With eyes glued to the Cadet, Daniel turned his head just enough to speak over his shoulder. “Does he normally get this bad?”
“I’ve never seen him drunk before,” Cory admitted. “We were never allowed off base to drink.”
Daniel sighed and reached for him again. Hector lurched forward without warning, his mouth stretching wide before his teeth sank into Daniel’s shoulder. A cry tore out of Daniel as Hector clamped down, his jaw locking hard enough to draw blood. Daniel reacted on instinct, driving his elbow back into Hector’s face. The impact snapped Hector away with a wet crunch, blood bursting from his nose as he staggered.
Daniel pulled at his sleeve, fabric stretching as he exposed the wound beneath. A dozen puncture marks bloomed across his skin already bruising, each one swelling with a bead of blood. Hector smirked, lips slick and red, a sick, drunken laugh bubbling out of him.
“Get him upstairs.” Daniel growled. “Sober him up.”
Understandably, Cory and Arron hesitated when moving forward to each hook an arm beneath the drunken man’s shoulders. Wary of Hector’s mouth, they hauled him upright. He laughed as they dragged him toward the stone stairs, his slurred threats dissolving into the air as they continued into the shadows, one sloppy step at a time.
Behind where I stood with Kora and Gracie, glass crunched under Daniel’s boots. He nudged the shards aside, the spilled liquor clinging to the sole like glue. He crossed to the wooden cupboard in the corner, twisted the key, and wrenched the door open. I jumped out of the way when he began ripping every cleaning item imaginable from the narrow shelves and discarded them onto the floor in a sharp, rattling cascade.
Then he reached for the alcohol. One by one, he shoved the bottles onto the shelf until they were hidden from view. He slammed the door shut, locked it, and pressed the key into Gracie’s palm.
“No one gets in here,” he said. “Especially Hector.”
“But what if he comes after me for the key?” Gracie’s eyes grew wide.
“He doesn’t know you have it,” Daniel said, his eyes scanning over both Kora and me. We nodded in understanding. “I’ll clean this up. Make sure Hector didn’t lash out at any of the others. The last thing we need is people scared of what’s outdoors and indoors.”
Kora eyed the trails of blood dripping from the man’s sleeve. “Your arm–”
“I’ll take care of it,” was all he said.
Kora’s lips grew small, but she offered no challenge on the matter. She motioned for Gracie to follow her as they moved delicately over the fractured remains of Hector’s chosen poison. I remained, looking around at the mess, unsure where to start. The events of the day had been quite unenjoyable.
“You don’t have to stay.” Daniel’s voice was unnaturally cold. “I can clean this up on my own.”
With a step toward him, I softly muttered, “Let me look at your arm first, at least.”
Daniel tensed as I went to roll up his sleeve. His lips curled as the fabric grazed over the indents. He kept his eyes turned from mine, denying me the courtesy of at least speculating how he felt.
“I’ll need to get antiseptic and bandages from Kora–”
“Don’t bother.”
He took a step back, allowing enough space for him to remove his shirt without his arms smacking me in the process. Without shame, I took the opportunity to admire his form. The muscles in his arms flexed as he ripped the shirt into shreds.
“I doubt the United States military would allow diseased people in their program. Safe to assume he’s had all his shots.” Daniel huffed with each rip, then paused to cast me a wry expression. “I’m sure I’ll live.”
Picking up the neck of the broken bottle next, he poured what little alcohol was left onto one of the strips. He hissed as he brought the damp cloth over the bite. Daniel held another strip out to me with the command, “Tie it. Tight.”
Doing as he instructed, I wrapped the shirt under his arm and over the bite. I layered it twice before twisting the two ends together and pulling them into a knot. The corners of Daniel’s eyes twitched.
“What’s your favorite alcoholic beverage?” My voice was soft, wary almost.
Daniel’s expression softened, his eyes finally meeting mine. “Orange Irish Mule,” he said. “Yours?”
“I’ve never drank before.”
Daniel’s thumb and forefinger caressed my chin. “It’s not a good habit to get into,” he said, leaving a soft kiss on the temple of my forehead. “Not a good habit at all.”