When we finally come to a stop, there’s dust and leaves everywhere. My ears are ringing.
His talon opens. I tumble out onto the ground, landing hard on my side.
For a moment, I just lie there, gasping. Then I check myself for injuries. My ankle throbs a little, but it will be okay. I’ve got scrapes and bruises, but nothing’s broken.
I force myself to sit up.
Grim shifts back to human form. He is on his side and unconscious. I realize in moments that the damage to him is worse than I than my original assessment.
Burns cover his entire back, from his shoulders down to his waist. The skin is angry red and blistered in some places. In others, it’s charred black. His left shoulder and arm are just as bad. The burns extend down to his elbow.
But that’s not all.
There’s so much blood.
Two gunshot wounds that I can see. One in his right thigh. Another on his left side, just above his hip.
The thigh wound is bad. It must have hit the femoral artery or come close to it because blood is pumping out steadily.
I need to apply direct pressure and elevate it, if possible. Then I’ll monitor for signs of hypovolemic shock.
The gunshot wound in his side is bleeding too, but not as profusely. It looks like it might have tracked through soft tissue without hitting anything vital. But I can’t be sure without imaging.
I don’t have anything. Not a damned thing. No equipment, no oxygen or medication.
The burns are extensive.
He needs fluids, pain management, burn treatment, antibiotics, and blood.
He needs a hospital, but we can’t go to a hospital. They’d arrest us the second we walked through the door.
I dial Drake’s number, trying hard to stay calm.
It rings once. Twice.
“Come on, come on,” I mutter.
“Grim?” Drake asks. “What’s—”
“Drake, we need you,” I cut him off. My voice cracks. “We’re at the meeting place. Grim is hurt. Really badly hurt. You need to come right now. He needs medical help. I think he’s dying.” My voice hitches, and a tear tracks down my cheek.
“Listen to me carefully,” Drake says. “Dragon shifters don’t die easily.”
“He’s been shot twice. One of the wounds is actively bleeding. I can’t see an exit wound. He’s burned really badly.” I cry some more, but my voice stays steady.
“He’s going to be fine.” Drake is adamant.
I look down at Grim. His face is pale. His breathing is shallow and rapid.
“He’s in shock from blood loss. Possibly combined with neurogenic shock from the pain. He’s dying.” I make a sobbing noise. “And there’s nothing I can do to help him.”
“He’s stronger than you think. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Sit tight.”
The line goes dead.
I’m a nurse, which means I’ve trained for this.
I can do this.
