Page 49 of Devious Obsession
“She poured a bunch of alcohol into it already.”
“Good.” He pulls out a small, unlabeled bottle and gauze. “You did a good job, too.” He says to Elana as he inspects the wounds.
“Oh, am I allowed to talk? I wasn’t sure if I should just sit here with my hands in my pockets.”
“Elana,” I warn, glaring over at her.
“I have to pee. Is there a bathroom that’s safe to use?” She hops off her stool.
“Down those stairs. Take the first right, it’ll be on your left down the hall.” Seamus tells her.
“I’ll be right back.”
Once she’s down the stairs and out of earshot, I turn to Seamus. “There’s a bathroom right around the corner on this floor.”
“There is.” He nods. “But this way it will take her a little longer. She needs to walk off some steam.”
“Your comment about her being in my bed pissed her off. She doesn’t like being labeled a Volkov.”
He stops dabbing around my wounds to look up at me. “Who’s that? Is she not proud of the Volkov name?”
He stretches out his back, expanding his chest as though he’s mimicking being full of pride.
“Focus on what you’re doing and leave her alone.” As much as the fire in her eyes gets my blood pumping, I’m the only one allowed to light the flames.
He cleans the teeth marks on my arm with more antiseptic wipes.
“How did this happen, anyway?” he questions, getting the injection ready.
“I was bitten.”
He gives me a sharp look. “No shit. But how did you get bit, and by what? A rabid dog?” He looks closer at the wounds. “No, this isn’t a dog bite…a raccoon?”
“Just give me the shot.”
He laughs as he injects the medicine. I clench my teeth as the sting spreads through my skin.
“You’ll need another in a few days. I’ll get the syringes set up for you and write down when you need them.” He pushes the cap back on the needle and cleans up his workspace.
“That’s fine.”
“So, now tell me. What is going on? How did you end up here with the Volkov princess?” He leans back against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.
A scream echoes through the cabin just before glass crashes.
“Elana!”
“I told her not to touch anything!” the old man grumbles.
“Who the fuck has an explosive with a hair trigger in the hallway of his own house?” a disgruntled voice responds.
The shrill buzzing in my ears eases, and their voices finally begin to surface from beneath the noise. I blink a few times, hoping my vision will clear, too.
I know one has nothing to do with the other, but I’m grasping at straws.
“It wasn’t an explosive. Here, get her up. She’s bleeding all over the rug.”
“I’m bleeding?” I yell, turning my head toward the speaker. The sparklers in my vision are making it hard to see who I’m yelling at.
