“He just said to turn off the security and right now.” Faith moved to the window to watch as well. “He sounded stressed.”

Well, yeah. They’d just fought a battle. Of course he sounded stressed. That didn’t mean anything had gone wrong. Grace hugged herself, mumbling a prayer that had come back from her childhood.

A dented blue truck, low and small, came into view, spinning snow as it bumped over the ground. It slid to a stop in front of the door. Grace ran over and opened the door, running out to the front porch with Faith on her heels, both of them sliding across the wood decking.

Ronan leaped out of the driver’s seat and yanked a still form toward him, ducking and lifting before hustling around the car.

“Adare?” Grace said, her chest hurting. He was slung over Ronan’s shoulder, his body limp and blood dripping onto the snow as they moved.

Ronan’s face was a grim mask as he maneuvered up the steps and into the cabin, flipping Adare over onto his back on the oversized sofa. “He passed out about an hour ago and won’t awaken, and he’s not healing himself while sleeping.” Ronan wiped dried blood off his forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

Faith ran back into the kitchen.

Grace hurried around the sofa to the table, reaching out to push Adare’s hair away from his bloodied face. More blood poured from his head, arm, and leg, pooling on the sofa in bright red. “Adare?” Her voice shook.

Faith hustled back in with supplies in her hands. “We need to stem the blood if he can’t heal himself. Was he knocked out by a head shot?” She handed Grace scissors. “Cut away his shirt and pants while I examine his head.”

Ronan stood by the end of the sofa, his face cut into harsh lines. “I don’t think so. He was hit several times, but he was off all day. I think he just passed out.” Ronan reached down and pulled off Adare’s boots, grunting as he did so. “He can’t take blood while he’s unconscious, so we might need to give it to him intravenously. Do we have any medical equipment for that? We’ve never needed it before.”

Faith finished examining Adare’s head, which looked enormous in her slender hands. “He’s been cut and has bruises, but no bullet or knife wounds to his skull. Although he has a cut above his eye, probably from shrapnel.” She sat back, pursing her lips. “He should not be unconscious from these injuries.”

Grace finished cutting away his jeans, fighting not to vomit at the damage to his leg. “It’s because we mated. Right?” She knew it.