His chest hurt, and his body ached. God his head was pounding. He felt a hand brush his hair and slowly opened his eyes to see Flex staring down at him. “What?” Prescott croaked out. Jesus. “You’re safe now. We’re in Mission Territory.” Flex bit his lower lip. “I’m sorry. If we hadn’t gotten help...” Flex shook his head and didn’t go on. Prescott tried to recall what happened. His brain was sluggish in catching up. They were traveling to Mission, went for a swim and...oh. Oh shit. “Are you okay?” Prescott scanned Flex’s arms and noticed several angry, long, thin open wounds. “I’m fine. They’ll heal. Just worried about you.” Flex leaned over and kissed Prescott’s hand, which he was holding. “I can survive venom bites and stings.” Prescott was anti-venom. It was in his genetic makeup to be able to resist venom.
