I need to leave.
Facing Corey, I say, “Bring him down when he’s ready.” Then without so much as a glance at Morgan, I carefully pull my claws out and leave.
I still hear the grumbled, “What a fucking wanker,” as I walk down the hallway.
“I changedhis dressings before he got dressed,” Corey says as we watch Morgan walk gingerly across the yard to greet his friend. “Taped them up and told him not to mess with them. Hopefully he won’t be tempted to take a look before we can get those stitches out.”
“How healed is he?” I watch Ash get out of the car and give Morgan a thorough once-over like he’s checking to make sure he’s in one piece.
“There’ll be scarring,” he says softly. “Even my blood isn’t that good.”
My wolf bristles, but I ignore it.
So does Corey, because Iknowhe noticed. “But the wounds look about a week old, not a few days.” He glances at Morgan. “He’s probably good to go home, as long as we take the stitches out first.” With that, he leaves me and heads back upstairs.
Callum joins me on the steps outside the front of the house, where Flint and Jet already lean against the wall.
Ash eyes us warily as he waits for Morgan to reach him. As soon he gets close enough, Ash hisses, “What the fuck happened?” He reaches for Morgan, then drops his hands like he doesn’t know what to do.
Morgan winces. “Came off my bike.”
His wounds might have healed quicker than expected, but Morgan still walks with a kind of shuffle-limp. I don’t know if that’s the stitches pulling or if his wounds aren’t healed internally as much as we thought. Either way, it helps sell our lie.
Ash’s flat-out glaring at us now, even though I can smell the fear rolling off him.
“I like him,” Flint murmurs, but we all hear him. Callum gives him a withering look, but my gaze is fixed on Morgan.
On the way Ash finally pulls him into a careful hug. My lip curls until Callum elbows me.
“Are you hurt?” Ash whispers, letting Morgan go so he can see his face.
I wish I could see it, but I only get the back view as he shrugs a shoulder.
“Little bit.”
Jet snorts.
“Where?”
“Got some scrapes on the back of my legs and my stomach.” He shrugs once more, like it’s no big deal.
Ash glares at us again, like somehow we caused it, then steps in close. He drops his voice to a whisper, thinking it gives them privacy. “Did you really come off your bike? Or was it them?”
Callum tenses beside me.
Lie or truth? I wonder which way Morgan’ll go when he thinks we can’t hear.
“It wasn’t them,” he says after a beat.
Truth, then. Just not all of it.
But either Ash is not stupid or whatever’s on Morgan’s face right now answers the rest of his question. “Who, then?”
“Not here,” Morgan whispers.
“What the fuck is going on, Mor?”
Morgan shakes his head. “You need to leave and go home.”
