At first, I didn’t see anything but the inky blackness of night that lay beyond the reach of the porch light. However, the faintest noise whipped my gaze down to the welcome mat in front of the door.
I slowly lowered my gun because there, lying face down in a pool of rapidly spreading blood, was a man. A naked man.
2
A cold gust of wind broke through my shock. Leaning down, I checked his pulse, which was thready and slow, hopefully due to the cold and not due to blood loss. There was a small round wound on his shoulder, bubbling blood, which I recognized immediately from my training at college; a gunshot wound. I made a quick once-over of the rest of his body, checking for broken bones before I turned him over. The man didn’t regain consciousness the whole time, not even when I began rolling him.
Once he was flat on his back, I gasped in horror at the huge puckered wound on his right shoulder, two inches too high to be fatal but it was awfully close. It was obvious that this was the exit wound to the matching entry wound on his back. He’d been shot running away.
I whipped off my sweatshirt and wrapped it around the wounds on both sides, tying it tight. Grabbing his arms, I apologized loudly for the pain he’d suffer as I dragged him inside.
“If I don’t get you inside, you’re going to die of exposure. I know this will probably tear your injury even more, which will definitely hurt, but you're unconscious now which I am… ugh, definitely thankful for,” I grunted as I heaved him over the threshold.
He was a big man, and pulling his dead weight was nearly impossible, but I just needed to get him a few more inches to the hall rug. Once he was on that, I could drag him easily across the floorboards to the warmth of the fire in the living room.
His grunts of pain tore at my heart. The puddle of blood had created a red trail worthy of any cop show. I’d get him inside and call an ambulance. Or the cops. It would take an ambulance a good forty minutes to get out here in the snow and maybe Chief Tony would be faster.
Picking up the corners of the mat, I slid him over to the fire, nudging Fred from his spot. I unwound my sweatshirt from around his wounds, my concern turning to surprise when I realized the bleeding had all but stopped. I grabbed the first aid kit from the hall cupboard, pouring antiseptic over the wound and cleaning the blood away. My surprise turned to disbelief as the cleaned wound turned out to be no more than a quarter of an inch deep, which was normally not deep enough to cause that amount of blood loss. I bandaged up the front side, carefully examining him for other injuries, but averted my eyes quickly when my gaze accidentally travelled below the equator. Like decency mattered in times like these.
Not finding any other injuries, I rolled him gently over again and examined the wound on his back. I was positive it was a bullet wound. Maybe I had been wrong about the one on his front being an exit wound and the bullet was still lodged in his shoulder. I probed the wound with tweezers, but after a few tentative pokes, I found nothing.
What the actual hell?
I cleaned and bandaged this side, chewing my lip compulsively. There was something wrong here, and I didn’t know whether I’d had a complete mental snap or if there was something… off about this guy.
One thing was for sure; there was no way I was calling an ambulance or the cops. What was I going to say? Oh, I dragged a naked guy inside because he’d been shot, but now he doesn’t look like he’s been shot, but he’s still naked and unconscious on my floor?
Yeah, maybe not.
I grabbed a blanket and pillow off the couch. I rolled the man onto his back again, propping a pillow under his head and giving him a bit of modesty with the blanket, with only a quick peek at his family jewels because it was impossible not to. The guy was built. Golden skin, sleek muscles, one of those fun V things that made it impossible not to look lower. You know the ones.
Feeling my face flush red, I felt his pulse again, and it felt much stronger. I reached down to check his pupils, berating myself for not having checked earlier for a concussion or possible fatal head injuries. Some nurse I’d be.
I started to lift his eyelid when they jerked open of their own accord, his body shooting upright. I scrambled backwards, away from the savage expression on his face. When his eyes focused on me, his entire body relaxed with a relieved sigh.
“Layla.”
The guy’s eyes rolled and he fell back onto the pillow. I stood, unable to move.
How did he know my name?
I stared at his face for a glimmer of recognition, but nothing came. Covering him back up with the blanket, I sat back on the couch and just stared at the man in front of my fire.
His straight, dark eyebrows contrasted with the sandy-brown shade of his hair. His deep-set eyes were framed by thick eyelashes and he had a long straight nose. Sharp cheekbones and an incredible jawline made him look harder, stopping him from crossing that border into pretty.
He muttered something incoherent in his sleep, shifting uneasily. I checked his temperature, making sure he didn’t have a fever and was just having a run of the mill nightmare. You know, the kind you had after being shot.
Slumping back onto the couch and stuffing the remaining cushion under my head, I watched my patient in case things took a turn for the worse. However, it wasn’t long before my eyelids drooped and exhaustion dragged me off to sleep too.
I woke up to a cacophony of hissing and growling. My eyes flew open and I saw Pip standing on the arm of the couch, arched and fluffed, looking his most ferocious. Fred, however, appeared to be asleep next to the couch, not paying any attention to Pip’s hysterics.
My eyes shot to the guy on my floor, and for a half a heartbeat, I wondered if the whole thing had been a bad dream, like the ones I had every night for the last five years. Instead, a pair of golden eyes watched me back.
“How do you feel?” I was breathing like I’d just run a marathon. His eyes never left my face, searching my features like I was a roadmap and he was lost in the worst part of town.
“I feel fine, thank you.” His voice was a deep growl, and I imagined I could almost feel the vibration of it flowing through my body. Well, one particular part of my body. “Actually, I’m a little hungry,” he admitted.
Yep. It was monsoon season in my pants. Put up the shutters and anchor down the lawn furniture, Jim, because it’s going to be a wet one.
I bounded upright, my cheeks on fire.
“I’ll get you something.” A sandwich would have to do for now but later I’d make chicken soup, which healed all ills according to my mother. I wasn’t sure it extended to gunshot wounds though. I was rambling even inside my own head now. I needed to calm my ass down.
Taking two deep breaths, I counted to ten slowly while I quickly made a bologna sandwich. When I got back, the guy was sitting up, the blankets pooling around his waist. He was stronger than I thought he’d be, considering he’d lost so much blood.
I had a million questions on my mind and I blurted out the first one as soon as I was back in the room. “How do you know my name?” His brows knitted together, his face all of a sudden stern.
“I don’t know your name,” he stated flatly. “What’s with the tutu?”
I looked down at my blood spattered tutu and winced. Yeah, that wasn’t ever coming out now that it had dried. Though, I kind of like the aesthetic it created; murder couture.