17
“Conor! Con!”
An anxious voice echoed from a tremendous distance, and wavered in and out as crashing waves of agony exploded through his aching head. “Damn it, Conor, wake up!”
“Don’t try to move him!” That was Liam’s horrified voice, thin and floating somewhere high above him. “We’ll be right there!”
“Conor?” The big hand that had slapped his cheek with urgent force settled instead on his shoulder. “Bloody hell, he’s bleeding like a stuck pig!”
“The head always bleeds like crazy, you know that.”
“Well, but still! Grady, what if he doesn’t wake up?”
It took every bit of strength he possessed to manage a faint, rasping moan. The hand jerked away with startling speed, then returned to gently probe at his aching skull. “Conor? Can you hear me, man?”
He managed another feeble sound,
