug up a wound, for instance. She wanted to believe it was Nyx whispering to her, like the Goddess whispered to Zoey, but the truth was, Stevie Rae didn’t know for sure. “Just keep choosing good over evil…” she muttered to herself as she started to tear one of the towels into strips.
The Raven Mocker’s eyes opened and he looked questioningly at her.
“Oh, don’t mind me. I talk to myself. Even when I’m not alone. It’s kinda like my own version of therapy.” She paused and met his gaze. “This is gonna hurt. I mean, I’ll try to be careful and all, but you’re pretty messed up.”
“Go ahead,” he said in that pain-filled whispery voice that sounded too human to be coming from such an inhuman-looking creature.
“Alright, well, here goes.” Stevie Rae worked as quickly and as gently as possible. The hole in his chest was terrible. She flushed it with water and picked off as much of the twigs and crap from around it as possible. His feathers made what she was doing super weird. There was chest and skin under them, but it was just so dang odd! He had feathers, and under them she found downy little black puffs that felt soft as cotton candy from the state fair.
She glanced at his face. He’d laid his head back down on the towel pillow. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was breathing in short little pants.
“Sorry, I know this hurts,” she said. His only response was a grunt which, ironically, made him seem more guy-like. Seriously—the grunt was well known to be a major guy communication method. “Okay, I think it’s ready for the moss.” She spoke more to soothe her own nerves than his. Tearing off a section of the moss, she carefully packed it into the wound. “It doesn’t seem as bad now that it’s not bleeding so much.” She kept chattering, even though he barely responded to her. “Here, gotta move you a little.” Stevie Rae rolled him further on his stomach so she could get to the rest of the wound. He pressed his face into the towel and stifled another moan. Stevie Rae spoke quickly, hating that agonized sound. “The hole where it came out of your back is bigger, but it’s not as dirty, so I won’t have as much cleaning to do back here.” It took a larger chunk of moss to cover the exit wound, but she got it done quickly.
Then she shifted her attention to his wings. The wing on his left side was tucked tightly against his back. It didn’t look like it had been injured at all. But his right wing was another story. It was totally messed up—shattered and bloody and hanging lifelessly down his side.
“Well, I guess it’s time to admit I’m totally out of my comfort zone back here. I mean, the bullet wound was nasty, but at least I knew what to do about it—kind of. Your wing is something else. I have no clue what to do to help it.”
“Bind it to me. Use the cloth strips.” His voice was gravelly. He didn’t look at her and his eyes were still tightly closed.
“Are you sure? Maybe I should just leave it alone.”
“Less pain—if it’s bound,” he said haltingly.
“Well, shit. Okay.” Stevie Rae got to work tearing another towel into long strips, and then knotting them together. “All right. I’m gonna arrange your wing on your back kinda in the same position your other wing’s in. Is that right?”
He nodded once.
She held her breath and picked up his wing. He jerked and gasped. She dropped it and jumped back.
“Shit! I’m sorry! Crap!”
His eyes slitted and he looked up at her. Between panting gasps he said, “Just. Do. It.”
She gritted her teeth, leaned forward and, blocking out his muffled moans of pain, rearranged the shattered wing into a position that vaguely resembled the unwounded wing. Then, with barely a pause for breath, she said, “You’re gonna have to hold yourself up a little so I can get this tied around you.”