The nurse tried over and over, but nothing worked. In the end, she had no choice but to call in the army doctor.
“We can’t do anything like this,” she said, frustration clear in her voice. “Her clothes just won’t come off.”
The doctor looked at the woman curled up on the bed and let out a heavy sigh. “She just got out of that hellhole. She’s probably seriously traumatized—might even have PTSD.”
“If she’s not ready, don’t force her. Let’s wait until her family arrives,” someone suggested.
James arrived as fast as he could, breathless, just as the clock hit nine. He pushed open the door and froze.
Emmy was curled tight on the bed, still out cold, her face twisted in pain. Her small body shook uncontrollably. None of her wounds had been treated. Every cut and bruise was still raw and angry, exposed to the air.
James’s heart clenched so hard he could barely breathe. The ache in his chest turned to ice as he shot a sharp look at the doctor.
The army doctor flinched. “Captain, her self-defense instinct is too strong. Even the female nurses couldn’t get close.”
“Other than scrapes and bruises, she’s going to be okay. She’s just exhausted and scared out of her mind.”
“Maybe you could help clean her up, put some ointment on her wounds, and get this IV started?” The doctor set down the medicine and IV, then practically bolted from the room.
James crossed to the window and yanked the curtains shut, blocking out the harsh morning light. He grabbed a basin, filled it with warm water, and wrung out a clean towel. Only then did he sit by her side.
He reached out, gently trying to loosen Emmy’s grip on her clothes. The second his fingers brushed her, she flinched, clutching her shirt even tighter and mumbling, “Don’t touch me…”
Her voice was so small and broken, it sounded like a kitten’s cry. It tore through all of James’s calm.
He ached for her. Unable to help himself, he leaned down and scooped her shaking body—blanket and all—into his arms, holding her close and safe.



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