lodge. “It won’t come to that. There’s no way he’ll get a majority vote of guilty.”
I wanted to believe him. I really did. Uncle Rick was definitely on my side, and Malone definitely was not. Blackwell was the swing vote. My life depended on convincing the stubborn old crow that I had value as something other than a walking incubator.
Inside, I set Carver’s bag by the door, and Uncle Rick stepped forward with a glass of sweet tea for the doctor, who didn’t drink coffee. “Good to see you, Danny.”
Dr. Carver returned the greeting, and several more, as everyone was reacquainted with the south-central Pride’s resident physician.
By profession, Dr. Carver was chief medical examiner for the state of Oklahoma, which led to all the usual jokes about him “carving” up dead bodies. As always, the doc laughed the remarks off, then he looked around for Malone. “My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon, gentlemen. So, shall we get started?”
Malone cleared his throat and glanced at me, anger flickering across his expression before his gaze settled again on the doctor. “First, I wonder if you’d take a look at my boy. And Paul’s new enforcer, too.”
“Oh?” Carver’s brow rose in interest. “You’ve had some excitement?”
“Brett met with a stray in cat form,” Malone held out onearm to indicate the open front bedroom. “And Colin met with Faythe’s fist.”
I flinched as Dr. Carver’s head swiveled in my direction. “He was trying to stop me from going after Brett.”
Carver’s mouth curved into a grin, and my own smile answered his. “Okay, let’s see what we have.”
The doc started with Brett, pulling back first the blankets, then the huge bandages covering the young tom’s stomach wounds. Air hissed as I inhaled through clenched teeth. Somehow, the wounds looked worse clean and bare than they had hidden by blood.
Brett had four deep, curved gouges across his stomach, tapering to an end below his navel, just above the waistband of his ruined jeans. Someone had cut his shirt off, but left his pants, so the entire room reeked of the blood saturating them.
After carefully examining Brett’s injury, Dr. Carver asked Jace to fetch his medical supplies from the backseat of the rented car. While Jace was gone, the doctor knelt to examine the purple swelling on the right side of Colin’s jaw. Then he gently turned Colin’s head to get a look at the massively swollen lump on the back, where he’d hit the counter. Colin moaned, and settled back into silence.
Dr. Carver glanced up at me. “What happened?”
“I hit him with a left hook, and he fell back and hit the counter.” I crossed my arms over my chest in an unconscious defensive posture.
The doctor turned for a second look at Colin as Jace slipped into the room carrying a large vinyl first-aid kit. “Well, he definitely has a concussion, but it looks like Colin could wake up anytime. When he does, he’ll have a hell of a headache. Give him an ice pack and some Tylenol.” Carver smiled at me, and his eye twitched, like he wanted to wink.
I barely resisted a smile.
Tylenol wouldn’t do a thing for a werecat’s pain. We metabolize it too fast. But the good doctor wasn’t going to give Colin anything stronger because the Nordic asshole didn’t deserve it.
“That’s it?” Blackwell frowned.
Carver’s smile broadened. “Time is the best medicine for a wound like this. And if you ask me, you should all be thanking Faythe.” His eyes settled on Malone, who only scowled.
“Why is that?”
“Because Colin’s going to wake up wishing he were dead. But if he’d stopped her from killing that stray, your son would never wake up at all. Now, let’s clear the room so I can sew this poor kid up.”
As we filed out of the bedroom, Michael stepped through the front door, carrying a yellow legal pad covered in notes. “Well?” My father asked as I snagged a leftover piece of ham from the plate I’d left on the coffee
I wanted to believe him. I really did. Uncle Rick was definitely on my side, and Malone definitely was not. Blackwell was the swing vote. My life depended on convincing the stubborn old crow that I had value as something other than a walking incubator.
Inside, I set Carver’s bag by the door, and Uncle Rick stepped forward with a glass of sweet tea for the doctor, who didn’t drink coffee. “Good to see you, Danny.”
Dr. Carver returned the greeting, and several more, as everyone was reacquainted with the south-central Pride’s resident physician.
By profession, Dr. Carver was chief medical examiner for the state of Oklahoma, which led to all the usual jokes about him “carving” up dead bodies. As always, the doc laughed the remarks off, then he looked around for Malone. “My flight leaves tomorrow afternoon, gentlemen. So, shall we get started?”
Malone cleared his throat and glanced at me, anger flickering across his expression before his gaze settled again on the doctor. “First, I wonder if you’d take a look at my boy. And Paul’s new enforcer, too.”
“Oh?” Carver’s brow rose in interest. “You’ve had some excitement?”
“Brett met with a stray in cat form,” Malone held out onearm to indicate the open front bedroom. “And Colin met with Faythe’s fist.”
I flinched as Dr. Carver’s head swiveled in my direction. “He was trying to stop me from going after Brett.”
Carver’s mouth curved into a grin, and my own smile answered his. “Okay, let’s see what we have.”
The doc started with Brett, pulling back first the blankets, then the huge bandages covering the young tom’s stomach wounds. Air hissed as I inhaled through clenched teeth. Somehow, the wounds looked worse clean and bare than they had hidden by blood.
Brett had four deep, curved gouges across his stomach, tapering to an end below his navel, just above the waistband of his ruined jeans. Someone had cut his shirt off, but left his pants, so the entire room reeked of the blood saturating them.
After carefully examining Brett’s injury, Dr. Carver asked Jace to fetch his medical supplies from the backseat of the rented car. While Jace was gone, the doctor knelt to examine the purple swelling on the right side of Colin’s jaw. Then he gently turned Colin’s head to get a look at the massively swollen lump on the back, where he’d hit the counter. Colin moaned, and settled back into silence.
Dr. Carver glanced up at me. “What happened?”
“I hit him with a left hook, and he fell back and hit the counter.” I crossed my arms over my chest in an unconscious defensive posture.
The doctor turned for a second look at Colin as Jace slipped into the room carrying a large vinyl first-aid kit. “Well, he definitely has a concussion, but it looks like Colin could wake up anytime. When he does, he’ll have a hell of a headache. Give him an ice pack and some Tylenol.” Carver smiled at me, and his eye twitched, like he wanted to wink.
I barely resisted a smile.
Tylenol wouldn’t do a thing for a werecat’s pain. We metabolize it too fast. But the good doctor wasn’t going to give Colin anything stronger because the Nordic asshole didn’t deserve it.
“That’s it?” Blackwell frowned.
Carver’s smile broadened. “Time is the best medicine for a wound like this. And if you ask me, you should all be thanking Faythe.” His eyes settled on Malone, who only scowled.
“Why is that?”
“Because Colin’s going to wake up wishing he were dead. But if he’d stopped her from killing that stray, your son would never wake up at all. Now, let’s clear the room so I can sew this poor kid up.”
As we filed out of the bedroom, Michael stepped through the front door, carrying a yellow legal pad covered in notes. “Well?” My father asked as I snagged a leftover piece of ham from the plate I’d left on the coffee
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