7. Morgan #3
It’s small and barely curves the sides of his mouth, but it’s unmistakeable. His eyes light up in recognition, like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen.
Like I’m going to save him.
He’s not even noticed Jet, or the knife at his throat, gaze firmly fixed on me for what feels like years.
My heart thuds, and between one beat and the next, his eyes flutter closed again, and he murmurs two words that turn out to be my undoing.
“Thank fuck.”
I don’t know if it’s the pain in his voice or the certainty in it that I’m someone he can trust. Neither of which should make a fucking difference. But as Jet raises his knife again, I can’t let him do it.
“Stop.” It’s not loud, but the raw alpha power in it has him freezing instantly. A trickle of blood runs down Morgans throat, red smeared across the tip of Jet’s knife.
Rage burns hot and bright, and for one terrifying second I have the urge to snatch that fucking knife out of his hand and bury it in Jet instead.
Snapping my eyes closed, I reach deep inside for the control I usually don’t have to think twice about, and thank fuck, the feeling passes as quickly as it appeared.
“Bring him with us,” I grind out, voice rough.
“Seriously?”
I open my eyes to find Jet still crouched next to Morgan. Knife still too close to his throat for my liking. My lips curl back in a snarl and Jet flinches.
“Fine,” he grumbles, sheathing his knife and sliding his hands under Morgan’s limp body. “No need to bite my fucking head off.”
There isn’t, but he also doesn’t know how close I was to doing something far worse. Or how I have to fight the urge to snatch Morgan out of his arms and carry him myself. “We’ll send someone out to pick up his bike and get rid of this fucking blood.”
“On it.”
As soon as we reach the van, Mal jumps out and helps get Morgan inside.
I focus on my breathing, willing my feet to stay put.
I want to go to him, to sit with him on the way back to make sure he doesn’t fucking die.
I scrub both hands over my face and groan.
I can already feel that tug behind my ribs getting stronger.
It’s like I’ve cracked open the door and now it’s going to be so much harder to force it shut again.
Jet has his phone out the second the van doors close.
Which leaves me with Beth.
She eyes me as I get on my bike. “Is that the guy who came by the compound earlier?”
“Yep.”
“Thought I recognised him.” She waits a beat. “Those were bite marks on him?”
“Not turning,” I answer, hoping that’ll be the end of it. I should know better.
“We’re not usually in the habit of helping humans.”
I’m pretty fucking sick of everyone being right tonight. But I don’t have a good answer for her, not one I’m willing to share anyway, so I don’t bother with a reply. “Let’s go, it’ll start getting light soon.”
I start my bike and race off down the road, trusting them to follow, and definitely not thinking about what the fuck I’ve just done.
Callum meets us as we pull up around the side of the clubhouse. He’s got Flint and a few of the others with him.
I glare at Callum. “What the fuck is he doing up?” Flint looks a hundred times better than he did a few days ago, but still too pale, and no shifter should have shadows that dark under their eyes.
Callum shrugs. “Corey gave him the all-clear.”
“And I’m right fucking here,” Flint interjects. “You could just ask me.”
I turn to face him. “You still look like shit.”
“Thanks.” He rolls his eyes, then sobers as he points at the van. “How many?”
“Three.”
Before I can explain, Jet joins us. “Two from the fight and a stray we picked up on the way home.”
“A human stray,” Beth adds, dancing out of reach when I growl at her.
Callum and Flint stare at me like I’ve lost my mind.
Which is fair, I guess.
Kind of feels a bit like that. But I’m never going to admit that. “Get them out of the van and inside. We need Corey, now .”
They make quick work of getting the three of them inside and upstairs to a set of rooms we’ve designated the rescue and recovery area. Callum’s low whistle is the only reaction to the state of Morgan.
They can all smell who did it, but that discussion can wait till later.
Now I’ve brought him here, we need to keep him alive, because the last thing I want is to have to dispose of a dead body.
That’s the only reason.
Maybe if I say it enough times, I’ll start to believe it.
Shifters don’t need a huge amount of recovery time, but those we rescue from the fights need more than most. Flint takes over administering another shot of aconite antidote while Corey checks the three of them over.
Jet hovers in the doorway, gaze flicking between the three unconscious men, though if I’m not mistaken, his gaze lingers on one more than the others.
Corey gives the two shifters a quick once-over first to ensure there’s nothing life threatening because shifters come first.
Always.
I want to tell him to hurry up, to leave them and see to Morgan, but I swallow the words. It’s harder than it should be.
“FBs did this?” Corey asks as he starts to cut away what’s left of Morgan’s clothes. There’s no urgency in his movements when I’m desperate for him to hurry the fuck up.
“Yep.”
Corey pauses as he removes the scraps of fabric and gets a good look at the injuries underneath. “Damn.” Both fresh and dried blood cling to every part of him. Red, angry claw marks cover most of his stomach, with bruises coming out everywhere else. “Any idea why?”
“Do they need a reason?”
“True.” He leans forward to closer inspect the bite marks at the base of Morgan’s throat, then glances back at me. “He smells like you.”
“The fuck?”
“It’s faint,” Corey says, straightening. “But definitely there.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t have to, because it doesn’t take a genius to get what he’s implying.
I shrug, because even if that’s true. It’s not my fucking fault they attacked him. Who sleeps in the forest overnight? On their own?
Fucking humans.
“Will he live?” That’s the more pressing question.
Corey glances up at me as he starts setting up an IV. “You’re lucky I keep human stuff here just in case. He should really be in a hospital.”
“Not happening.”
He smirks. “You could always bite him.”
I know he’s joking. Doing that to random humans is a death wish, but fuck me, if a part of me likes that idea a little too much. “Do what you can.”
I force myself to leave before I can say or do something stupid.
Corey will either save Morgan or he won’t.
Hours pass before Corey joins me outside on the back patio. It’s late afternoon, but we’re shaded from the sun here and a welcome breeze blows through every now and again. I’ve been looking out at the trees for Goddess knows how long, trying not to think about what’s happening upstairs.
Corey sighs as he collapses into the seat next to me. His skin is several shades lighter than Callum’s, but they have the same dark eyes, same smile. He’s not smiling now, though, far from it.
He looks exhausted too. Which for a shifter is cause for concern. “All right?”
“Yeah. Had to give Morgan some of my blood.” He yawns, then slumps further into his seat, like he hasn’t just dropped a conversational bomb.
“You did what?”
He frowns. “He’d lost too much blood and I’m a match, so I gave him mine. It’ll take me a while to recover, that’s all.”
“Your blood,” I clarify, just to make sure I heard him right. “Your shifter blood that is very much not human .”
“Yes.” He doesn’t roll his eyes, but I can tell he wants to. “Relax, for fuck’s sake. It’s not going to turn him or anything.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“At the most, I think it’ll make him a little edgy for a while, like if he was high. But considering I don’t see him waking up any time soon, it’s not a problem.”
“I still don’t like it.” I fucking hate it.
“Would you rather I let him die?” He sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. “Because that’s what would’ve happened.”
“No.” Maybe it’d be better if I did, but I don’t. “How bad is he?” Now we’re back home, I’m starting to realise the enormity of what I’ve done. What I’m going to have to ask my pack to do.
“I won’t lie, Lynx. He’s not good.” He stands and walks over to lean against one of the supports along the edge of the patio.
“They cut him up pretty badly. The ones on his stomach are the deepest, but he has claw marks over his back and thighs. Nothing broken but his ribs and most of his body is bruised. He’s also got multiple bite marks, and I suspect a mild concussion. ”
Fucking bastards.
My lips curl up into a snarl. I want to fucking break something.
Corey’s eyebrows rise and I hope he attributes my mood to the mention of Feral Beasts and not anything else.
“Goddess.” That’s a long fucking list. “He’s not going to be out of here any time soon then. I forgot how long humans take to heal.” The longer he stays here, the more I put my whole pack at risk.
“We could still take care of it,” Corey says, quietly. “I don’t like saying it, but he’s a risk.”
“I know.”
“He’s unconscious. He wouldn’t know any different if we did it now.”
The yes is on the tip of my tongue. For the good of the pack. It won’t be the first time we’ve killed someone, and definitely not the fucking last, but I can’t force the word out.
“No.” The relief is instant. “We’ll work out a way to handle it.” Not a conversation I’m looking forward to, but there’s no hiding from it either. “What about the other two? You got any names yet?”
“Yeah.” He retakes his seat next to me. “Tyler Cox and Nico Ward. They’ve both recovered from the aconite poisoning. Tyler should be good to go in a day or two. He has family down south that he’s eager to get back to.”
I nod, a smile curving my lips. It’s always good to be able to send them home. It doesn’t happen often. They’re targeted for a reason.
“What about the other one . . . Nico?”
Corey winces, then lowers his voice to barely more than a whisper. “I think he was human when they caught him.”
Motherfuckers.