“Dr. Two Horses is flying in to begin treatment,” Rule said. “That will make a difference.”
“The healer.” His thin lips tightened with distaste. “Her assistance may be beneficial for the soft tissue damage. There is substantial evidence that intervention by a Gifted healer can speed recovery, but I am aware of no studies showing that such intervention results in greater nerve regeneration than would occur naturally. However, it is unlikely that Dr. Two Horses’s treatments would cause any harm, so I have no objection.”
“What a relief,” Lily muttered. “You can go away now.”
Stanton frowned. “Have you spoken with someone from Physical Therapy? We have an excellent facility here, with—”
“I live in San Diego, so I’ll be disciplined with my therapy there.”
The surgeon should have remembered that Lily wasn’t local, but he didn’t really see her—he saw a medical condition. No doubt he often found the humanity of his patients inconvenient. Primly he said, “I am not acquainted with San Diego’s therapeutic facilities.”
“Dr. Two Horses is.” Rule moved forward to usher the man out. “She’ll be in touch with you when she arrives, I’m sure. Thank you for your skill and your time, Doctor.” And now, as Lily said, go away.
Stanton’s head moved about a centimeter in a nod. “Good day, then.”
“He doesn’t approve of Nettie, does he?” Lily said once Rule closed the door behind the surgeon. “Hard to have much confidence in him when he’s an idiot.”
“I suspect he doesn’t approve of anything outside his own skill set, and he’s suspicious of anything not connected to him in some way. Like San Diego.” Rule took a moment before he turned to face her, schooling his expression. At least he didn’t have to worry about her smelling his fear. “He’s not convinced we have any therapists, much less decent facilities for them to use.”
Lily’s smile was brief and abstracted. Her eyes were shadowed; her gaze distant. Her arm … her poor arm. It was supported by a sling, a padded contraption with straps. They couldn’t cast it, not with unhealed wounds.
Lily had “an open, comminuted diaphyseal fracture of the humerus.” Translated, that meant multiple breaks in the shaft of the bone combined with an open wound—the messy exit the bullet had made as it blew out the front of her biceps. Because bone has a poorer blood supply than the soft tissue around it, infection was a worry. Less blood meant fewer immune cells delivered to the wound site. That’s why they wouldn’t do the skin graft over the exit wound yet. They wanted to be sure there was no infection before closing things up.
People kept saying she was lucky. There was no significant vascular damage, no joint damage, and the surgeon had been able to use internal fixation—in other words, he’d nailed the bone back together inside her arm instead of using an external rod with pins or screws that impaled skin and bone alike to hold the pieces together. And yes, Rule supposed that was luck of a sort.
But now the surgeon said she wouldn’t regain full function. The horror of permanent, unhealed damage … Rule couldn’t get his mind around that. It was something he’d never face. If a lupus didn’t die from a wound, he healed completely.
And there was nothing, not one damned thing, he could do about it. She was human, and he … he was useless. “Nettie will help the healing more than the good doctor realizes. The mate bond will make a difference, too.”
His words had no impact on her abstracted expression. “You’ve suggested that before—that the mate bond may be giving a boost to my immune system.”
“It helps with healing, period. We don’t know how much, but it will help.” If only he could will the bond to steal some of his healing and give it to her! “Are you ready for your other pain pill?” She’d taken one; the other was still in its little paper cup.
“Not yet.” Her gaze tightened, focusing on him. “You need to go get some rest. Crash at the hotel awhile. You didn’t sleep much.”
He hadn’t slept at all. How could he? “I’m fine. I’m not leaving.”
“At least go get some breakfast. The chips you got from a vending machine when I was eating my yummy broth won’t carry you.”
He smiled. “Soon. Not yet.”
Her mouth tipped wryly. She held out her hand. Her left hand.
He moved close and wrapped his hand around hers. For a few moments neither of them spoke.
Rule noticed the sorrow first … a deep, gray sorrow, like being wrapped in rain clouds that held no lightning or thunder. Only grief, gray and formless. Grief for Lily’s hurt. Grief for a tall man with café au lait skin and a smile that would not be seen again on this earth.
After a moment he also noticed that he was hungry. Too hungry, considering where he was. He gave in. “You’re right. I need to eat. Would you object to having Jeff in your room while I’m gone?”
“Yes.” Her gaze sharpened. “Don’t tell me he’s here.”
“Of course he’s here. He’s guarding your door. Alex is sending more guards, but until they arrive—”
“Wait, wait. I don’t want guards.”
His hand tightened on hers. “You’ll have them whether you want them or not. Someone wants to kill you. They damned near succeeded.”
“They killed LeBron. They killed him instead of me. I hate it. I hate it. I won’t have guards.”
All sorts of things rose up in Rule’s mind—orders, reasons, arguments … words. All sorts of words that would explain and persuade. The words wanted to burst out, wrap themselves around her, protect her.
His wolf wouldn’t let them. Wait, the wolf commanded, looking through the man’s eyes at the woman he loved beyond words or reasons. He saw such grief in her face, such pain. Saw, too, that she was fighting that pain. His words wouldn’t help. They would only give her more to fight against.
He waited.
The breath she drew broke in the middle. “I resented them. LeBron and Jeff and all the rest. Not them personally, but I resented them always being around. I thought I was being so reasonable by bringing him with me on my run. I was following the rules, wasn’t I? I didn’t want him there, but because I was so damned reasonable I let him tag along. And he died. I didn’t have to go running, but I did, and he died. He died saving me.”
Ah … Rule wanted to gather her close and croon to her. She hadn’t grown up, as he had, knowing that others would die to protect him. Or because he sent them to fight the clan’s enemies. Or because he simply made a mistake. She didn’t know how to accept that, how to honor such choices. She was the one who defended others. How could she allow others to risk themselves for her?
Lily’s childhood had broken apart when she and a friend were taken by a twisted man—or a thing that walked and looked like a man. Her friend hadn’t survived. Lily had, and she’d knit those broken pieces back together by growing into a warrior, one who fought for others, for justice. Most of all, one who fought the monsters in whatever form they took.
Time, now, for words, but carefully. Carefully. “LeBron couldn’t stop the monster who wanted you dead. There wasn’t time. The best he could do was to deny that monster his target. He succeeded. Will you deny him the honor of his victory?”
“It isn’t … I don’t …” She stopped. Swallowed. “I need to do something,” she whispered. “I don’t know what, but I need to do something.”
He nodded. “There will be a ceremony. You’ve been to our funerals before, but when a warrior falls in defense of his people—”
“I’m not his people. I’m not Leidolf.”
“You are a Chosen, touched by the Lady. His Rho’s Chosen. In defending you, he defended his Rho and all his people. You don’t have to agree, Lily, simply accept that this is how we see it. How LeBron saw it.”