The Lone Wolf's Rejected Mate (Five Packs #3)(29)

Did she materialize out of thin air? One minute the path was empty, and the next, Abertha is there, a patchwork bag slung over her shoulder, palms raised like she means no harm.

“I heard you met an animal in the woods,” she says. “I heard he got you good.” Her eyes are knowing, and her voice is knowing, and her knowing burns like salt in a wound.

Does she know why Darragh tried to kill me?

Is she the reason why?

I can’t go toe-to-toe with her, not on a normal day, and certainly not now. I ignore her and keep shuffling toward the door, trying not to move too much or breathe too deeply. The pain stabs deep under my ribs.

“It’s not that bad,” I say through clenched teeth, whether to myself or the others, I don’t know.

“She needs stitches,” Una tells Abertha over her shoulder as she gestures for Kennedy to continue helping me into the cabin.

It hurts to move, and it hurts to remember Darragh standing on Abertha’s front porch, drinking her tea. It hurts that I could care at all that he’s cool with the witch after what he did. He hates me. He wants me to die.

He’s not the first male to try to end me.

And they both fucking failed. I gather myself together, straighten my spine as much as the gash will let me.

Una saved me from my father eighteen years ago, and Kennedy saved me tonight by a hair’s breadth. You know, maybe Fate doesn’t have it out for me. Maybe she’s got my back, and the real enemies are the fucked-up males in this fucked-up pack.

I don’t know if it’s true, but it gives me a shot of strength, so I cling to the idea. I’m not curling up on the ground again.

I let Kennedy bear my weight as she lowers me into a chair at the dining room table and backs up to let Una resume her fussing. Abertha has trailed everyone in, but she’s lingering several feet away. Annie’s rustling around in the kitchen, probably putting on the kettle.

Gingerly, Una rips the T-shirt the rest of the way off and peels the fabric from the drying blood, easing the scraps of cotton over my head. I cover my breasts with the arm opposite the wound. I don’t want the witch to see my breasts.

I hunch my shoulders and hiss as the motion makes the torn flesh throb. How bad is it?

Steeling myself, I risk a peek down, and instantly, my stomach rolls. My side looks like a fillet of whitefish scored by a knife. Before I can stop myself, a whimper escapes my lips.

“I can take the pain away,” Abertha calls from across the room by the coffee table. “I can heal it like it never happened.”

“What’s the catch?” Kennedy asks, suspicion in her voice. She’s picked up on my antipathy toward the witch, and as always, she has my back.

In the kitchen, a dish clatters against the counter. The scent of Annie’s shock at the question wafts into the dining room. Usually, even Kennedy wouldn’t be bold enough to step to the witch, but I’m sure she’s still riding the high from our narrow escape.

“No catch for you,” Abertha says to me, ignoring Kennedy. Her expression is bland, but there’s compassion in her crinkled eyes. It makes me feel mean and dirty.

“But there’s a catch for someone?” I ask. Everyone knows that magic is never free.

“It’s already been paid,” she says.

“Give the money back.” I don’t want anything from Darragh Ryan. I want him to disappear from this pack forever. I want to forget he ever existed.

“It’s foolish to suffer when you don’t have to.” Abertha arches an eyebrow.

“Well, I guess I’m foolish then.” Tears swim in my eyes again. I just want this to be over.

“Give it here,” I say and reach for the metal first aid box. Kennedy slides it over. I fumble with the latch.

“Mari,” Una murmurs, stilling my fingers with her hand. “We’re here to help you.”

I shake her off. “I can do it myself.” I sniffle down snot as I flip the lid open and root around for sutures and thread.

The younger males like Fallon and Gael know that Annie and I sew, so sometimes when they get injured sparring, and they know Una’s out, they’ll slink to the backdoor to have us patch them up. Killian would lose his shit on them if he knew. He’d probably make them hand over their man card. I don’t know if they’re supposed to stitch themselves up, or just suck it up, but they’re definitely not supposed to come to a female for comfort.

Una probably wouldn’t mind us helping—I’m sure she’d help, too, if she knew—but she’s more or less in charge of us, so she’d be the one to get in trouble if we were busted. If she doesn’t need to be involved, we try to keep her out of our shenanigans. She’s stuck her neck out far enough for us as it is.

Anyway, I’ve had practice. I know what I’m doing, and something inside me needs to do this for myself.

Una and Abertha must sense my determination because they don’t push it. They’re all quiet as I disinfect the skin around the jagged claw marks and take a few deep breaths to steady myself. I scoop the needle through the wound over and over until it’s closed, looping the thread around the needle driver, grabbing the tail, pulling the knot tight, and snipping the ends.

It hurts like a son of a bitch, and I have to plaster my chin to my chest to see what I’m doing, so I get a monster crick in my neck.