“There’s no such thing.” I shivered as he slid the cold lower scissors blade beneath the bloody sleeve of the T-shirt he’d lent me. Since we’d have to destroy the clothes anyway, to keep viable blood samples from ever being used against me, it was easier to just cut the shirt off and avoid moving my injured arm any more than necessary. “And anyway, we tore his place apart looking for first-aid supplies. Did you see anything that even resembled drug paraphernalia?”

Cam frowned as he cut my sleeve up the outside, clear through to the collar, careful not to snag the fresh bandage. Or touch me, which was somehow both a relief and a severe disappointment.

“So he doesn’t shoot up there.” Cam shrugged. “Or maybe it’s not heroin. Maybe those are from his hospital visit. Allergy shots, or insulin. Maybe that’s why he goes to the public hospital.”

My ruined sleeve flopped forward, and I clutched the material to my chest, acutely aware how close Cam was, and how fully dressed he wasn’t. “You don’t go to the hospital for allergies unless you’re in anaphylactic shock, and if you’re that allergic to something, you keep one of those adrenaline needle pens on you all the time.” You’d think someone whose first-aid kit could supply a small country would know that. “But Hunter doesn’t have anything like that. Also, allergy shots go in your upper arm. Insulin can be given in your upper arm, stomach, hip or thigh, but not in the crook of your elbow.”

Cam frowned at me in the mirror as he moved to my other side. “How the hell do you know all that?”

“I have a television and I pay attention. How do you not know?”

“No time for TV.” He cut up the side of my right sleeve, quicker this time, since there was no bandage to work around. “You’re reading too much into the damn track marks, Liv. Maybe he just donated blood.”

My right sleeve parted down the middle and peeled back in either direction, leaving me to clasp the top of the shirt to my chest. Which was kind of pointless, considering he was about to cut the rest of the material off anyway. “No way,” I insisted, as Cam squatted next to me and took the hem of my T-shirt in one hand. Skilled people can’t donate blood. It’s a shame, from the perspective of the medical community, but a necessity from any other angle. We can’t risk leaving even drops of our blood lying around—imagine what entire bags of it in the wrong hands could do?

Samples of it could be distributed to an entire army of Trackers, who could find you in no time. That much fresh blood would give even a mediocre Binder the ability to bind you against your will, at least temporarily. You could be compelled to do just about anything.

“You said it yourself—he’s not Skilled.” Cam cut up the right side of my shirt, and I shivered as the dull side of the cold lower blade brushed my side. “And he clearly has no idea what can be done with a drop of blood.”

“But he was Skilled,” I insisted, as he lifted my good arm for better access to the material. And that’s when the epiphany hit me, like a bolt of lightning straight to the brain, and suddenly the whole thing made horrifying, earthshaking sense. “Holy shit.” I grabbed Cam’s chin, rough with pale stubble, and lifted his head to force eye contact. “What if he wasn’t giving blood? What if he was getting it, instead?”

He blinked in surprise and the scissors went still against my skin, but he made no move to pull his chin from my hand. “Liv, he looked like a human pincushion. That adds up to a lot of blood transfusions, and he dids

“He’s not sick.” I let go of his face, but Cam’s gaze never left mine. “He’s not Skilled, either. But a few hours ago he was. And a few hours before that, he was even more Skilled—before the power began fading from his blood….”

It took a second for my implication to sink in, but when it did, he sat down on the bathroom tile, stunned, leaving the last couple of inches of my shirt unclipped. “No, that can’t be right.” The scissors clattered to the floor and he stared up at me. “Is that even possible? Gaining Skills from a blood transfusion?”

“I don’t know.” I’d certainly never heard of it. “But that’s the only thing that explains the dropping Skill levels in his blood. That’s what would happen as the new blood cells die out or are absorbed by his body.”

Cam picked the scissors up again and lifted my arm to snip the last bit of material. “So it doesn’t last.”

“Which would explain the whole pincushion-arm thing.” With my good hand, I pulled the T-shirt off and dropped it into the bathtub with the other bloody materials, and I was then nude from the waist up, except for my bra. “You’d have to keep doing it over and over to maintain the Skill.”

“No wonder he didn’t know better than to leave viable blood all over the place—he’s new at this.” Cam stood. “Fortunately, we’re not.” He gave me an efficient once-over, and I was suddenly very aware that I was half-naked. And that he didn’t seem to have noticed. “Your bra and jeans have been compromised. Throw them in the tub, and you can wipe the blood off your skin with these.” He held up a packet of antibacterial wipes.

“My bra and jeans are compromised? So…what? They agreed to share and play nice?”

Cam’s mouth twitched in an almost-grin. “You know what I mean.” He set the wipes on the counter. “I’ll find something else for you to wear.” Then he was gone, and I was alone in the bathroom, trying not to be offended by the fact that his gaze hadn’t lingered.