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Grim Wolf
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She didn't say anything for a little while. Raidon was reluctant to take his eyes off of her; there was something entrancing in her eyes, a mixture of fear and excitement that attracted him in spite of the fact that he didn't understand it. She was entrancing, independent of her emotion; there was something so gloriously alive about her.

You looking for life? You, murderer?

A short, small intake of breath, too small for her to notice.

"Regardless of whether there are ice packs or not, we should get you dressed," she said at length, her eyes glittering on her face. They flickered down a little, then back up. "It'll get cold."

Ah, yes. I'm naked, aren't I.

His face flushed and he made a half-hearted effort to turn and cover himself. The moment he tried to move too quickly, however, his head swam dangerously, and darkness flooded along the corners of his vision. "Please tell me you didn't look," he mumbled, dazed, and leaned his head against the wall. "My...my bag," he said simply. "Over there." He looked at the bloody, dirty clothes on the ground and grimaced. "I need a change."

She rustled in his bag, brought him his fresh set. It was hard-going--when he moved too quickly his head ached, and no matter how cautious and careful he was he felt his aches--the pain in his throat, arms and back from his struggle with Maddy, the pain in his legs from his wandering across the island, the pain in his missing finger.

My fucking finger.

When it bit a little deeply--when he felt like he needed to break off, rest his head against something--her fingers would be there, pulling things into place, lingering for just a second and fluttering away like errant butterflies. The tingle each touch imparted was enough to get him moving again.

A little bit of machismo. Huh. Who'd have though that'd come out here.

"Hold on," he grunted. "Who knows...when I'll get the chance to..." He trailed off and turned back to the shower, setting the water running before tossing his old clothes beneath them. Not perfect by any means, but he'd take what he could get. He sat on the mat in front of the shower--she, on the tile.

"I want to stay with you," she said.

Raidon stayed where he was, held himself completely still. He didn't look at her, and could see from the corners of his gaze. Didn't really listen, either; he was thinking about it. Simon was gone, his head was a mess, he was in pain. He had already discovered how much he liked her, how much his thoughts dwelled on her, and her name hadn't been on the announcements. Best he could tell, she'd kept her promise; he could trust her, couldn't-

"You'd kill me to live."

Those words surged out of the babble and speared their way into his mind. He stiffened. The rest of her words--her declaration of her romantic feelings for him, her willingness to take a bullet for him--passed by without him paying any attention to them. He was staring at the gun near his feet.

You'd kill me to live.

She lifted his hand--the injured one, the one missing a finger--and laid her lips upon it.

Missing finger. Simon's dead. I've killed.

I'd kill her to live?

He jerked his hand away from her suddenly, rose to his feet swiftly and ignored the pain that came with it. He stepped quickly away from her, over the gun, out into the hall. The stairs were close at hand, the door easily visible at their bottom. He froze where he was, staring at the door. He'd left before--left her with his favorite jacket, alone in that room. She was the last one he'd left alive of his own volition, come to think of it, and certainly the last one he'd left unharmed.

"Don't you get it, Mizore," he said weakly. "I've already killed to live."

Scott McGregor. Alison Walworth. Madison Stone.
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