“He’s almost done.”
“Do we need to get him to the ER?”
“Why?”
“His neck. It was bleeding pretty badly.” And how could we get him to the nearest hospital, which was in Knoxville? It was still dark, but the sky was lightening. I hurried to the window and made sure the curtains were drawn tightly.
“It’s almost healed.”
“Huh?”
“That’s why he had to drink from me. Get a washcloth. And would you mind lending him a shirt?”
He’d had my blood. Why should it matter if he had a shirt as well? “Sweatshirt? Button down?”
“A button down will be easier to put on him.” He used his free hand to fish out his cell phone.
I hurried to my bedroom, yanked the first shirt I saw out of the closet and slung it over my shoulder, then stopped in the bathroom long enough to get a washcloth and wet it.
Rául
