Chapter 18

We hurried down the eastern corridor toward the medical wing, our footsteps striking hard on the polished hardwood floors.

Beside me, Draven clicked his tongue softly, a nervous habit I hadn't heard in years. 

The medical room doors finally came into view, and I shoved through them without slowing down. Beta Monica Shae was already waiting for us, moving across the room with brisk strides as I carefully lowered Raymond onto the bed. 

Her long black hair was twisted into a neat braided bun, and her blue eyes sharp behind thin-framed glasses. The second Raymond hit the mattress, whatever softness might have been in her expression disappeared. She slipped a penlight from the pocket of her white coat and immediately went to work.

She checked his pupils, pulled down his lower lip to examine the inside of his mouth, pressed two fingers against his pulse, and then reached for the digital thermometer. 

Nobody spoke, and the silence felt fucking suffocating.

Several agonizing seconds passed before the machine beeped. She looked down at the screen, and her jaw tightened.

"One hundred four degrees Fahrenheit."

Holy shit, that’s fucking high. The poor cutie is practically roasting.

Monica looks up at the three of us, her expression a mixture of practiced calm and frustration. "I need two of you to help me undress him so I can get him into a gown. It'll make it easier to connect him to the monitors and finish my examination. I also need someone to grab several cool, damp washcloths. Cool, not cold. I don't want to shock his system with a sudden temperature change. After that, I'll start an IV for fluids, acetaminophen, and pain medication."

Nobody wastes a second. Colt and I move to either side of the bed while Draven disappears into the adjoining bathroom.

"Easy," I murmured. Supporting Raymond's shoulders, Colt helped me ease him into a sitting position. He let out a strained whimper, his body instinctively trying to curl away from the movement. "I'm sorry," I whisper as I hook my fingers beneath the hem of his shirt and slowly lift it over his head. 

The room stills. 

Every scar, bruise, and laceration is on full display under the light. They cover nearly every inch of exposed skin. Some are fresh, angry shades of purple and crimson, while others have faded into sickly yellows and greens. Long, pale scars weave across his ribs and stomach, cutting through older injuries until it's impossible to tell where one ends and another begins.

My stomach twists violently.

Whoever did this… is one sick, sadistic bastard.

Heat crawls up the back of my neck, my hands tightening at my sides as something dark and vicious coils in my chest.

I tilt my head back and clamp my jaw shut so hard my teeth ache.

Don't.

Don't lose it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I hear Monica's knuckles crack as her fists tighten. Her face twists with anger, but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn't have to. I've known Monica for twelve years. Long enough to know that silence from her is never a sign that she has nothing to say. It usually means she has far too much to say—and none of it is something anyone in this room needs to hear. 

Monica came to Shadow Claw carrying scars of her own after escaping an abusive home pack. Her mother had died at the hands of an alcoholic mate, and Monica had turned that grief, all that rage, and turned into purpose. 

Every wolf she saved was another life her mother never got to have. 

Seeing Raymond… I know it was tearing open wounds she thought had been sealed away. 

I forced myself to look again. Colt had already started removing Raymond's shorts, so Monica could complete her assessment, and I followed every mark with my eyes.

There are too many to fucking count. 

My vision blurs with rage.

Fuck.

Who the fuck did this to him?

I’ll fucking kill them!

I glanced toward Colt, and my breath caught. His jaw was tight, and the veins in his neck were bulging as every muscle in his body drew tight. His eyes had changed. Blood-red irises stared back at Raymond's injuries.

Wolf eyes.

A partial shift.

It takes a tremendous amount to push Colt that far. 

Draven and Colt’s wolves are massive, midnight-black beasts, their dense fur seeming to swallow the light around them. Draven’s wolf, Anubis, is a force to be reckoned with—powerful and agile despite his enormous, muscular build. When he’s pissed, his blood-red eyes glow with a dangerous intensity that can make even the strongest wolf kneel beneath the weight of his glaze.

Colt’s wolf, Fenrir, is a completely different kind of beast. He always seems to be looking for a fight, his energy constantly running at a hundred miles an hour. He’s snarky, reckless, and a smartass, every bit as much as his partner.

Then there’s my wolf, Odin. His coat burns a deep crimson, the same shade as my hair, standing out like fresh embers against the darkness. 

But no matter the color of our fur, one thing never changes. When we shift, our eyes glow blood-red. It’s one of the first signs that the wolf beneath the surface is beginning to take control. And seeing that familiar crimson burning in Colt's eyes now tells me exactly how close he is to losing control. 

And honestly?

I wasn’t much fucking better.

Monica gently pulls a hospital gown over Raymond's battered body before carefully covering him with a blanket. Every movement is slow, her hands gentle as she does everything she can to avoid causing him any more pain than necessary. She brushes the damp strands of hair away from his forehead, her fingers lingering for a moment before she checks his temperature again with the back of her hand.

A moment later, Draven returns carrying several cool, damp washcloths. Without saying a word, he lays one across Raymond's forehead, his hand hovers over him for a moment. The tension etched into his jaw says everything.

Monica studies Raymond quietly before releasing a long breath. "I'm starting a cool saline infusion to treat the dehydration," she says. "I'll also administer pain medication and acetaminophen."

Her eyes move over the dark bruising covering Raymond's abdomen. "I'm ordering full-body X-rays. I also want an abdominal ultrasound. These bruises are extensive, and I need to rule out internal bleeding or damage to his organs." She pauses, listening to Raymond struggle through another wheezing breath. "His lungs concern me as well. I'll order chest imaging to check for rib fractures, pulmonary contusions, or other injuries. I’m going to place an oxygen mask on him due to his low oxygen saturation."

Carefully, she parts the hair along his forehead. "I found a laceration hidden beneath his bangs. It's approximately an inch long. It'll need a few stitches." She gently touches the swollen area around it. "Given the unknown mechanism of injury, I'm also ordering a head CT to rule out intracranial bleeding. His fever is high, I'm hoping we can bring it down tonight. If we can't stabilize him, or if anything concerning comes up on any of the imaging..." She meets each of our eyes in turn. "...he'll need to be transferred to Shadow General immediately."