SKIN (WATTYS UNDISCOVERED GEM)

Chapter Thirteen: Promises We Can't Keep

AN

Revised

I hope you guys don't think this will be that cliche book where Schuyler is like: Oh my gosh, I'm getting kidnapped! Oh my gosh, this guy is getting all up on me. Ew, Lennox! Lennox I can't do anything for myself, help! Help me! Like...-.- She isn't even going to get kidnapped guys, God, hell no.

SONG ON THE SIDE: is what the second book's theme is. For the first chapter. I've been writing the second book actually a lot this past month- I have about two chapters on it right now, so that's why it's been so slow.

Pay attention this chapter; read the foreshadowing, look for foreshadow.

Forgive me this is boring, but I tried.

There is dirt dug into the dry cracks of his hands, stuck into the pillars of his fingernails, and caking over with the dried clusters of blood that are beginning to crack as he stretches his knuckles.

"You idiot," Quin whispers; a wash rag is just barely dabbing at his shoulder, where he swears it wouldn't hurt half as bad if she hadn't doused her rag in Dawn soap.

Lennox just grumbles, pissed.

"Were you asking to die, or were you just testing God and seeing how badly he wants you to stay down on Earth for as long as possible, child?"

He grits his teeth at that, not rolling his eyes because he doesn't want Quin to hit him when she sees his little flick of eyes that will cause a rolled up newspaper to slam the back of his head.

"And, hold still, you just couldn't look across the street could you? You knew you were right beside a busy road- but instead, you, not just once or twice, or even three times, but for the hundredth and seventy secondth time, I've been counting, you let your primal instincts take control instead of this thing we like to call common sense," Quin squeezes at the tapered skin of his shoulder, he barely flinches. He's felt worse, but the sting is still there.

Werewolf or not, being hit by a semi truck is going to keep you down for a few hours.

"It was Seely," Lennox mutters, as if it is actually an answer. It's not- at least not for Quin.

"This, that, Seely, you, me, Seely. All that ever comes out of your mouth is that name, and we still haven't got the slightest idea who this man is," Quin replies to him, she reaches beside Lennox, who is sitting on the counter, to grab a bottle of whiskey. It's opened with the quick fingers of Quin, and she doesn't hestitate to douse his wound with it until it's sopping wet and feeling like a sizzle is running up and down his arms.

His jaw ticks as he tries not to think about how Quin had shooed the pack doctor away after she confirmed he was alright, and took out her own medical supplies to help him heal. Which happened to be a sharp tongue that was quick-witted enough to make him feel like he was getting whiplash; a bottle of cheap whiskey; some dental floss, her very own needle from the sewing kit he gifted her two Christmases ago; a wet rag that was ripped from an old t-shirt; and a bottle of coconut scented Dawn soap.

He feels bad for the days a nine year old Giles would get scratched and more than likely get the same treatment on a weekly basis.

Now, the burden is shared between the two men.

Except, the second man is yowling away on the couch as his arm sets in-between two boards and old hay wire. His left arm was restitching itself back together again, and he was on a mission to let everyone in a mile radius know it.

"Could'a killed yourself, could'a killed Giles- idiots. Both of you, I don't know what I did wrong, but I did something," Quin growls as Lennox tries to snap his shoulder away as she pokes her whiskey-dipped-needle into his skin and threads it through the healing wound.