ChapterTwenty-Two
“Stop! Get on the ground!” Taneesha yelled. From the place where Laina landed, with her cheek pressed to the grass, she watched the security guard draw her gun on the shooter. Taneesha’s partner rushed the man and bound his hands behind his back.
With the wind knocked out of her, Laina struggled to draw tiny sips of air into her lungs. Meanwhile, Milo barked furiously toward the gate. Intense pain radiated from her shoulder, causing waves of nausea to pitch her onto her side.
“Fuck, Laina, you’re hit!” Kyle pulled her into his arms. “We need to get you help.”
She didn’t have the breath to argue. With a hand pressed to her shoulder, she thanked the goddess that the bullet hadn’t pierced any internal organs but cursed when she realized it hadn’t passed all the way through. As a shifter, she’d heal quickly once the bullet was out. Every moment it stayed inside her flesh, though, would cause torment as her body attempted to heal around it.
Her gaze darted toward the gatehouse. Some of the picketers had cell phones pointed in her direction. She gripped Kyle’s shirt and positioned her face against his chest. He narrowed his eyes, seeming to understand her need to protect her identity.
In one motion, Kyle swept her into his arms and stood up, keeping his back to the gate. He walked her to the house at a steady clip, Milo trotting behind. The mastiff whined occasionally and poked her hand with his giant wet nose.
“When we get back to the house, I’ll call my personal physician. He’s signed a nondisclosure.”
“No,” she rasped, shaking her head. “Get Jason. He’ll know what to do.”
Gerty opened the door for them. “Should I call 9-1-1, Kyle?”
“No. Find my brother. I need Jason,” Laina insisted. “Take me to my room.”
The grimace on Kyle’s face told her he wasn’t happy about it, but he dutifully obeyed. When he tried to set her on the bed, she squeezed his arm. “No. The tub. Too much blood.”
“Exactly. Too much blood. Now, will you let me call someone?” He lowered her into the tub and carefully helped her out of her jacket. She stopped him when he reached for her T-shirt.
Jason appeared over Kyle’s shoulder with the trauma kit from her bag. She always carried one. When you became a wolf once a month, accidents happened. Bites and abrasions were par for the course, and as a vet, she had the know-how to treat pack injuries. “You’ll need this, sister.” He handed her a pair of scissors.
Laina cut away the section of T-shirt over the wound. “Forceps,” she said to Jason.
“Which forceps?” Jason asked.
“The ones that look like extra-long tweezers. The longest ones.” He held up a pair, still in their sanitary packaging. “Yep, those. Try to hand them to me using the wrapper.”
Like a pro, he pulled the packaging back, touching only the paper and plastic. She tugged the instrument out and tucked in her chin to try to better see the wound. Gritting her teeth, she dug the tips of the forceps into the entry point. Kyle grunted. When she glanced up, he was three shades whiter and unsteady on his feet.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he asked.
Jason rested a hand on his shoulder. “Relax, Kyle. She’s done this before. If you need to leave the room, it’s okay.”
“Jason, hold up the hand mirror for me,” Laina said.
Kyle knocked Jason’s hand out of the way and grabbed the mirror, taking a seat on the side of the tub. Laina guided his hand until the mirror was in the right position. As she suspected, her body had already started to heal around the bullet. Fuck, this was going to hurt. She’d have to break through the flesh to get to it. “Now or never,” she murmured, then used her opposite hand to pound the forceps deeper into her wound.
She grunted, but it was Kyle who yelled as if she’d stabbed him.
Jason snorted. “I don’t suppose that felt like the nudge of a soft kitten.”
Kyle gave him an openmouthed scowl.
“Just about…” she said as she maneuvered inside the wound, listening for the metal on metal scrape. “Got it!” Clenching the bullet between the tips of her forceps, she yanked. The small piece of metal slipped from her grip as it exited her flesh and chinked against the side of the tub. Its exit was followed by a spurt of blood that splattered the knee of Kyle’s pants.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
His jaw dropped, and he ran a hand over his face.
“Jason, the suture kit.” She pointed toward the trauma bag.
He pulled it from the kit, donning a pair of gloves to thread the needle for her without being asked. “Maybe I should do the stitches,” Jason said.
