So far, so good.
“The wounds in your abdomen are a bit more serious, but at a glance they don’t seem to have ruptured any organs. Of course, I’ll want to keep an eye on you to make sure. And the tears coming from the puncture wounds sliced through the skin pretty good, but I don’t think they’ve gone past the muscle. I’d say you’re damn lucky. I don’t think there will be any permanent damage.”
The forest itself seemed to sigh, and it took me a moment to realize I was actually hearing the men around me exhale in unison.
“Don’t get me wrong.” Dr. Carver frowned down at me. “It’s going to hurt for a while. You’ll need to be still for at least twenty-four hours, then Shift as soon as possible after that to speed up the healing. It won’t be fun, but that’s better than lying around here for the next month, wincing every time you laugh.”
“I can handle it, Doc.”
His frown eased. “I’m sure you can.” His gaze rose to meet my father’s. “Let’s get her out of here so I can sew her up.”
Lucas offered to carry me, and Jace wanted to Shift back and help, but Marc wouldn’t let either of them near me. He carried me cradled in his arms all the way back through the forest to the lodge, then another quarter mile to our cabin. I winced with every step, finally burying my head in his neck for the comfort of his smell. Marc nuzzled the top of my head with his chin, which did more to ease my pain than anything Dr. Carver could give me.
Lucas walked behind us, the unconscious stray tossed over his shoulder like a sack of feed. Dr. Carver said he’d be out for hours, based on the dose I’d given him of…whatever Malone had loaded in those syringes, which was evidently much stronger than what I’d been shot up with in the past. And the very thought of how long I would have been unconscious on such a dose, considering how much smaller I was than the stray, was enough to make me sick to my poor, abused stomach.
When we got to our cabin, Marc placed me gently on the shiny green-blanketed bed in the room I’d claimed. He found a pair of scissors in the kitchen and cut the rest of my shirt off, then propped my head up with an extra pillow from his own room—I could tell because it smelled like him. He was doing his best to make me comfortable, and even though fire lanced my stomach with each breath, I was much too happy to have him touching me to ruin it by complaining, even about the pain.