Annabelle shot him a glare. She wasn’t looking for any signs of another woman.
What she noticed was Kendrick’s pale complexion and the sweat beading on his forehead — it didn’t seem like sweat from heat. More importantly, he carried the distinct scent of medicine and blood.
"Let me see your wound."
She tossed the towel aside, quickly twisting her damp hair up, already preparing to check his injury.
"I’m fine," Kendrick said. "Jax’s injuries are worse. The smell is just from tending to his wounds."
Annabelle reached out, touching his forehead. It was slightly warm, but not burning. She then held his wrist, carefully checking his pulse.
"Your pulse is weak. It feels like your body has been affected by cold and your blood flow is compromised. It seems..."
She frowned, staring at him. "
