Chapter 19

It was a lot to absorb all at once.

Monica moves over to a nearby cabinet and begins gathering supplies with quick movements. Sterile IV tubing, saline bags, syringes, alcohol swabs, gauze, and packaged needles are arranged neatly on a small stainless-steel tray before she wheels it back to the bedside. She lowers herself onto a rolling stool and pulls on a pair of blue nitrile gloves with two sharp snaps. Opening the sterile packaging, she prepares the IV catheter before wrapping a tourniquet around Raymond's upper right arm.

Colt, Draven, and I stand shoulder to shoulder near the bed, watching every movement in complete silence. We might be intimidating to everyone else, but right now all three of us feel helpless and restless, our eyes never leaving Raymond.

Monica gently palpates along his forearm, searching for a usable vein. After a few moments, she gives a small nod to herself. "There you are." Holding the catheter at a shallow angle, she carefully guides it through his skin. Raymond lets out the faintest whimper; his fingers twitch and his body stirs weakly against the mattress.

Without thinking, I reached out and rested my hand atop his head, slowly stroking his hair in a soothing rhythm before leaning close to his ear. "Shhh..." I whispered softly. "It's alright. You're safe."

Almost immediately, the tension leaves his body again. His breathing remains labored, each breath accompanied by a deep wheeze, but he settles back into stillness. I gently take his left hand into mine, rubbing slow circles across the back of it with my thumb.

Monica secures the catheter with a transparent dressing before connecting the IV tubing. She collects a few vials of blood before hanging a saline bag from the IV pole, adjusting the roller clamp, and watching the fluid begin flowing through the line.

"I'm running the saline wide open," she explains. "His blood pressure is low, and he's significantly dehydrated."

She reaches for three labeled syringes. "I'm administering intravenous acetaminophen, Toradol, and a dose of morphine for pain. My hope is that together they'll reduce his fever while also bringing his pain levels under control." One by one, she slowly injects each medication through the IV's Y-site before flushing the line with saline and then placing an oxygen mask on him, making his already small face look even smaller beneath it.

"I'll bring the portable ultrasound machine in so we can evaluate his abdomen immediately. If I find anything concerning, the next step is transferring him to the hospital." With that, Monica removes her gloves, disposes of them, and strides quickly out of the room to retrieve the ultrasound machine from the equipment room farther down the hall.

Draven steps up beside me and rests a hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I turn my head slightly, meeting his silver eyes. "It's been a long time since we've seen a wolf arrive at our pack this battered and bruised," he says quietly. His voice is steady, but I can hear anger simmering beneath every word. "Considering he was sent here by his own Alpha in this condition, I'd say it's safe to assume the care he receives back home is little to none." His eyes narrow as his gaze drifts to Raymond lying motionless on the bed. "He came to our pack to train in this condition…" Draven murmurs, his jaw tightening. "...it looks like he survived hell, just to find a little peace."

"His training will be postponed until he is healed," Draven continues after a brief pause, "He can’t handle the training in his current condition, nor would I allow it." His hand slips from my shoulder as he steps closer to the bed, folding his arms across his chest as he studies Raymond for a long moment before speaking again. "I already planned on having a protection detail assigned to him while the wolves from his home pack are in our territory." He exhales slowly through his nose. "And seeing his state, it only affirms my decision. Once he's awake, and only if he's ready, we'll see if he's willing to tell us who did this to him." His normally commanding voice carries sadness and uncontrollable rage.

My shoulders tighten instinctively, and I look over at Colt. His hand is still moving gently through Raymond’s hair in slow, gentle strokes. 

The door swings open again. Monica returns, carefully pushing a portable ultrasound machine into the room. The wheels squeak softly against the polished floor as she maneuvers it to the right side of the bed, adjusting the monitor before looking over at the three of us.

"Alright," she says. "I need access to his abdomen so I can check for internal injuries."

Carefully, she folds the front of Raymond's hospital gown upward, exposing the pale, bruised skin covering his stomach. Monica flips open a bottle of gel and squeezes a generous amount onto his abdomen. The warm, clear gel spreads across his delicate skin before she picks up the transducer.

"Easy now," she says gently, lowering the probe.

The moment she applies pressure, Raymond cries out. A loud, broken yelp tears from his throat, and my heart nearly stops as his body jerks violently against the mattress. His arms flail weakly, his legs kick, and his head rolls frantically from side to side.

"Hold him still," Monica warns while biting her bottom lip, her eyes filled with heartbreak.

"I'm on it," Draven says immediately.

He gently, but firmly, takes hold of Raymond's forearms; careful to avoid disturbing the IV line. I hurried to the foot of the bed and wrapped my hands around Raymond's calves, keeping his legs from thrashing hard enough to injure himself.

His strength fades quickly, but he continues struggling on instinct alone; panic, fear, survival written into every frantic movement his body makes.

I glance toward the head of the bed. Draven has leaned close, speaking softly into Raymond's ear; a calm cadence—"It's alright..." "You're safe..." "We've got you..."

Beside him, Colt’s hand hadn’t stopped its movements. Stoking Raymond's sweat-soaked hair, his large hand moving in slow, soothing passes over the top of his head. Raymond's breathing gradually began to slow. The panic slowly died down. His fingers twitch beneath Draven's grip before finally relaxing. The tension drains from his legs, and I loosen my hold just enough to make sure he isn't going to kick again.

"There you go," I murmur quietly. "That's it."

A faint crease remains between his brows, hinting at the lingering discomfort and unease still weighing on him.

Monica waits another few seconds before carefully lowering the probe back against his abdomen. This time, her movements are even more cautious when applying the pressure as her eyes remain fixed on the monitor.

My eyes shifted between Raymond's face and the screen, searching Monica's expression for any hint of what she's seeing. Years of experience have taught her how to hide her emotions while she works, but I know her well enough to catch the subtle signs: the slight tightening around her eyes, the way her lips press into a thin line, and the extra second she spends examining one area before slowly sliding the probe farther across his abdomen.

None of it reassures me.

She studies each quadrant carefully, adjusting the angle of the transducer before freezing several images and taking measurements. Every few moments she saves another scan, her brow furrowing a little deeper.

Come on…

Don’t let there be something internal going on as well. The outside already looks fucking unbearable.