EIGHTEEN

Xander

SHE CAN'T LEAVE US.

I won't let anyone, even death, take her away from me. From us.

Skidding down next to her, I quickly work on tearing open her sweatshirt. The hood, collar, and most of the front are weighed down by how much blood the material has soaked up, and what it couldn't sticks to her skin. My hands remain steady, sliding up her chest, making sure there are no wounds hidden under the blood. They wrap around her neck. Her neck, where my mark is. Her neck, which I love the feeling of under my lips as I trail kisses up and down. Her neck, which I bury my face in when seeking comfort.

Her neck is completely ravaged. Savagely shredded. Connecting to my wolf, we assess her injuries, determining which bites are the worst, which ones are sucking the life out of her. Out of them, my wolf adds. I nod. Them : Wilhelmina and Little Fox.

I have to maintain control. I have to be her alpha. If I lose her, nothing in my life will matter. She's irreplaceable. She is my heart, and at this moment I'm her only hope for survival. Closing my mouth, I force myself to breathe in and out through my nose. Control my breath, control my life. Control my life, save her life. Simple. Breathe. Examine her injuries and heal them accordingly. That's all that exists for me. That's all that needs to exist.

Her hand. Her bloody, mangled hand reaches out and brushes across my cheek. Flicking my gaze up, her green eyes are hooded with tears leaking out of the corners, while her mouth is grinning. She's grinning and trying to tell me how pretty I am. Only to suddenly pout about the blood she wiped all over my face. Is she for real? How can she be acting so calm, so normal?

Despite the dire circumstances, a smile curves my lips. I stare at her in confused wonder, like I often do. Her presence in this situation, how she's portraying herself, makes it easier for me to maintain command of my emotions and focus on the task at hand. Dipping my gaze back down to her neck, my hands warm with my wolf's healing energy, and I begin to send it into the two worst bites.

She says something about loving my smile; there's humor and also grief in her voice. Sliding my gaze to her face, her eyes are heavy and unfocused, staring seemingly through me like she's not even here. Ignoring how the dead look in her eyes is tearing strips from my soul, I quirk my lips. "I'll smile every minute of every day and night. You've just got to stay alive to see it, Wilhelmina."

She licks her pale lips and huffs. "Yooouu and yoooourrr contingencieeesss." I shake my head in loving disbelief at her backtalk. Then she starts coughing, causing blood to splutter out of her mouth and leak through my fingers, which are wrapped around her neck, bringing an abrupt end to the momentary reprieve. Pursing my lips, I return my focus to her injuries.

I'm surprised that with all the damage done to her neck, there's no trace of beta toxin. These shifters were definitely out to cause damage. He could have killed her easily, so the absence of the toxin leads me to believe they most likely have never been taught about their own shifter abilities. I don't spend much time wondering what that means. I can't. l have to save her.

I first work on the internal damage, sealing up the small tears to the thin tissue of her external carotid arteries and the internal jugular veins. Reestablishing proper blood flow and using my shifter essence to infuse her with my blood.

So close. So freaking close to the internal carotid arteries, but somehow those were spared. Then onto the damaged muscles, nerves, and connective tissue healing the tears and puncture wounds, which are numerous. Besides some minor adjustments to her vertebrae, there are no major spinal injuries. My energy starts to flicker when I'm finally able to focus on closing up the now superficial bitemarks. Between all the internal damage and replenishing the staggering amount of blood she lost, I don't have enough of my own to complete the healing without dipping lower than is wise, particularly with the situation far from over. We have no idea whether these shifters are part of a larger group, and I won't allow myself to be completely drained when I don't know what we're facing. What other potential threats could be waiting for us?

Sitting back on my heels, I rasp, "Jaxson, Blondie, beta-toxin the alpha and the other shifter." I pull my T-shirt over my head and start wrapping it around her broken forearm. That and her hand will need to wait until later. Determined that the only bitemarks on her neck will be ours when we leave here, I say, "Ethan, I'm going to need energy." Glancing over my shoulder, I see that Jaxson's wolf is held motionless, staring at me and Wilhelmina. I raise my brows, and he snaps out of it. Blondie nods and moves to the unconscious alpha, while Ethan instructs Marcus and Enzo to force the mustachioed shifter to his knees.

Scanning the group, I find most of The Den staring at me with mixed expressions of shock and concern. I push their worries out of the way. That conversation will happen later.

I turn my focus to Ethan, who's pulling off his T-shirt as he kneels down next to me, offering me his essence. I place one hand on his shoulder, and I'm momentarily paralyzed by what I see. My hand is covered in her blood, and I know when I remove it, my handprint in her blood will be stamped onto his flesh. I'm unable to stop the picture from solidifying in my mind. My stomach rolls, and I grind my teeth knowing full well this image will be a heavy memory for years to come. I keep my other hand on our mate's neck. Drawing energy from the pool Ethan and his wolf have already portioned off, I pull it into me. My depleted body eagerly absorbs Ethan's life force, transforming it and then pushing that altered energy directly into Wilhelmina. Her skin under my palm begins to mend and seal one wound at a time. I adjust my hold as the process continues moving to the next wound and then the next wound, sealing up her neck, leaving no scars.

Many non-wolf-shifters think alphas are the most powerful, and in some regards we are. But in other ways, we're not. Betas have and hold immensely more energy than alphas—they carry some for us. They're also our warriors and secrete a beta toxin in their saliva from a second set of canines that alphas don't have.

Using Ethan's energy enables me to finish healing her neck wounds in no time. She's been unconscious for several minutes. Her chest has been rising and falling with her shallow breath. Wanting to calm my irrational concerns, I also check her pulse, finding it strong but slow. Inhaling, I cautiously wedge my hand behind her back, easing her to a seated position. Her head flops backward, and my stomach twists at the sight. Ethan seamlessly works with me, supporting her head so I can take off her sweatshirt and bra, both soaked in blood. Fuck, there's so much blood. We almost lost her.

Hot anger kindles inside of me. I told her my concerns and provided options and compromises. She denied and shot down each one of them. I was aware enough to recognize some of my concern wasn't solely for her safety, that some of it had to do with her being alone with Enzo. A few moments spent with him this morning changed how she treated us. The defiance in her stance. The coldness in her eyes. The snap in her voice. I purposefully reined in my alpha nature. I kept my voice neutral and calm, refused to access my alpha waves. I will never use my alpha coercion on her or my pack-mates. I gave her the option to accept my protection, thinking she would trust me as she has, and then she rejected it. And she almost died. Five minutes. Five minutes, and she'd have been gone before I even had a chance to save her.

Ethan and I work on getting his T-shirt on her. Sweeping my other arm under her knees, I pull her into my chest and come to standing. My heart rattles behind my ribs with both relief and concern as her head drops unconsciously onto my shoulder. I roll her body into me a little tighter. Facing The Den, I find Jimmy. He has one arm hugged around his waist, the other hand covering his mouth. His light-blue eyes are wide with worry, seemingly frozen on Billie.

"She's going to be fine," I assert.

His eyes shoot up to mine. "Are you sure?" he croaks out on a rough exhale.

I swallow a dry breath. "Yes. The worst of the injuries have been healed. Her arm and hand I'll heal later, but we need to get out of here." I cast my gaze over all of The Den, their eyes oscillating between Billie and me. I lick my chapped lips. "We obviously have a lot to discuss. I'd like for Wilhelmina to be conscious for that discussion since I'm sure you'd rather hear it from her. The longer we stay here, the more danger we and YOU are in." Bringing my attention back to Jimmy, I ask, "Where are we going?"

"My house," Marcus grunts, swiping a hand down his face. "I've got an open basement, and Micky's there."

Ethan grabs Billie's blood-soaked sweatshirt and spreads it over the unconscious wolf. Picking him up, he turns to The Den. "Two of you each take one of them." His head tilts to the two unconscious shifters in human form. "Act like they're still drunk or passed out from last night."

Blondie is digging his face in the dirt, trying to cover up as much of the blood as possible. "Clifford the Big Blond Dog, right?" I ask with an arched brow.

He wags his tail and smiles, showing off his bloody teeth before prancing toward the exit. Good enough.