by KH LeMoyne
A quick zip sounded, and Lena found a plastic wad thrust into her hands as Trim rounded on her. “We have to get her out.”
Lena counted slowly to—well, three. Okay, everyone was entitled to a brain lapse and three seconds to recover. Lena unwrapped the one tool Matthew had brought that she never thought to use and held it up. “This part goes around her neck. It will keep her head above water. You’ll ease her out, and I’ll guide her legs.”
Trim stared in horror at the narrow piece of rubber. “You’re kidding. One little scrape to your flotation donut, and she’ll drown.”
“Actually, we need to prick the donut to get this to work,” Lena replied smugly. “The gel inside reacts with water and expands. She’ll be fine.”
Trim whipped her head toward the crack and back. “I don’t think so.”
And here it was. The face-off. A damn ridiculous time and place for one, but with everyone stressed and exhausted, Lena wasn’t surprised. Confrontations rarely happened at a good time. “Not up to you. I found her. Matthew perfected his tool, and Shanae trusts him. We are using this and getting her out. Now.”
At the determined look on Trim’s face, she forged ahead, leaning almost nose to nose. “I’m not letting her die here. Her son, her husband, her family need her. Put this around her neck.” Lena shoved with as much force as she could manage with the little energy she had left. “I’ll wrap her leg and then we go. Ninety seconds and we go. Got it?”
Trim nodded without hesitation, then glanced at Shanae and swallowed hard.
Lena leaned again to the crack. “Matthew. I need—”
“I called them. They’re coming. Lena—“ His voice was thick and low. “I can’t believe you found her.”
That makes two of us. She’d accomplished her mission, found the son, found the wife, but this didn’t feel like success. Taking a deep breath, she wedged the penlight into a crevice so she could apply Matthew’s other bubble wrap experiments to Shanae’s legs. At the raw wound, she hesitated.
“She’s wolf,” Trim said hoarsely, staring at the leg and then at Lena, the inflatable already secured around Shanae’s neck. “She can handle more than…you’d expect.”
Lena nodded and slid the rubber mesh beneath Shanae’s leg, doing her best to ignore Shanae’s whimper. With the sleeve wrapped around the damaged leg, Lena punctured the corner, exposing it to the water, and the unit expanded into a modest bubble.
“It will condense a bit in water,” she muttered, babbling to cover her worry. “I think that’s what he said, but we should hurry. Puncture the neck piece—anywhere along the edge.” Lena gestured with her chin as she held Shanae’s legs.
With a fierce determination, Trim bent and followed Lena’s lead, biting a section draped in the water. Inflation followed, slow and easy, until a pouch circled Shanae’s neck and part of her head.
Trim nodded, and they carefully lifted their patient into the water and toward the crevice.
Gauging the opening, Lena pursed her lips. “If you need to, dunk her quickly and pull. I’ll release her so she flows out with you.”
Only Trim’s inhale signaled they were as ready as they were going to get.
“Let’s go.”
Lena shuffled her boots along the rocky bottom, her good arm looped under Shanae’s thighs and the other hand grasping her ankles. She wedged both as close as she could get them to her own stomach without aggravating her injuries. The wounds on her back took more abuse on the exit. Fortunately, Shanae fit through without the need to submerge.
The minute Lena’s head was free of the small rock crevice, large hands shifted beneath hers and lifted Shanae’s weight off her.
Deacon’s golden gaze met hers, his shoulder brushing her. A shower of warmth momentarily chased the water’s chill from her skin. “Well done, Lena.”
Erratic screeches from birds overhead signaled predators in the area: hunters, animals, and the ferals, which were Deacon’s primary concern before they’d committed to the search by the water. His team would have been easy targets if not for the power he expended in camouflaging them. A practiced skill and a procedure he’d employed for hours when training fledgling shifters.
Now, with his concentration split between feeding Lena healing power as well as the camouflage, his energy supply ebbed. He stopped and watched her trail along the riverbed. His line to Shanae grew tighter with every step Lena took.
None of that surprised him. Last night while she slept, he’d bound Lena to him, securing a physical connection with his mate to monitor her surprising instinct for tracking.
Since then, he’d noted every spin she made with Matthew’s tool, her survey of the rocks and water, and each correction of her course. The energy behind his connection to Shanae varied as Lena moved away and changed course. He justified overstepping the boundaries of her personal rights based on Shanae’s dire situation.
It didn’t ease his conscience. It was his second step down the slippery slope of abusing his power over his mate.
Uncertain whether to put all his faith in this new gut feeling, he covered his tracks in wolf form, checking along the wood line. Then Lena disappeared by the water’s edge, followed by Trim.
Instincts roaring, he raced back, anticipating trouble.
Shifting to human as he approached, Deacon was surprised to see Matthew knee-deep in the water, staring between the rocks. Deacon reached the spot as Trim’s head appeared from between the narrow wedge of boulders. Relief and then a strong wave of fury washed through him as Shanae’s bruised and bloodied face became visible, cradled against Trim’s chest.
One eye swollen shut, the cheek below marred with dark bruises, Shanae lay too still. Violent colors that should never be seen on a woman’s flesh mottled the fine features of the youngster he’d trained.
Relief flooded him as Lena emerged, looking pale and drawn. He lifted Shanae’s body free of the water and brushed against his mate, offering what comfort he could. She’d bested all of his team in finding Shanae, at no small risk to herself. Fresh blood scented the air from her reopened wounds, and her pale blue lips matched the color of Shanae’s skin. Both had spent far too long in the frigid water.
All along, his wolf had known, even through Deacon’s doubts, that she would be the one to finish their task.
He laid Shanae on the coverings Matthew had rapidly spread. An odd rubber tarp lay under one of the sleeping bags. Checking first pulse and pupils, Deacon worked methodically over Shanae’s head and shoulders, cataloging her wounds. He reached for her chest as Lena spread Shanae’s shirt open.
With a frown, she cast him a side-glance and then shook her head. “She’s hypothermic. We need IVs and a medic kit.”
Wharton’s low whistle announced his arrival. He crouched and touched Shanae’s leg before discreetly turning away and activating his phone. “Grizz is on his way. Brindy’s dropping him the supplies.”
Lena paused. Scrunching her fingers and unable to cover her own shivering, she tucked her hands under her armpits and curled back on her haunches as she turned to Wharton. “Tell him to carry the IVs next to his skin. They’ll be partly warm when we start to use them, but we’ll need to warm the tubing.” Muttering as she glanced around, she turned to Matthew. “Can you and Trevor bring as many uniform-sized river rocks as you can find? Orange- or grapefruit-sized would be good. Then we need a quick fire, Wharton.”
Deacon reached one hand for her knee and squeezed, pleased when the shivers dispelled as her clothes instantly dried and she finally exhaled. As if realizing he was splitting his power for all of them, she moved his hand back to Shanae’s chest and leaned closer until their foreheads touched.
“Can you handle her heart rate and the air temperature? We’ll get the rest.”
He nodded. “For now.” The words were all he could manage. Power wasn’t the problem. With his focus divided between shielding them from the enemy he sensed on the outskirts and regulating the air temperature to keep both Shanae and Lena from go
ing into shock, his delicate hold of Shanae’s soul would take only one fatal slip to break.
Trim said nothing but used dry clothes to rub gently across Shanae’s uninjured skin.
“She’s not shivering,” Wharton said from his place beside a small fire. He’d stacked the rocks Matthew and Trevor brought around the flickering flames. “That’s usually good, right?”
“Matthew. Can you and Trevor find socks or a small cloth to tie around the IV tubing?” Lena gave Deacon a look, then, as Matthew hesitated, trying to puzzle out the logic, she added, “I’m going to carefully warm the tubing so the IV fluid will help heat Shanae from the inside out.”
Matthew nodded and hustled his son away.
“Wharton, we could use some of those heated rocks now.” Trim swiped the back of her hand over her eyes.
Lena shook her head, her fingers digging through the medical equipment Matthew had placed next to her as Wharton dumped rocks beside her. She leaned toward him. “A patient in severe hypothermia won’t be shivering. If they’re unconscious or in a coma, then they’re at risk for cardiac arrhythmia. She’s not quite at that point yet.”
With a shocked expression, Wharton stared at Shanae and then at Deacon for confirmation. “Not only is she correct, but we’re doing everything we can.”
With a grateful smile in his direction, Lena worked with a stick to reorganize some of the river rocks Wharton brought from the fire. Then she returned to inspecting Shanae. Deacon could have told her what he’d detected, but her calm, methodical approach had everyone’s attention, keeping the situation in check.
Deacon glanced up as Breslin slid to a stop at the edge of the group, withdrawing several bags from his shirt and handing them to Wharton. Despite Lena’s fatigue, she deftly inserted tubing into Shanae’s arm, wrapped it with socks, and attached the IV with swift efficiency. With the sock-covered line nested among several heated rocks, Lena glanced back at him.
“I think she has several broken ribs. I’m also worried her breathing is diminished and can’t rule out internal bleeding or collapsed lung. The leg fracture—” Lena’s fingers processed the landscape of Shanae’s skin with more tenderness than he would have, but her movements remained sure and steady. Then she prepped a large-bore needle and cut the fingers off a surgical glove, wrapping the items for his later use. “I’m concerned about infection or potential clots. Is there some shifter thing to help her until we can get her medical attention?”
Deacon debated the wisdom of a detailed explanation, but given Matthew’s continued attention and Lena’s questioning look, he decided they deserved to know the truth.
“Normally, shifters heal quickly, and shifting aids recuperation. With her unconscious and these injuries, she’ll be at risk if her wolf wakes. It will be agitated and difficult to control. With her out, I can slow her metabolism, control her heart rate—basically handle the risk of clots or embolisms until we get her to the hospital.”
Trim’s shuttered expression was all he got before she went back to cleaning and dressing Shanae’s head injuries.
Deacon ripped away the jeans around the broken leg. Torn flesh and bare bone showed through. He would have to hide her blood’s scent from their pursuers. He glanced up. At least Matthew had moved away with Trevor to shield the boy from witnessing his mother’s wounds. Unfortunately, Shanae picked that time to rouse.
A weak hiss escaped her throat. “Alpha.”
“Hush, Shanae.”
Instead, she grabbed at his hand, one eye bright with determination if not full sight. “My son. Please—”
“Trevor is safe. He’s here. Relax.”
Trevor whipped around at the sound of his name, tugging on his father’s hand to return. “Mommy.”
“Matthew—” She struggled to say more and failed.
“Right here, Shae. We’re not leaving you.”
Shanae’s hand fell lax as her good eye closed and her head rolled to the side. Deacon’s gaze pointedly strayed to Lena, then over her shoulder toward Matthew as he spoke softly. “We need to set this break in her leg now, while she’s unconscious. I’ll drain any fluid around her rib as well.”
Noticing the unspoken request, Lena brushed her hand on her jeans and stood. With practiced ease, she urged Matthew and Trevor with her farther down the riverbed, collecting more kindling for the fire. Matthew’s gaze kept returning to his wife, his reluctance to leave her visibly warring with his need to shield his child.
Lena bent to his ear, a hand on Trevor’s shoulder so he remained on the other side of her and out of hearing range. As always, Deacon’s shifter hearing damned him to eavesdrop on her words.
“They’re getting her ready to move,” she said. “We’re doing everything possible, and I know you don’t want your son to see this.”
Deacon looked at Trim. “On three. You hold. I’ll pull and reset the bone.”
“Got it.” She tucked the gauze and wipes Matthew had provided before he left by Shanae’s hip.
Gritting his teeth, Deacon worked quickly. No amount of training made inducing pain on someone you knew easier. No amount of experience transformed the popping of bone and the sick scrunch of flesh into any semblance of normalcy either. Yet within two minutes, they had Shanae’s leg secured.
The catheterizing of her chest wound, allowing for her collapsed lung to function, took more time. He drew a deep breath when finished, satisfied with the function of the catheter in Shanae’s chest and the slow flutter and collapse of the surgical glove finger over the tube. The blood beneath her worried him more.
“She’s stabilized,” Trim muttered.
“We’re going to need to swap the sleeping bag out,” he muttered. “The blood will invite too many predators and give our enemies a beacon to find us.”
“How much longer can you shield us?” Trim softly slid the question his way.
“Until we can get everyone to a location with a better advantage. Grizz and Breslin have a place picked out.” He noticed Lena was back working on the scope she’d used, involving Trevor in searching the surrounding hills and peaks. Evidently, he and Trim weren’t the only ones with a bad feeling they were being watched.
Grasping Shanae’s nape, he leaned closer and released his beast. With no time for patience or subtlety, he issued a command. “Child. Hold to your alpha and don’t let go. You swore obedience. Now I demand your compliance.”
His growl vibrated around him. Birds silenced. Air stilled. The blood rushed in his ears, a roar cresting at the forefront of his power as he snagged Shanae’s life essence and seized it as it began to fade. Matthew’s shadow registered enough for him to snarl in his direction, but he didn’t move, desperate to maintain his connection with Shanae. Deep beads of sweat ran down his chest as he struggled to lock the precious hold. Too much power would kill her. Too little and she’d wisp away.
His roar rose as his knees trembled with the effort. Then suddenly beside him, Lena covered his hand over Shanae’s neck with her own.
Power arched in a quick snap and fiery pulse, then it fell away in a drop that sent his stomach plummeting. Instead of the typical quick boomerang effect of instability, his power melted into a steady flow. Searching Lena’s eyes, he took in the steely calm with which she watched him.
“Yes, you can open the door and use me,” she whispered. Then she withdrew her touch and sank back on her heels as he recovered. “Better now?
He managed a gruff mutter of something unintelligible but jerked his chin in acknowledgment and then distracted himself with covering Shanae’s chest wound. If he didn’t keep busy, he’d seek Lena’s touch again, creating too many questions for the others. “Matthew. We need the other sleeping bag.”
His voice rasped, but it seemed no one noticed. With speed Deacon usually only saw in shifters, Shanae’s husband responded. Second sleeping blanket ready, he knelt behind his wife’s head. Pale as a sheet, Matthew stared at the blood painting his wife’s body but remained silent, awaiting the next order. D
eacon positioned his hands beneath Shanae and gestured for Wharton to do the same. “Trim, remove the old sleeping bag and replace on three.”
The switch was swift, but Deacon frowned as Matthew activated a small device embedded in the rubber tarp still beneath his wife. A soft whoosh accompanied the swell of the rubber until it inflated into a shallow pontoon. The hollow inside was deep enough to hold Shanae without her rolling around, with straps ready to hold her in place.
“Another of your devices?” Deacon asked as he shrugged out of his jacket and gently placed it around Lena’s shoulders. She looked ready to refuse but instead closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She may have thought he hadn’t noticed, but he’d rather offer her warmth than allow her pride to reject what little he could give. Her acceptance bolstered his spirits.
Matthew tucked a thermal blanket gently around his wife before he buckled her in. “Inflatables aren’t really new, but foolproof ones are always in demand.”
Wharton jogged back to the group. Deacon had barely noticed his absence after he lit the fire. Wharton dragged two more IV bags from beneath his shirt and handed them to Lena. “Figured she’ll need them.”
“Good thinking,” Lena said as she wedged the bags beside Shanae in the rubber litter.
Trim’s palm remained on Shanae’s neck, and she nodded toward Lena. “Her body temperature’s starting to come back up.”
“Good. Give me five minutes to secure her, and she’ll be ready to go.”
“Grizz and Breslin are clearing a path, but they’ve spotted a force headed our way.” Wharton glanced at Trevor and back. “Our target is a meadow about two-thirds of the way up. Brindy can squeeze the smaller helicopter through the tight passage at the peaks, then lower a rescue basket to lift Shanae. She said to tell you it’s a short flight window. There’s snow that’s headed in.”
“Who’s on call at the hospital?” Deacon asked, trying to push thoughts of battling while protecting the wounded out of his mind.
“Stanton was still at Black Haven and got our call. He’ll be ready for Shanae when they land.”
