Kiss of Crimson(8)

She spoke to the intruder as she pushed open the door and stepped inside. She heard labored breathing, smelled smoke and the briny stench of the river. She smelled blood too. Lots of it. Tess flicked the light on.

Harsh fluorescent tubes buzzed to life overhead, illuminating the incredible bulk of a drenched, badly injured man slumped on the floor near one of the supply shelves. He was dressed all in black, like some kind of goth nightmare—black leather jacket, tee-shirt, fatigues, and lace-up combat boots. Even his hair was black, the wet strands plastered to his head, shielding his downturned face from view. An ugly smudge of blood and river water traveled from the back door, partially opened onto the alley, to where the man lay in Tess‘s storeroom. He had evidently dragged himself inside, maybe unable to walk.

If she hadn‘t been so accustomed to seeing the grisly aftermath of car accidents, beatings, and other bodily trauma in her animal patients, the sight of this man‘s injuries might have turned Tess‘s stomach inside out.

Instead, her mind switched from alarm and the instinctual fight-or-flight mode she‘d been feeling out in the reception area to that of the physician she was trained to be. Clinical, calm, and concerned.

―What happened to you?‖

The man grunted, gave a vague shake of his dark head like he wasn‘t going to tell her anything about it. Perhaps he couldn‘t.

―You‘re covered in burns and wounds. My God, there must be hundreds of them. Were you in some kind of accident?‖ She glanced down to where one of his hands was resting on his abdomen. Blood was seeping through his fingers from a fresh, deep puncture. ―Your gut is bleeding—and your leg too. Jesus, have you been shot?‖

―Need... blood.‖

He was probably right about that. The floor beneath him was slick, and dark from what he‘d lost just since his arrival at the clinic. He‘d likely lost a good deal more before he got there. Nearly every patch of his exposed skin bore multiple lacerations—his face and neck, his hands, everywhere Tess looked, she saw bleeding cuts and contusions. His cheeks and mouth were pale white, ghostly.

―You need an ambulance,‖ she told him, not wanting to upset him, but, damn, the guy was in bad shape. ―Just relax now. I‘m going to go call 911 for you.‖

―No!‖ He lurched from his slump on the floor, thrusting his hand out to her in alarm. ―No hospitals! Can‘t... can‘t go there... They won‘t... can‘t help me.‖

Despite his protest, Tess started to run for the phone in the other room. But then she remembered the stolen tiger hanging out in one of her exam rooms. Hard to explain that to the EMTs or, God forbid, the police. The gun shop had probably already called in the theft of the animal, or would by the time the store opened that morning, just a few short hours away.

―Please,‖ gasped the huge man bleeding all over her clinic. ―No doctors.‖

Tess paused, regarding him in silence. He needed help in a big way, and he needed it now. Unfortunately, she looked like his best chance at the moment. She wasn‘t sure what she could do for him here, but maybe she could patch him up temporarily, get him on his feet, and get him the hell out of there.

―Okay,‖ she said. ―No ambulances for now. Listen, I‘m, uh—I‘m actually a doctor. Well, more or less. This is my veterinary clinic. Would it be all right if I come a little closer and have a look at you?‖

She took the quirk of his mouth and ragged exhaled sigh as a yes.

Tess inched down beside him on the floor. He had seemed big from across the room, but crouched next to him, she realized that he was immense, easily six and a half feet and two hundred fifty-plus pounds of heavy bone and solid muscle. Was he some kind of bodybuilder? One of those macho meatheads who spent his life in the gym?

Something about him didn‘t quite fit that mold. With the grim cut of his face, he looked like the kind of guy who could tear a gym rat to pieces with his teeth.

She moved her hands lightly over his face, feeling for trauma. His skull was intact, but her touch told her that he‘d suffered a mild concussion in some fashion. Probably was still in a state of shock.

―I‘m just going to check your eyes,‖ she informed him gently, then lifted one of his lids. Holy shit.

The slitted pupil cutting through the center of a large, bright amber iris took her aback. She recoiled,

freaked

out

by

the

unexpected

presentation.

―What the—‖

Then the explanation hit her, and she instantly felt like an idiot for losing her cool.

Costume contacts.

Chill out, she told herself. She was getting jumpy for no good reason. The guy must have been at a Halloween party that got out of hand or something. Not much she could tell from his eyes so long as he was wearing those ridiculous lenses.