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“Tell him thank you,” she said. “I knew there was good in that man of yours.”
“He’s not mine, Pat. He’s…”
But I had no way to answer. So I left my sentence unfinished. It was enough for now.
Pat left. I heard her fire up the four-wheeler outside. I hoped she’d stay out at the Tullys’ for a good, long while. She needed to be with her son.
Later, I went back down to the kitchen and started making the stock for Pat’s venison stew. The back door opened, and Anson walked in. I gripped the kitchen knife, afraid to meet his gaze. Afraid to feel anything at all.
“She’s all right?” Anson asked. “Your mother?”
“She’s sleeping,” I said. “Pat said she woke up and called for me. I’m hoping that’s a good sign.”
He came into the kitchen and picked up a second knife from the block. He took an onion from the bag on the counter and started to slice it.
“Thank you,” I said after a while. “I don’t know how long it will be before my parents can hunt for themselves.”
“There’s the rest of the packs too,” Anson said. I turned to him.
In the harsh light of the kitchen, I noticed how pale he was. His arm was stiff as he held the knife.
“Anson,” I said. “Sit down at the table. I should look at that shoulder.”
He put the knife down. Our eyes met. His were filled with sadness. I steeled myself against it. I could never forget what he was. What he’d done to me. What he could still do.
He sat down and peeled his t-shirt over his head, exposing his heavily scarred and muscled chest. I went to him.
The flesh of his right shoulder looked puckered and angry, but it was starting to heal. I ran a clean cloth under the sink and pressed it to the wound. Anson winced, sucking air through his teeth.
“Sorry,” I said. “You need a pressure bandage on that. Pat’s got supplies in the cupboard. Hold still.”
I went and got the large, red toolbox Pat had converted into a first aid kit. Shifters healed quickly on their own, but tended to bleed a lot. I took a roll of fresh gauze out and began to wrap it around Anson’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know my father was going to shoot you.”
“It could have been worse,” Anson said.
I wrapped the bandage tight. He’d started to bleed a little. A drop of it smeared my palm. I held it up to the light. It looked normal. Red like mine. And yet, I knew it held power over all of us. I took the wet cloth and wiped my palm clean.
“Why did you stay?” I said, taking a seat beside him. “When I took that collar off, you could have run. You could have left Wild Lake forever, gone back to Wisconsin. Gone anywhere else.”
Anson smiled. “I made you a promise. I intend to keep it. Even if I hadn’t. You need me.”
“What if I need this?” I said, holding up the cloth where I’d wiped his blood. “What if this is the only thing that will cure the packs of Wild Lake?”
“You going to bleed me dry?”
I put the cloth down. “No. If I did that, I’d be no better than the Ring. Whatever else you are, you’re a person, Anson.”
“Whatever else I am?”
I started to rise. Anson took my wrist. “If you asked me, I would say yes.”
“Asked you what?”
Anson pressed a hand to the dressing I’d just made. His face turned white. He pulled his hand away and a fresh spot of blood had formed.
“Don’t do that!”
