Hunting Season: Werewolf Bodyguard Romance (Guarded by the Shifter Book 1) by Kate Rudolph (new reading TXT) 📗

promised it wasn't illegal, but she couldn't think of a non-shady reason for someone to avoid the hospital for a life-threatening issue.

They crossed over into Brooklyn and weaved through the streets until Owen pulled up in front of a warehouse. Stasia clutched her supply bag tight. This place wasn't going to be sterile, and infection was a threat she'd be fighting to the end.

"Come on." Owen parked the car and led them through the door. It wasn't as bad inside as she feared; the building was set up with offices and it was brightly lit, almost pleasant. Or it would have been if she didn't hear someone moaning in pain.

They started to run.

Stasia burst through the door to one of the rooms and found a man lying on an exam table with another man holding him down and a woman holding a bloodied rag over his shoulder.

The muscle could be fucked, but he was alive so his heart probably wasn't hit.

She didn't waste time wondering why this office/warehouse had a medical exam room in it, nor did she bother with introductions. She went to the sink on the side of the room and washed her hands as best she could.

"Wash your hands," she told Owen and Em, "I may need you." She didn't know about the other two people, but from the way her patient was squirming, they were trying to keep him from moving too much. The damage may have already been done.

"What happened?" Stasia demanded of the woman applying pressure.

She looked up and she couldn't have been more than twenty-five, bright blue eyes full of fear and confusion. Then she blinked and snapped out of it. "Gunshot. Right shoulder. Handgun, possibly nine millimeter. Bryan's been shot before, why isn't it closing up?" she demanded.

"Willa!" snapped the man holding her patient down.

"She needs to know, Andre."

Willa. Andre. Bryan. Stasia filed those names away. "Any exit wound?" She didn't know what Willa meant about the wound closing, probably just panic, even though she'd given the report with poise. They didn't have time to worry. The t-shirt she was holding against the wound was soaked and, as far as she knew, she didn't have any blood to transfuse.

"No," said Willa.

"Okay." This was going to be quick and dirty. Stasia had a scalpel with her and she needed to see what she could do. Digging the bullet out would likely cause more harm than good, but she had to get her eyes on it, see what the situation was.

She approached her patient. Bryan was moving, but his eyes were closed and he didn't seem aware of what was going on. "Bryan, can you hear me?" she asked.

He moaned in pain.

"Bryan," she tried again, "I'm going to help you. This may hurt." It would. No way around that. She wasn't in the habit of carrying around strong drugs, but they'd worry about the shock of pain later.

Bryan kept moaning.

No more time to waste. She met Willa's eyes. "Was there any blood spurting when you began applying pressure?"

"No, just regular bleeding."

"Good. I need you to remove that t-shirt and go to his feet. Hold them down. He's probably going to move when I start cutting." She hated to think it. Even on the darkest days in Bermeja she hadn't needed to cut into semi-conscious patients.

Willa moved. Stasia could feel Em and Owen standing behind her, but she ignored them. This was her element and she had to do her thing.

She met Andre's eyes. "You ready?"

He nodded.

She assessed the wound and scowled at the way his skin had gone an almost impossible gray color, as if some of the dye from the shirt had soaked into it. She hoped that was it; she had no idea what could cause the issue otherwise.

She wasn't a surgeon, but she had general training and she could do this.

Stasia sliced deeper into her patient's wound and revealed the torn muscle underneath. "Give me light," she demanded, and a few seconds later a flashlight shined over her shoulder. It must have been either Owen or Em, but she didn't look back to check.

It didn't take long to find the bullet. It wasn't lodged deep and she was distantly curious as to why it was causing her patient so much trouble. Sure, it should have hurt like a motherfucker, but it wasn't near anything vital and it wasn't that deep.

"Forceps," she demanded.

"What?" asked Em, who she could hear rooting around in her bag.

"The giant tweezers. And I'll need the suture kit next."

"Got it." They were shoved into Stasia's hand.

She carefully extracted the piece of metal from the wound and dropped it into a container that Owen was holding. She only looked away for a second, but when she examined the wound again, it was smaller.

Impossibly smaller.

Her patient's eyes snapped open and he let out a bellowing roar.

"Hold him!" Stasia demanded of Andre and Willa. The bullet was out, but he was far from safe.

But Bryan was a man possessed and he struggled against them. The forceps went flying out of her hand as he surged up, and then the scalpel fell too, catching her forearm along the way with a bright, stinging stripe of red.

His eyes were wide and shifted from blue to yellow as something began to happen to his face. Stasia didn't understand it. She couldn't figure it out. This wasn't medical. It wasn't possible. He shouldn't have that much energy to begin with, let alone be… changing.

Fur started to spring up and his bones slid around with gross cracks. It couldn't have taken more than a few seconds and Stasia was rooted in place in fascination and fear.

Someone put a hand on her shoulder, as if trying to pull her back. She could distantly hear someone saying something, but the roaring of the beast in front of her drowned it all out.

Werewolf.

It should have been shocking. Should have been impossible. But she was seeing it with her own two eyes. What was there to disbelieve? Her hands had