“Hold on.” She held up her hands but didn’t touch him. She didn’t want to see another laundry list of his injuries again. And once she made contact with an injured person, it was hard not to heal them. “You’re in no shape to go anywhere. What’s your name?” she asked, trying to distract him.
“Asher,” he groaned. “But I really must leave.”
“Well, Asher, I’m Olivia, and you really need to take it easy. You’ve got a list of injuries a mile long. And…I mean…” She tried to backpedal. “You seem like you’re hurt pretty badly. You know, just from how you look.” Oh man, she needed to just stop talking or she was going to dig herself into a deeper hole. Of course he looked injured. Any regular person without a Talent could see that. She didn’t need to be acting so guilty.
He opened his mouth, probably to protest, but just then, a man in a reflective orange vest appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, if you’re not hurt, I could really use your help out here.”
She looked at Asher. “I’m not, but he needs—”
Asher’s eyes turned concrete gray. There was a tiny, yet deliberate shake of his head. I’m fine, he mouthed.
Okay. That’s bizarre.
He clearly didn’t want any medical treatment, but given how hurt she knew he was, it didn’t make sense. Maybe he had an aversion to needles or something. If the tables were turned and she was the one with all those injuries, she’d totally go and— No, wait. She wouldn’t be excited to go to the hospital, either. The authorities might find out about her.
She chewed on her bottom lip. Part of her wanted to go out and help, but the rest of her wanted to get as far away as possible. Out there, she’d be surrounded by injured and suffering people. She didn’t know if she’d be able to resist using her abilities. And if someone were dying…
The aid worker clapped his hands. “Come on. Let’s go. You’re wasting time.”
Asher looked at her, a curious expression on his face. “If you’re concerned about me, I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.”
She had no idea why he was lying about being hurt or why he didn’t want any help, but one thing was certain. This handsome stranger was hiding a few secrets of his own.
***
When Asher had stumbled to the wine shop a few minutes ago, his only goal had been to find his dog and get the hell out of the city. But that was before he’d realized just how messed up he was. Every inch of his body felt bruised. Broken.
From where he sat, he looked out through the shattered window and scanned the mayhem for any sign of Conry. Huge, portable spotlights had been erected at the intersections, illuminating much of the area. How strange. He must’ve been unconscious longer than he’d thought. Vehicles, aid cars, and fire trucks, their flashing lights reflecting off the buildings, were everywhere. Uniformed first responders were pushing stretchers toward waiting ambulances while others were covering bodies with sheets. People sat on the curbs in groups of two and three, crying and comforting each other.
He tried whistling for Conry, but when he did, a sharp pain speared through his torso and stopped him cold. Bloody hell. He couldn’t even call his dog without feeling like he was falling apart.
A crew from one of the media outlets was interviewing a distraught man, their camera and microphone just inches from his face.
What would they do if he marched out there and told them that their own military had done this to them? They so desperately wanted to perpetuate the lie that Cascadians were the bad guys because it served their interests if everyone feared them. Had people over here forgotten about the Obsidian Wars, in which the worlds had been divided in the first place? Did they not teach this history to their children, tell them these old stories when they tucked them into bed at night?
He shifted slightly and grimaced, but when he spotted Olivia leaning over someone on a nearby stretcher, he forgot about his pain for a moment. Her reddish-brown hair fell like a curtain between them. The aid worker must’ve left her, because she was tending to the injured person on her own.#p#分页标题#e#
As he watched, she gently brushed something from her patient’s face. The woman’s skirt had ridden up, baring her skimpy undergarments to the world. Olivia thoughtfully covered her legs with a sheet.
He found himself mesmerized by the way she moved. Almost like a butterfly. Soft. Fleeting. Gentle. He wouldn’t have been able to tear his gaze from her even if he’d wanted to.
She tucked her hair behind an ear, exposing the side of her face to him. Her nose turned up slightly at the end, her neck long and graceful. Her lips were moving, and at first, he thought she and her patient were talking. Although she wasn’t far away, there was too much commotion around them to hear what they were saying. But then he noticed the woman’s arm dangling bonelessly off the edge of the stretcher and the slack in her jaw. What could Olivia be saying to an unconscious woman who looked as though she were dead?