Marc unwound the gauze from my arm gently, and I didn’t brave a look until it was bare.

“Oh, shit!” I whispered. I looked more like Franken-stein’s monster than the Mummy. All I need now is a bolt through my neck…

Marc rubbed my back, and I leaned into his touch. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it…neater. Hopefully there won’t be permanent muscle damage, but it’s gonna scar.”

Yes, it would. A long, jagged gash ran nearly the length of my left forearm, my swollen skin held together with suture thread and a prayer. When I held my arm parallel to the floor, the new wound resembled an erratic heartbeat on a hospital monitor. Or a small, bloodcrusted range of mountains.

I shrugged and blinked back tears. Enforcers weren’t supposed to have smooth skin, anyway, right? “Don’t worry about it. I doubt Dr. Carver could have done any better. Besides, it looks bad-ass, right?” I forced a teary smile, and Marc returned it.

“Without a doubt.”

“Figures, though. My most obvious scar is from falling through a fucking deer stand, instead of fighting some ferocious foe.”

Marc laughed. “So we make up a story. You were defending a huddle of innocent orphans from some psycho with a broken steel pipe. He caught you across the arm, right before you kicked his ass back to his padded room.” He smiled, gold specks sparkling in his eyes.

My heart melted. “I love you.” I leaned forward and kissed him.

He smiled. “I know.”

“I wanna Shift at least once before Jace gets back. Can you help?”

“Of course.” Marc held my elbow to steady me while I sank to my knees on the rough carpet. Holding my breath, I pulled my stitched left arm to my chest and tugged the towel free. It fell to the carpet, and Marc pulled it out of the way. My arm hurt, but not like it had hurt before. Closing the wound had helped, at least a little.

Careful of my broken wrist, I brushed the fingers of my right hand gently across the new stitches. My left arm felt oddly numb, with only an echo of the pain I should have felt. And the chemical smell was stronger up close.

“What’s on my arm?”

“Benzocaine,” Marc said. “It’s a topical anesthetic. Normally you shouldn’t use it on such a large area, or on an open wound. But technically yours is closed now, and I thought Shifting might be easier this way. It dulls pain in your skin, but won’t affect your muscles or movement at all.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank Jace. He got it from the convenience store next door.”

Oh.

“Okay, I’m ready.” Except that I couldn’t support weight with my broken wrist. “Crap. Suggestions?”

“On your side.” Marc shrugged. “It’s awkward, but it’ll work. I had to do that after I broke my arm a couple of years ago. Of course, I wore the cast for three weeks first.…”

I stared at him in surprise. “You broke your arm?”