Behind my father, two dark, furred forms stepped into the clearing—extra security, in case we ran into more trouble on the way back. The first I recognized as Paul Blackwell’s grandson, and the second was…
Uncle Rick! I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him in cat form, but he’d come along as a public show of support for me, as much for Malone’s sake as for mine. But that didn’t matter. An Alpha doesn’t play security guard for just anyone. I was honored, in spite of the fire enveloping my stomach.
My cousin Lucas followed his father out of the brush, towering over everyone, including Dr. Carver, who carried his first-aid bag in both hands. His eyes widened as he took in first the unconscious stray, then me.
All business now, he dropped to the ground at my side, pushing my father over without so much as an “Excuse me.” Daddy moved without argument, and I was pleased to see that an M.D. trumped Alpha status in an emergency. Good to know.
Dr. Carver set his bag down, then carefully peeled Marc’s ruined shirt away from my stomach and dropped it into a plastic bag Lucas held ready. Then he took the bottom of my T-shirt in both hands and lifted it gently. I sucked in air through clenched teeth as the material tugged at my open wounds. When the injury was exposed, the doc ripped my shirt open from hem to collar. It tore easily, if not neatly—even in human form werecats are very strong—and suddenly my entire torso was exposed, bloody wounds, scarlet-stained bra, and all.
Marc winced, and Jace whined over the state of my stomach. But no one even blinked at the partial nudity. We saw each other naked all the time, because Shifting with clothes on would have been ridiculous, not to mention expensive after a while.
Marc’s face reflected my own fear and horror, and I didn’t need any more of that, so I tilted my head to look at my father instead. His jaw was clenched tight, like mine, and I couldn’t help wondering what his was holding back. He smiled when he noticed me watching him. “You’re going to be fine.” He nodded, as if to convince himself. “It doesn’t look that bad.”
I flinched as Dr. Carver began mopping up the blood gently, and breathed a sigh of relief when he held my still-there navel ring to clean around it. But I never took my eyes off my father. “Where’d you get your medical degree?”
Daddy laughed hoarsely as Dr. Carver sat back on his haunches, drawing my attention. “Actually, he’s right. You’ve got four puncture wounds in the chest—I’m guessing claws?” I nodded, and he continued. “I’m sure they hurt, but they’re shallow and don’t appear to have done any real damage.”