Chapter 37
Chapter thirty-seven
Luna
Istep out the front door after my shower to see Maren strolling up the driveway like she doesn’t have a care in the world, our resident mountain goat Gertie trotting beside her on her bright green leash.
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. Maren has her phone balanced in one hand, thumb swiping across the screen, while Gertie does her own thing—sniffing at every blade of grass and trying to eat Maren’s shoelaces.
Then Gertie spots me, and her ears perk up. She lets out an excited bleat that makes my chest warm. Before I can even call out to her, she’s pulling Maren toward me with surprising determination.
“Whoa, whoa!” Maren yelps, nearly dropping her phone as Gertie drags her forward.
“Hey there, pretty girl.” I laugh as she reaches me, running my hands over her soft ears as she pushes her face into my stomach, her warm breath seeping through my sweatshirt as she bleats a happy hello that vibrates against my ribs.
Maren tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear and grins at me. “I swear this goat has separation anxiety when it comes to you. Very clingy. Reminds me of that guy I dated in college who—”
Roger’s truck barrels up the driveway, kicking up dust behind its wheels, and rescuing me from yet another retelling of Maren’s collegiate exploits. I know them all because I lived through every wild adventure right beside her.
“He’s making a habit of showing up here, driving like an F1 driver.”
Her playful demeanor evaporates as she leads Gertie toward her enclosure, securing the gate before running back to stand beside me, her face already set in that focused expression she gets when shit’s about to hit the fan.
Roger screeches to a stop in front of us, gravel spraying everywhere. He’s out of the driver’s seat before the engine stops, and his expression makes my heart rate spike because whatever’s in the back of that truck is bad. Really bad.
“Luna! Thank God you’re here.” He rushes to the back of his truck. “Got a male black bear, about four hundred pounds. Shotgun wounds to the hindquarters.”
My stomach drops. “Hunters?”
“Yeah. Rich assholes hunting on private land.” Roger’s voice is tight as he yanks the back doors open. “Tranq’d him on site, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”
“Black Bear Rifle season ended three days ago.” Maren gives me a hand as I jump into the back of the truck to help Roger.
Inside lies an enormous black bear, its glossy fur matted with blood around its massive haunches.
Even sedated, he’s a breathtaking beast, powerful muscles rippling beneath his coat with each shallow breath.
Maren exhales. “Now that’s a big boy.”
I’m already calculating what we’ll need. “Mar, go get Ethan from inside. Tell him to grab the heavy-duty gurney. Then, prep the cell for surgery. We need fluids, antibiotics, and the portable X-ray.”
“On it!”
She runs toward the building while I assess the situation. The bear is a behemoth, easily four hundred pounds of solid muscle and fur.
“How long has he been under?” I ask, checking his breathing as we wait.
“About forty minutes,” Roger says, sweat beading on his forehead. “Had to dart him twice. First dose didn’t fully take.”
“What happened?”
Roger’s face darkens. “Sheriff got a call from a landowner about gunshots on her property. Found these city types with a guide. Four men trespassing, hunting without permits, didn’t give a shit that the season was over.
They’d already wounded the bear when she arrived on the scene and immediately called the sheriff. Sheriff called me.”
“How’d you get him in the truck on your own?”
“I didn’t. Rhonda was there, and the owner’s handyman helped. But then dispatch called about a pack of coyotes running loose in downtown Estes, so she had to detour there.”
“Shit.”
Ethan rounds the corner from behind the building, maneuvering the gurney over the uneven ground. He halts, running his hands through his sandy hair as he spots the bear. “What’s the damage?”
“Multiple shotgun pellets to the hindquarters. We need to get him into the reinforced cell for surgery.”
Ethan nods. We built the cell a year and a half ago, after I treated a grizzly and it almost mauled me. It’s designed to handle large, dangerous animals while still allowing us to provide medical care.
“Did Karen arrest them?”
We position the heavy-duty gurney outside the truck’s doors.
“You bet your ass she did. She’s got them in custody right now. But you know how this goes. They’ll probably just get a fine and a slap on the wrist.”
The familiar rage bubbles up inside me. “Of course they will. Some rich guys looking for a trophy, and this beautiful animal pays the price.”
The bear’s vitals are stable but weakening with each passing minute.
“Roger, if you can just help us get him inside, we should be good,” Ethan says.
“You bet.”
We move the gurney as close to the truck as possible. Even with the three of us, moving four hundred pounds of unconscious bear is going to be a bitch.
“On three.” I grip the heavy tarp beneath him, and my muscles tense in preparation. “One, two, three!”
We slide the massive animal onto the gurney with grunts of effort. The bear’s weight settles with a heavy thud that makes the steel of the reinforced stretcher creak.
“Christ, he’s heavy,” Ethan mutters.
We roll him toward the building’s rear entrance, where we can go right into the medical area. The wheels strain against the weight, requiring all three of us to push.
“Thanks for getting him to us, Roger,” I say as we navigate through the double doors. “I know it wasn’t easy.”
“Just save him. Those bastards don’t deserve to win this one.”
Maren has already transformed the reinforced cell into a surgical suite.
The cell itself is built like a fortress—steel bars thick enough to contain a grizzly, with a door that can be locked in seconds.
Inside, she’s set up everything we need: surgical table, lights, monitoring equipment, instrument trays, and IV stands.
“Beautiful work, Mar,” I tell her as we transfer the bear onto the surgical table inside the cell. Like the gurney, it’s also custom-built, reinforced steel that can handle the weight and movement of large animals.
Roger helps us get the bear positioned, then steps back. “I’ll leave you to it. Call me when you know how he’s doing.”
“Will do,” Ethan says, pulling on surgical gloves.
I locate a vein in the bear’s massive foreleg and slide the IV needle in. Its fur is coarser than it looks, and finding the vein through all that muscle takes concentration.
“Blood pressure’s low,” Maren says, attaching monitoring equipment. “Pulse is steady but weak.”
I put on my headlamp and examine the wound. Multiple shotgun pellets have torn through the bear’s flesh, leaving a ragged, bloody mess. Some are lodged deep. I can see them glinting under my light like malevolent stars.
“I need to get these pellets out before infection sets in.”
“I’ll assist.” Ethan takes a position across from me. “Maren, monitor his vitals and keep an eye on the sedation level.”
“Got it.” She settles at the monitoring station we’ve positioned outside the cell door. Close enough to help, far enough to run if things go sideways.
I think of my wolf. Would he go after these men if he knew about this bear? The thought sends an unwelcome thrill through me, even in the middle of this crisis.
“Luna?” Ethan’s voice pulls me back to the present. “You ready?”
I push away thoughts I shouldn’t be having and concentrate.
“Let’s do this.”
I extract pellet after pellet, dropping them into a metal dish with soft pings that keep my anger simmering.
So much damage from a few seconds of human cruelty.
Ethan’s hands are steady as he assists, holding retractors and passing instruments with the seamless coordination we’ve developed over years of working together.
Hunting is a way of life in Colorado. I’ve come to accept that, but I hate trophy hunting.
I hate that gunning down animals for sport is legal anywhere.
Hunting for food, for sustenance, for survival, is one thing.
I understand the necessity. But killing just so a person can hang a trophy on their wall or spread it across their floor as a rug has always warred with my need to save and protect these animals.
The bear’s massive paw twitches, and we freeze.
“Maren. Check the sedation level.”
She glances at the monitors. “Should be fine for another thirty minutes, at least.”
But the bear’s breathing has changed, becoming shallower and more irregular. Another twitch, this time more pronounced. My heart rate spikes.
“He’s waking up,” Maren says, her voice tight with alarm. “His metabolism’s burning through it faster than we thought.”
“Mar, push more sedative into that line. Now!” Ethan’s voice is low and steady, but tension radiates from his shoulders. “How much time do you still need?”
“Two pellets. Both deep. Two minutes, maybe less.”
The bear’s entire leg convulses, and I jerk my hands back. Adrenaline crashes through my veins.
“Luna, you need to step back. The IV line is clogged.” Urgency sharpens Maren’s voice.
“Give me ninety seconds.” I focus on the glint of metal deep in muscle tissue.
A growl builds in the bear’s chest, low at first, then louder. The sound vibrates through the cell and through my bones. Every hair on my neck stands up, a primal response to a sound humans are evolutionarily programmed to fear.
“Luna.” Ethan’s voice is deadly calm. “Back away. Now.”
I should listen, but I’m so close. Just one last pellet, and he’ll be clear of the worst debris.
“Almost there.” Sweat drips down my temple as I maneuver the forceps. “Almost—”
The bear roars. His eyes snap open, and four hundred pounds of terrified, wounded predator explode into motion on my surgical table.
Everything happens at once.
The table collapses beneath his weight. Instruments scatter in a metallic symphony of chaos, and Maren shouts over the din.