CW: blood, mention of needle in medical setting, sort of detailed meat-eating? lawl
When Cade pulled back, there was blood tinging his lips, and I watched his fangs retract. He made a face and held his lips tightly as he went into the bathroom. Wanted to be my life-mate but didn't want to hold my fluids in his mouth, apparently. Side-eye.
I sat with a hand cupped around the fresh bite, but I hadn't yet registered the pain. Instead, I was focused on the goosebumps that had spread across my skin, the low sinking in my stomach, the tight coiling of my body. When he exited the bathroom again, Cade had removed his jacket and the sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up to reveal, surprisingly, a smattering of ink on both arms, covering as far as I could see, stopping just above the wrist and where the edge of his sleeves would be. His hair had fallen forward across his forehead, and I watched the ripple in his forearm as he pushed it back, his eyes on mine, stalking back over with a damp cloth for me. I swallowed hard, feeling my stupid, traitorous thighs press together with what little strength I had left as he lowered to the bed beside me again, the heat and expanse of him so close, and moved to help me clean the wound.
But it was still so infected and painful that I couldn't stand to press anything to my skin. So instead, he just waited with me for the slight trickle of blood to stop, our sides brushing against each other, his dark, tattooed arm stark against the white sleeves of his shirt, against the light bedspread.
"I have to let Elias get some sleep, let him off duty for a while," Cade said as the bleeding seemed to stop.
"Yeah, of course. I'll be fine."
"Oh I'm not leaving you here alone. I've got another of my guys coming, and a homecare nurse."
I shifted a bit, embarrassed. I was already indebted to Cade, who I had thoroughly rejected. It was an uncomfortable position to be in. I just wanted to be out of each other's lives again as soon as possible, back to my little apartment and my trendy job and my plants and my friends.
"You think that's really necessary?" I pressed. "The doctor seemed to think I would be okay."
"That's because he knows you'll be looked after. He'll check in on you, but Irene will be here around the clock. You'll like her, don't worry."
I didn't say anything else, just nodded. But Cade smiled and huffed out a sound of vague exasperation.
"You almost died, Lore."
"I know, I know. I'm not arguing."
"But you want to."
"You think because the moon thought we'd be good together you can read my mind now?" I droned sarcastically.
"Your expressions are rarely quiet." Cade returned.
I let my responding expression be very loud indeed. He raised an eyebrow at me and stood to pull his suit jacket back on while I fought to keep my eyes from the ripple of muscle under his shirt.
"Do you want me to check on you later?" he asked.
I let too long a moment pass before answering, because something about it caught me off guard. That he wanted to check on me or that he would ask my permission. Maybe he just felt obligated. Either out of politeness or because I was on his land now and he felt responsible for me. There was part of me that wanted to say yes. Yes, come back to me later. Yes, come fill my room with your scent and the steady reassurance of your presence.
"You don't need to do that. You've already done...the most. And I do appreciate you making sure there are people around for me. I'm not going to get a massive bill at the end of all this, am I?" I teased half-heartedly.
"We'll see," Cade answered, smirking at me. "This is a pack rental property, and these people are on my payroll. My taxpayers are funding your recovery here."
"I'll be sure to bake a cake when I can walk again."
"You should get some more rest if you can. When you wake up, Irene and Bowen will be here."
He looked me over one more time, his expression unreadable, and then turned to go.
"Cade," I said, and he turned back, holding my gaze with his dark eyes.
"Thank you. Really. I'm...very grateful."
He smiled politely.
"I couldn't just let you die," he answered.
And he left. The room felt different without him in it. Like it had reserved a space for him that couldn't integrate with the rest when he vacated it. I ignored the twist in my chest, the hurt I had no right to feel at his words, at how dismissive they'd been, and closed my eyes.
When I woke again around dinner time, I could indeed smell two unfamiliar wolves in the house, though I couldn't hear anything. My eyes opened more easily than they had in days, and I realized my headache had dulled to a faint, persistent ache instead of the throbbing waves of cracking pain. I was still feverishly sweaty, but my body pain seemed a little better too. I pulled myself into a sitting position, careful of the IV, and swiveled my head around on my neck, wiggled my fingers and toes. I was weak and still felt off, but I felt decidedly better. It was already the first sliver of relief I'd had in days.
That relief, muddied with all kinds of other feelings, laid heavy across my shoulders and tight over my chest, pushed up into my face and weighed behind my eyes until I slumped my head back against the wall and cried. Hard. Sobbed, even. Relief and exhaustion and overwhelm rolling through me. Among other things, I felt a surge of gratitude for Elias and the care he had shown me when he didn't have to. His attentiveness. His calm. I pulled a corner of the bed sheet up to wipe my eyes, and it still smelled like Cade. I buried my face in it and sucked the comfort of it in like it was medicine.
There was a timid knock at the door, and I jumped, hastily wiped my eyes, and said, "come in."
A woman around my age leaned in around the door, scanning the room and me in the bed, her eyebrows up in alertness and concern.
"You okay in here? I thought I heard crying."
What a way to meet someone.
"Oh, yeah. Totally good, sorry." I tried to smile.
"Are you in pain?" she persisted, pushing the door the rest of the way open but remaining in the doorway. She looked shorter than I was—petite—with smooth brown skin and black hair cut into a piecey bob and choppy, too-short bangs. She was wearing green scrubs and a chunky watch, face fully made up, sharp, penciled brows.
"Not much pain," I answered. "It's manageable."
She studied my red, streaky face a beat longer and then stepped into the room.
"Mind if I turn these lights on?"
I closed my eyes and braced for the burn of the lights, but they felt mostly normal to me now. She approached my bedside.
"I'm Irene, your nurse. Cade said you knew to expect me." She smiled at me warmly.
"Yes," I returned her smile. "Thank you for being here. I'm Lore."
"I can get that IV out, we just wanted to get some fluids in you."
"Yeah, I need to pee like crazy."
She grinned at me.
"Then let's definitely start there. And we can reup your pain meds after dinner—you hungry?"
I realized I was starving. I almost burst into tears again but held my mouth tightly and nodded.
"That's what we like to hear. Let's get you to the bathroom and then we can talk dinner."
Irene removed the IV and took the equipment out of my room as I went to the bathroom where I, tragically, caught sight of myself in the mirror. I looked as anyone would expect me to look, and every bit as gross as I felt. But now that I could stand without imminent fall danger, I wanted urgently to shower.
"No offense intended, but I bet you do," Irene said when I told her back in the bedroom. "That shouldn't be a problem as long as you feel strong enough."
"I think so, for a quick one."
"Let's get a look at that shoulder first, yeah? See if you can raise your arms okay."
Some of the swelling had started to go down a bit, and the skin was already closer to its normal shade, flushed but not neon red. Irene seemed satisfied.
"I brought a shower stool, so I can definitely put that in there in case you get fatigued. I can also help you shower or get a sponge bath and some dry shampoo if you're not feeling up to it. It can be tempting to overexert yourself when you start feeling a little better."
"I appreciate it but like...I have nothing to live for if I can't wash my hair for real."
We both laughed.
"Totally understood. Well, tell you what—what sounds good for dinner? We can send little boy Bowen out to get it while you shower, then get some real food in you."
"Yeah, it's been a few days."
"That'll help us start getting your strength back up."
I asked Irene not to introduce me to Bowen until after I had showered—too many people had seen me in this dismal state already as it was—and she agreed, said dinner was totally and entirely up to me. I asked for fried chicken and as much mashed potatoes as she would medically allow me to eat. Irene brought the shower stool in and unpacked my toiletries into the shower for me while I rested on the closed toilet lid, then she started the water, made sure I had everything I needed, and left me to it.
The hot water did sting at the wound on my shoulder, but in all other regards it was a revelation. I stood under the stream a long time just letting it fall over me, my hair down my back, imagining it pushing sweat and grime from the top of my head, past my feet and down the drain. I was grateful for the shower stool and sat on it to weakly suds up my hair with shampoo and to lather my body and face with soap. I didn't have strength for conditioner and didn't even consider shaving, stubble lining most of my body at this point.
As I eased the bar of soap over my skin, I absolutely refused to think about Cade's shoulders filling the doorway, his hands, the slope of his forearms under those tattoos. I didn't deign to consider his dark eyes, his lingering smirk, the way his hair fell.
My arms were too tired to twist my hair up, so I draped the towel over my shoulders and dried my body as well as I could, taking a break partway through. I collapsed back into bed wrapped in the towel, noting the fresh clothes Irene had unpacked and laid out for me.
Being clean felt so good. I closed my eyes and just...felt clean for a few minutes. Then there was another knock on the door and Irene stuck her head back in.
"How you doing in here? Bowen's back with dinner."
With the door cracked I could smell the fried chicken, and my mouth watered. It was plenty of motivation to pull myself into a sitting position.
"Need any help getting dressed?"
"I can manage it, Irene—thanks," I said appreciatively.
Minutes later, she hovered next to me all the way out to the dining room table and sat me down at a tub of mashed potatoes and a heaping pile of fried chicken, biscuits, green beans with bacon. I couldn't remember ever being so hungry or anything smelling so good. She dished up a plate for me—mostly mashed potatoes, as requested—and then stood behind me as I ate slowly, spraying leave-in conditioner into my hair and brushing it out for me, separating it to french braid on either side of my head. I thanked her profusely, but she brushed me off.
"No worries at all. Usually, I look after old people so I've seen pretty much everything you can imagine."
Bowen came in the front door then, carrying drinks.
"Sorry, they forgot our drinks and I had to go back," he explained, offering me a Sprite.
"I'm Bowen, hi," he said, and shook my hand. He was very young. Maybe early 20s. Hair like David Beckham—shorter on the sides, pushed back. Brown. He had very pretty green eyes, almost yellow, a scar through one thick eyebrow. Despite being so young, his face was square, and he had a sharp chin. He smelled very faintly of cigarettes.
"I'm Lore," I smiled wanly.
"Oh we all know who you are," he answered, grinning like it was an inside joke but not with any unkindness. He started to load up a plate and take it to the couch in the adjoining living room, but I put out a hand.
"Oh you can eat at the table," I said, pushing the containers of food to one end. "Don't let me scare you."
"Don't want to overtire you is all," he answered, but he pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat down.
"I'll let you know if the sight of you eating exhausts me," I retorted, and Irene snorted as she came around from behind me, my damp hair neatly braided back.
"He's just following my orders like a good boy," she drolled, dishing up her own plate and sitting across from me.
"You two know each other then?" I asked.
Bowen nodded, his mouth full of chicken.
"We've worked together a bunch of times," Irene said, pulling chicken from bone with her long, manicured fingernails. "I'm Cade's first call if he needs a nurse for something and he—"she nodded her head over at Bowen, "is Cade's last call if he needs an enforcer."
She beamed at him as she poked a piece of chicken into her mouth, and he sneered at her.
"Punk."
We ate together in silence for a moment. I speared a few green beans and a bite of chicken and chewed slowly. After having not eaten anything substantial in so many days, I didn't want to overdo it.
"So what's the deal with this bite?" Bowen asked me with interest, blotting his fingers on a napkin and reaching back for another thigh. "Like how did all that go down? From what I hear it was kinda wild."
I swallowed uncomfortably, but Irene was already saying, "babe, let's maybe not ask this medically very fragile and very nice girl about the traumatic assault she suffered mere days ago over dinner, yeah?"
Bowen looked like he was about to argue but didn't talk back to her, instead shooting a glance back at me as if to judge if I were upset and then becoming very intent on his dinner.
"It's okay," I assured him. "But yeah, not a super fun story."
"Ignore Bowen," Irene offered. "He's still without a fully formed frontal lobe."
When I was full, which didn't take very long, Irene ushered me over to the couch and she and Bowen cleaned up dinner while I channel surfed. I hadn't had cable in years and not being able to find anything that interested me felt almost nostalgic. Really though, I just couldn't settle my mind on anything. It was awkward being there with two strangers and I was still processing weeks of weirdness. Just being with members of Cade's pack, under his direction, felt like an out-of-body experience. I wanted to be polite, but I was drained and not sure what to talk about. Fortunately, Irene and Bowen seemed content to leave me pretty much to my own. Irene brought me a new dose of pain medication and then sat at the kitchen table on her laptop while Bowen went outside to smoke.
The pack doctor arrived about an hour later and looked me over, seeming very pleased with my progress. I did feel much better. I stayed on the couch for hours. I had slept most of the day and my internal clock was totally skewed. There was a second room where Irene appeared to be sleeping, but I gathered Bowen would be sleeping on the couch. Irene stayed up late enough to give me another dose of meds and make sure I didn't need anything, then she went to bed. She gave me her number and left her ringer turned up in case I needed anything and didn't want to shout across the house during the night.
Bowen and I didn't speak to each other, but he stayed sprawled over the loveseat while I stretched out along the couch under a blanket. We watched most of Shrek 2, then started a police procedural.
Sometime after midnight, Bowen cleared his throat and said, "Cade texted to ask how you are. How are you?"
His voice suddenly in the space between us made me jump after so many hours of silence, and I chose to ignore how it made me feel that Cade was checking up on me.
"Tell him I'm doing much better. Very little pain. Just tired. The doctor thinks it will take a few days to recover my strength."
Bowen thunked his thumbs over the keys and sent the text. When he looked down for the response moments later, I resisted the urge to ask him what it said.