If she doesn’t, I’ll join her wherever she’s going. I’ll rip my own heart out and join her.
“Fix her!” I shout.
Cat’s eyes dart to me. “I will, darling,” she says with strength in her voice that surprises me. “I’d tell you to sit down or take a walk while I do that, but I can tell you’re a stubborn alpha so instead you’ll pace and growl and boss me around. And that’s okay. But just do it from five feet back so you don’t get in my way.” She opens a cabinet, fetches a bottle and a bag, and fiddles with things on a tray beside Ivy. Just a moment later, she’s sticking a needle into Ivy’s hand. It’s attached to a clear hose and that hose is attached to a metal contraption that holds a bag.
It's a good thing the person caring for Ivy is who she is to me and that I know this because I now know I don’t like anybody touching my woman and seeing someone poke something sharp into her would otherwise send me into a haze of rage. I trust this woman. Everything inside me tells me she’s my mother and that she is trustworthy.
“Fix her,” I whisper, and her eyes hit mine.
“I will, son.”
Riley steps in with a bundle of fabric in his arm.
My eyes track his movements as he comes in and I step in front of Ivy, blocking her from him.
“Here. Clothing.” He sets the bundle on a counter dropping a pair of boots on the floor beside me. His gaze is filled with something. Knowing, maybe. Knowing not to bother me with words. Right now, what I need is to see her improve. He grabs the doorknob on his way out. I’ve already seen more people out there; the room is filled with at least a dozen and many sets of eyes are trained on me as the door closes.
“How long will it take?” I demand, seeing the liquid from the bag moving into the hose where it’ll deliver the medicine to my Ivy. I hope it works. I stare at it, demanding it to work.
“A few hours at least,” she says. “It was too late for a venom extraction kit, and it penetrated the muscle anyway, so we’re doing slow IV administration of the antivenom. I’m going to give her antibiotics as well.”
I get the jeans on and pull a white t-shirt over my head. I pull socks on, then note the boots are too tight on my feet, so I pull the socks back off, kick them aside, and resume pacing.
Later, after I’ve watched Cat come in and out and clean everything she used and check Ivy’s heart and pulse, a young shifter woman knocks on the door and opens it. She drops a pair of shoes and gives me a quick smile before she quickly backs away.
She’s dropped shoes similar to the shoes Ivy wore in the house with the rubber soles, though these don’t have a plug between the toes. Instead they have a black and white striped band across the top.
“Thank you, Leona,” Cat says.
The woman sits down, but the door remains open.
I slip my feet into them. They fit. Not more than a moment later, I’m kicking them off, not liking the noise they make or the way they clap my soles when I pace.
It’s shoes like these that leave men and women vulnerable to being bit by a snake.
And any sign of vulnerabilities increases the chance of others taking advantage. I loathe even the slightest notion of feeling vulnerable, never mind looking that way.
I’m not wired to show a vulnerability. A vulnerability would lead to opportunity from other predators. Vulnerability in prey did the equivalent of making me hard as a wolf. I’m the predator. And those around me are also predators. I won’t forget it.
I sit on a small sofa, resting my forearms on my thighs as I stare at Ivy.
Her eyes are on me. She’s awake. I jump up and go to her.
I see that the swelling has already decreased some. Color is returning in her face. She’s definitely improved. Relief nearly knocks me over.
My hand goes to her face and she stares at me with her large violet eyes. Her skin still feels warm though maybe slightly less warm.
“Will she survive?” I demand of Cat, eyes still on Ivy.
“Definitely,” Cat replies.
My eyes move back to my mate’s face.
“You left me,” I accuse.
Ivy swallows and looks away from me.
The silence feels like it has a noise to it. A noise I don’t like. My hand slides away from her face and I try to get a read on her expression.
She moistens her lips and looks to Cat. “Looks like mother nature didn’t want me to go, either. Um, Doctor?”
Cat’s head rises from her task at the counter, where she’s writing something down. She looks expectantly at her and Ivy startles. Ivy’s eyes bounce to me and back to Cat and then to me again and she gives her head a shake.