Page 104 of Crimson Moon Falling

Sawyer’s Pack house emerged from the darkness, a sprawling modern home set amid lush desert landscaping. I’d been here once before, after my mandatory registration test. Malcolm had been alive then. He’d met us in the courtyard, defied Conall when I’d asked for help, and carried me, injured and bleeding, inside.

The memory sat heavy. Parker stepped out and met the house administrator. “Hello, Michael. As Friend of the Pack, I claim my right to seek aid on behalf of Riley Blackthorne.”

Michael was a competent, efficient shifter with silver hair and an easy manner. “Welcome. We recognize and honor your claim. I just got off the phone with Alpha Castillo. What happened now?”

Conall opened the back passenger door and gently cupped my face, thumbing the bruise on my cheek from Wilson backhanding me. “Can you walk?”

“Yes. I’ve never been so happy to see you,” I whispered.

“Never mind. I need to hold you.” He buried his nose in my neck, then lifted me in his arms and carried me across the courtyard. “Hello, Michael. Thank you for taking us in.”

The cool night air caressed my face as I gazed up at the desert sky, salted with stars. My ankles throbbed, the pain returning in full force now that the adrenaline was fading. But gratitude washed through me. I had people who loved me, and they’d come.

Behind us, the Escalade’s headlights swept across the house as Jamie pulled in. The engine cut, doors slammed, and Jamie’s voice carried across the courtyard.

“Jesus, what’d those assholes do to her now?”

Michael led us through the Pack house with its clean lines and warm interior. Malcolm had been the one to carry me the last time I was here. Conall’s arms tightened when he felt the sudden spike of grief through our bond.

The hallway was lined with beautiful Western oil paintings. Michael led us to the same bedroom I’d stayed in before, where a king-size bed layered with plush linens dominated the room, and sliding glass doors led out to a patio.

Conall set me down with excruciating gentleness. My feet dangled, not quite touching the floor, the movement pulling at the burns. I hissed through my teeth.

Michael stood in the doorway. “Ash is grabbing supplies, and I’ll leave toiletries and clothes for you, and have refreshments brought in.”

I looked up at him. “Thank you. I… I’m so sorry about Malcolm.” Michael paused, then inclined his head and closed the door softly behind him.

A moment later, Ash and Jamie walked in carrying medical supplies. Jamie’s golden hair was rumpled for once, and Ash’s eyes were narrowed as he assessed me.

Jamie looked at my bloody scrubs. “Every time you leave the house, you come back looking like this. We can’t let you out of our sight, Sparky.” The anger in his voice ruined the joke.

For once, Parker was quiet as he stared down at my ankles. It never boded well when Parker went quiet.

Ash moved past him, his long black hair falling over a shoulder as he knelt beside me. His dark eyes assessed the burns on my wrist, then went to my ankles. He pulled up my pant legs and stilled.

“These are serious burns. What happened?” His fingers hovered above the blistered skin without touching.

“They immobilized my hands and tied me down, so I melted the restraints with my feet.”

Shock, fury, and disbelief bled through their energy. Jamie made a strangled noise. “You… did this to yourself?”

Ash gazed at me. “You knew Conall would come. Why did you do this?” My gaze slid away, and I swallowed. “Get cleaned up, and I’ll come back to dress your burns.”

Everyone stepped out except Conall, who ended up cutting off the scrubs. When water touched my burns, pain sliced through me, but he gently washed my body and slipped a t-shirt over me.

When Ash came back, I was tired and hurting, but clean. He opened his satchel and began laying out supplies on the bedside table. A jar of salve that smelled like honey and something herbal, clean gauze, a bowl of water, and scissors.

“This will hurt,” he admitted. “But it’ll help stave off infection, and you’ll heal faster.”

I nodded, my throat tight. Conall lifted me onto his lap, his chest solid and warm against my side as the bond hummed between us.

Ash started with my right ankle. The white-hot pain was immediate and vicious, and I dug my fingers into Conall’s thigh. He didn’t flinch.

“Try to breathe through it,” Ash murmured. “The salve has anesthetic properties, but it takes a minute to work.” Then he worked on my other ankle and my wrist as Conall softly rocked me.

The pain didn’t vanish, but it dulled. His Homeopathic energy seeped into me, warm, gentle strands that sank into the burned tissue and began knitting it together from the inside out. It wasn’t instant healing, but more of a jump start.

Ash’s face was pale when he finally leaned back. “Rest for at least twenty-four hours. The tissue needs time to regenerate, and I’ll change the dressings tomorrow.”