When I came to, I felt the soft vibrations of the truck, and I knew that I traveling with Micah and Fletcher once again. I was covered with two flannel blankets, with a third tucked under my head in a makeshift pillow. Although it was a sweet gesture, the combination of the afternoon sun, the thick blankets, and my terrifying dream was too much, and I was now sweating copiously.

I sat up and tugged at the blankets in a desperate attempt to cool my heated skin. Micah, who had been staring into the distance, noticed my struggle.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, placing his hand on my sticky forehead.

"A little sore," I admitted, stretching my stiff extremities. My knee, specifically, felt sore.

"That's normal after setting a dislocation. I didn't think you'd go through with it, honestly. You can be very difficult sometimes, but I'm impressed," Micah said with a small smile.

"Thanks... I think," I muttered.

"Here, take these. They'll help with the pain and swelling," he said, handing me two white pills and a bottle of water. I took them without hesitation. "Let's take a look at your leg."

He rolled up my pant leg to expose my wrapped knee, and began prodding my tender skin. The pain had substantially decreased, although I still winces when he poked the bruised area. The inflammation had gone down now, and my knee was almost back to normal size.

"It looks much better," Micah said, twisting my leg from side to side to examine it. "I don't think there's any permanent damage. It seems to be healing quickly enough. I guess the real test will be when it comes time to walk, which won't be too much longer, I'm afraid," he said, glancing nervously at the front of the truck where small puffs of smoke were escaping from the hood.

As he leaned forward, I noticed Micah's singed shirt and the oozing wound on his shoulder. My stomach gave a nauseous lurch seeing the mixture of burnt flesh and infection that caused the wound to turn a strange color.

"You should really let me clean that," I said, hoping I didn't lose last night's spaghetti rings at the idea.

"Good luck. I've already tried to convince him, but he's stubborn," Fletcher said from the front seat.

"I'm fine," Micah said, trying to hide the wound by adjusting his jacket.

"You're not fine. Your shoulder looks horrible! Ignoring it will only make it worse," I said.

"If nothing else let her patch it up so the rest of us don't have to see it. Or smell it for that matter," Fletcher suggested, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"We need to save our medical supplies for emergencies," Micah argued .

"Micah, this is an emergency. If that wound gets infected, we're screwed. Fletcher and I cant handle the Malin alone. Now, you can either swallow your pride and let me help you for a change, or I'm going to hold you down and do it anyway. It won't be easy, but I'll manage," I said, in a threat that everyone knew was empty; like I could ever take Micah if it came down to it.

Fletcher looked at me in the rearview mirror, a delighted smile on his face. Micah just stared, his eyes twinkling with amusement. With a sigh, he took off his jacket and crawled to my side of the truck.

My heart dropped when I looked more closely at Micah's shoulder. The wound was much worse than I had anticipated. It was a deep injury, with several layers of his skin having been burned away. It was bright red and shiny, with pus-filled blisters along the surface. The smell of festering flesh made me want to gag.

Inconspicuously turning my head away from the injury before I barfed, I opened the first-aid kit to reveal a vast array of medical supplies. I tried to think back to when Abigail would tend to my scrapes and cuts as a child. I instinctively grabbed a box of Band-Aids, before realizing that the wound was about the size of an orange.

I settled for a pair of latex gloves, burn cream, rubbing alcohol, and cloth bandages, and turned back to Micah, who was eyeing me skeptically.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Of course I do," I said, rolling my eyes. But, inside, nervous butterflies were dancing in my stomach.

I put on the gloves, vowing not to allow the disgusting burn to touch my skin for fear I may actually vomit. Pulling out a washrag, I dampened it using my water bottle. I turned to place the cloth on Micah's wound, but found that it was partially obscured.

"I think you're going to have to take off your, umm, shirt," I stammered looking to the ground as a blush crept into my cheeks.

Micah hesitated, and I wondered if he may actually refuse, but he finally relented and lifted the shirt over his one good shoulder with a reluctant sigh.

When I looked back and saw his naked torso, it was all I could do to keep from hyperventilating. His olive chest was completely bare, save for a few stray hairs, and his pectoral and abdominal muscles were so defined, it would make Hercules green with envy. Micah's arms were just as intimidating, the muscles bigger than my entire leg. His biceps rippled as he moved, showing off impressive tribal tattoos on either side. He had his arms folded across his chest as though he were trying to hide his nakedness.

What on Earth could this Greek God have to feel insecure about? I thought bitterly.

I was distracted as I patted the burned area on his shoulder with the damp cloth, finding it almost impossible for me to tear my eyes away from his body long enough to focus on the wound.

It took only a few minutes for the bright yellow washcloth to become soiled with Micah's blood. When I had successfully washed the injury, I grabbed the bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"This may burn," I said, moistening a fresh cloth with the liquid as Micah braced himself.

I put my hand on his upper back, holding him in place as I pressed the cloth firmly against the burn. At first it seemed like nothing was happening, but then the pain seemed to hit him all at once. Micah closed his eyes as he felt the alcohol being absorbed into his skin with searing pain. He let out an involuntary groan and tried to pull away from the source of the discomfort, but I held him steady.

I took advantage of Micah's oblivion to really appreciate his smooth and flawless physique. Well, almost flawless. In my proximity, I could just make out the small white and pink marks found sporadically along his chest, arms, and back. Most of them were so subtle, you would miss them from a distance. But up close I could see that there were at least two dozen scars. I looked back at Micah's face, wondering what could have caused this many marks.

Micah met my eyes, his bright greens looking deeply into my hazels.

"What now, doctor?" Micah asked, his husky voice causing my heart to accelerate. I became hyperaware of our closeness.

"Now we disinfect and cover the wound," I said, trying to calm my rapid breathing. I pulled the washcloth off of his shoulder, my bare arm accidentally brushing against his bicep. My breath caught in my throat as the all too familiar electric current ran through my body. Micah glanced at me from beneath his eyelids with a sultry look, and I knew that he had felt it too.

Fletcher cleared his throat from the drivers seat, causing me to jump. I had nearly forgotten that he was in the truck. I felt heat flow to my face, and I shifted uncomfortably. Micah shook his head softly, muttering frustrated profanities as though scolding himself. He seemed to be unable to look at me now.

Out of nowhere, the truck gave a hard lurch forward, knocking me and Micah over, as smoke began to pour out from under the hood.

"Come on, baby, just a little longer," Fletcher whispered, giving the dashboard a pat. The truck continued to jerk until it finally came to a stop with a loud groan. "Well, I guess that's the end of the road then," Fletcher said, unfastening his seatbelt. "I think we should just camp out for the night and start walking in the morning."

Between Micah's burnt shoulder, Fletcher's head wound, and my knee injury, I couldn't agree more.

"I'm with you, Fletch," I said, looking at Micah, who still refused to make eye contact. I busies myself by searching for the burn cream. When I found it, I squirted a generous amount onto the tip of my latex gloves.

"Is it okay if I..?" I asked, showing him the cream on my hands. He gave a small nod, looking out the window with a remorseful expression on his face.

I placed my hand against the wound, and immediately squinted my nose in disgust. The spongy dampness of the burn was a strange feeling, as though I were rubbing my hands against the surface of warm pudding. I gnawed on the inside of my cheek to keep my stomach under control, removing my hand as soon as the wound had a thin layer of the medicine.

I pulled the latex gloves off of my hands, cautious not to touch the soiled fingertips, and placed them carefully to the side. I grabbed the roll of cloth bandages, and began wrapping Micah's shoulder, careful not to touch him again with my bare skin.

"Where did the marks on your back and chest come from? A battle?" I asked, in an attempt to make conversation. But I immediately regretted asking the question. Micah tensed his shoulders and became visibly alert, as his eyes darted up to Fletcher's.

"You might as well tell her," Fletcher said stiffly.

"You know the rules," Micah muttered through gritted teeth.

"She's going to find out when we get to Tueri, anyway. It'll be better that she knows beforehand," Fletcher argued, but Micah still looked torn.

"Micah, some rules are meant to be broken," Fletcher said, gazing meaningfully at Micah as he furrowed his eyebrows. I had the feeling Fletcher was implying more than what I was hearing.

With a sigh, Micah turned to look at me.

"There's a lot you don't know about my people, Alexis," Micah said, his face solemn. He settled in, before diving into the unknown stories of Tueri.

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© Dawn Norwell