Carver grinned. He was almost always in good spirits, no matter who he was sewing up—or cutting apart. In his day job, Dr. Danny Carver was a medical examiner for the state of Oklahoma. He spent more time with dead people than with live ones. “Give it a couple more weeks, then we’ll cut it off and let you try Shifting.”

“We don’t have a couple of weeks, Doc.” I stopped in the hall, and he had to stop with me to maintain eye contact. “We’re going after Malone in three days.” I whispered the last part, because I wasn’t sure how much of our battle plans Blackwell had overheard. Or whether we could trust him, even with the investigation he was initiating against Malone.

Dr. Carver frowned and glanced at the heavily decorated cast I held up. “You may have to fight in a cast, then. It’ll protect your arm better, anyway.”

“But I can’t Shift in a cast. I’ll be stuck in human form.”

Carver shrugged and tightened his grip on his medical supply bag. “We could cut it off and let you Shift several times, but a broken bone isn’t like a laceration, or even a torn rotator cuff.” Both of which I’d suffered in the line of duty. “They take longer to heal, and if you don’t heal properly, the damage could be permanent. And Shifting before broken bones have at least half healed hurts unlike anything you’ve ever felt. Just ask Marc.”

I glanced at Marc, not surprised to see him nodding. He’d gotten several broken ribs at the same time I broke my arm. A chest couldn’t be casted, so he’d been Shifting twice a day for the past week, and his ribs were only just returning to normal.

“So, what does that mean for Charlie?” I asked as we moved toward Owen’s room.

“Let’s see how bad it is.…”

My dad and Vic followed the doc into our makeshift triage center, but I headed into the kitchen instead, and Marc followed me. “What’s wrong?” he asked as I poured the last of the coffee into my favorite mug. I raised both brows, and his head bobbed in concession. “Okay, everything’s wrong. But specifically?”

“This.” I set my mug on the counter and held up my casted arm. “We’re days away from going full scale against Malone, and in the meantime, we’re under fire from above. And I’m about as useful as a three-legged dog.”

“You’re much more useful than any kind of dog, mi vida.” Marc purred and pressed me into the counter, his hands on my hips. I couldn’t resist a smile. I was a real sucker for Spanish.

Except when he was yelling it at me.

I kissed him, and my arms went around his waist, my good hand splaying against his back. Feeling the restrained power, and loving it.

“Better?” he asked when we came up for air.

“A little.” I sighed. “I just want to fight.”

He grinned. “I love that in a woman.”