“Got a name, handsome?” I asked as I snapped gloves on. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t give a shit about AIDs, I’ll probably be dead long before anything like that puts me six feet under, but were infection? Not even going to risk it.

“Jasen.”

He sucked a breath in and glared at me as I irrigated the wound with swift, efficient movements.

“Oh, behave. Anyone would think a werewolf just tried to kill you.”

My voice was amused as I set about gluing the gashes in his skin and setting the butterflies in place. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve dressed wounds like this. Like I said, life on the road was hard. A hunter without scars was either new to the game, or…um, yeah, new to the game.

“Yeah. I’m freaking irresistible, aren’t I?”

He chuckled. It was a rich, low rumble that sent a ripple of awareness down my spine. I dropped my head a little, hiding behind the curtain of my hair. There was no way he was going to be interested, and after a were attack, probably wouldn’t welcome knowing how hot I thought he was. Life was a bitch, and then you died.

Fuck it. What did I have to lose? And, besides, I think we already established I’m not the sort of chick to take the sensible option.

“Honest answer?”

I didn’t look at him as I considered my handiwork. I’ve always been a neat hand with a needle, all that practice stitching up my mother as a kid. I was nine before I realised “needlepoint” mean stitching on fabric.

“I wouldn’t kick you outta bed.”