The Reaper's Curse #1 - Complete

Scars They Made | f i n

They fall into the cabin together, drenched in sweat, Oliver's blood staining her clothes.

"Who lives here?" he questions as he glances around the darkened space filled with furniture and blankets and toys.

"It's Lena's cabin. We'll be safe here." Alicia pushes him to sit down by the cold hearth, Oliver letting out a breath as he slumps in the worn, leather sofa. She gets to work searching through the cupboards for the supplies she needs, nerves churning in her gut. She sets the supplies on the table beside him as he undoes the buttons on his shirt, holding his arm stiffly but the pain doesn't reveal itself on his face.

Getting a fire started, Alicia lets the silence settle between them. She has so much she needs to say, but no idea where she should start. With the duke's death? Her brother's? Or maybe with the fact they beat an army of undead monsters with an army of undead immortal monsters?

Alicia glances over her shoulder at him as he peels off his undershirt that's also stained with blood. Turning to the table of her supplies, she unbundles what she needs, her motions practiced as she puts water over the fire to boil.

"Can you please put some pressure on that?" she commands, waving a hand at his now bare arm before continuing with her work. She ties her hair back, washes her hands thoroughly, and tries not to let her nerves show.

Too many times she had to stitch up her pa after a drunken fight while her ma was away ignoring the crumbling of her family. Too many times she had to stitch up her own wounds when being alone seemed like the only option she could handle.

She cleans her tools with boiled water, fills up a bowl, dampens a cloth, then settles down on a chair in front of Oliver. Her gaze is quick to skim over the various scars that litter his bare torso before they settle on the wound on his bicep.

She takes a breath and brushes his hand away. She peels back the cloth he was using to stem the bleeding, more gushing from the wound to drip from his elbow, a gentle tapping on the floorboards.

Alicia inspects his arm then glances at him to find him watching her. "There's no exit wound," she states, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.

Oliver presses his lips together and nods, shifting slightly and grabbing a bottle of whiskey off the table to take a hearty swig and set it back down. "It wouldn't be the first time someone's had to dig a bullet out of me."

Alicia glances at the deep scar on his chest to the left of his heart. Reminded of his tale about taking a bullet for Samantha in the trenches. "This shouldn't be too bad for you then."

Oliver huffs out a breath at that and Alicia manages a small smile.

She cleans the wound as much as she can before taking a deep breath and grabbing her tweezers. "Try not to move too much." Then she digs into the wound. He jolts, his hand going to her thigh and digging in painfully. She doesn't mind, concentrating on finding the bullet. It hasn't hit bone, but it has gone deep, and Alicia begins fearing that she'll have to cut it out. He grunts as she twists, finally grabbing hold of the bullet and tugging. She grips his shoulder, slick with sweat, as she pulls the bullet out, astounded with herself as she drops it on the table.

She doesn't give herself time to be surprised, pressing gauze to the wound as Oliver takes a gulp of the whiskey before passing it to her. She dilutes it with water in a bowl before lifting the dressing and winces as she pours the solution over the wound.

"Fuck," he grits out. She passes him back the bottle and wipes her bloodied hands on a cloth.

"That wasn't so bad," she says, and he gives her the side-eye before drinking more. Alicia picks up her needle and thread and bends to get to work on stitching him up.