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Petra sighs. “I only now got to sit down and do my hair after setting a broken bone earlier. Let me fetch my supplies.”

Sascha nearly crushes her in his arms again but holds back because doing so will only slow her down.

Instead, he hovers a few feet away, watching anxiously as Petra collects her medical bag: A large, bulky duffel with two compartments, one for traditional medicine and one for supernatural medicine, when human tools prove to be not enough.

She then secures her waist-length Afro-textured hair into two twists and ties them back with a scarf.

Once prepared, Petra carefully locks up the clinic, leaving a note about her departure on the door.

There are other healers in the pack—her assistants—but Petra is the only one who’s cared for Sascha through twenty-four years of suffering from the spinning sickness.

Sascha trusts no one more than her, and is relieved to have such a person in his corner.

He wishes she’d move just a little bit faster, though.

With Petra in the car and buckled up, Sascha hits the gas pedal, already having punched the intersection into his GPS. Hopefully, Avery is still there and hasn’t encountered any more trouble.

The ride feels like forever, when it’s barely fifteen minutes. Every second drags, manifesting in Sascha fidgeting in his seat and impatiently tapping his fingers on the steering wheel at every red light.

“I have something for anxiety,” Petra says. Sascha is so focused he almost doesn’t respond, only remembering to politely decline at the last second before a light turns green, and he floors it. Petra grabs the ‘oh shit’ handle above the door and huffs.

At first, coming up on the intersection, Sascha doesn’t see anything. Then he sees the guard rail, a thin body balled up behind it, and lank, dark curls peeking over the edge of the curved sheet metal.

Avery.

Sascha nearly flings his car off the road, pulling onto the shoulder, breath caught in his throat.

“Avery!” he calls, skidding, nearly tripping on the rumble strip on the edge of the curving road.

Behind him, Petra exits the car, and though Sascha isn’t looking at her—too busy flinging himself on the ground before Avery—he feels when every muscle in her body locks up.

“Sascha,” Petra says, unusual fear in her voice. “That’s a?—”

“I know what he is,” Sascha snaps. “Just come help him. Please .”

Avery seems disoriented when Sascha tugs his arms away from his knees, gasping at the uncovered wounds and the dried blood.

His fingers flutter over Avery’s arms, avoiding the deep scratch in his left forearm.

There’s another one on his right calf, and when Sascha pulls Avery into a timid embrace, he feels how Avery’s shirt is stiff from being soaked with blood and then baked in the high noon sun.

Delicately, Sascha ghosts his fingers downward until he encounters the alarming width of a gash across his lower back, dangerously close to his spinal column.

“Avery, babe,” murmurs Sascha, stroking his dirty hair off his forehead.

He thumbs the arch of Avery’s eyebrow, trying to rouse him from his near-comatose state.

Avery blinks blearily, then again when Sascha presses his lips to Avery’s cheek.

This time he looks more aware, enough to whimper when Sascha kisses all over his face, avoiding one spot over his other cheekbone that’s been scratched raw.

Slowly, Sascha’s small, injured werecreature comes back to himself.

He shifts in Sascha’s grasp, hissing from the pain, and makes disbelieving noises when Sascha assures him, over and over again, that he’s here to save him.

Finally, Avery is aware enough to press his lips against the corner of Sascha’s mouth, hands fisted in Sascha’s shirt.

Petra’s gasp draws Sascha’s attention. She hasn’t moved from the car’s open door, her copper skin paled and lips parted in disbelief.

She shouldn’t be that surprised, really.

If anyone was going to run off and fraternize with forbidden creatures, it would be Sascha, as useless as he is to the rest of the pack.

But he stares at Petra anyway, imploring her to look beyond the scent of a werecreature—not bitter at all, not like all the exaggerated stories claimed—and instead see a seriously injured man who did nothing to deserve this reality.

A war fights its way across Petra’s features, but when Sascha sees the healer emerge, a relieved sob shakes him.

“Sascha,” Avery mumbles, pawing at his face. “It’s okay, Sascha.”

Nodding and snuffling so hard he has to wipe his nose on his sleeve, Sascha presses a hard kiss to Avery’s forehead, holding him as tight as he dares.

With her jaw set and medical bag in hand, Petra makes her way over.

She digs into her bag, withdrawing tools Sascha can’t name.

He makes himself as useful as he can, gently puppeting Avery so Petra can take stock of all his injuries and get his vitals.

Finally, after several minutes of silent work, Petra clicks her tongue.

“He doesn’t look good, but I don’t think these will be life-threatening, if treated properly.

I’m going to need a clean, quiet place to work. ”

The unspoken message is clear: Not on pack lands . Like Sascha is foolish enough to hope the rest of his pack would be as understanding as Petra, who seems not so much understanding as swayed by her medical ethics, which is what Sascha was betting on.

“I’ll book a hotel room,” Sascha says without hesitation.

“Let’s get him to the car first.” He waits for Petra to determine the best way to move Avery.

Sascha would have carried him, except for the laceration on his back.

In the end, Sascha provides support as Avery limps to the car and flops across the back seat like a man who’s already preparing to become a corpse.

He squeezes Avery’s bare foot, wincing to see how scraped the soles are.

“Keep yourself awake, Avery. C’mon, eyes open. ”

“No concussion,” Avery bitches, but he blinks open bloodshot green eyes and offers Sascha a tiny smile. “Thank you. For coming.”

What might be the beginning of tears stings the back of Sascha’s nose.

He brushes his thumb over a patch of uninjured skin on Avery’s ankle, chokes out, “Anytime. Always,” then gently closes the car door.

After looking up the closest semi-passable hotel, Sascha calls to make a reservation, putting the concierge on speakerphone while he drives toward Mackinac City.

He’ll be passing the drive-in theater where they had their first date, which makes it even harder to breathe while he’s booking the room.

Sascha speeds. He’s usually not that type of driver, since he has so little to do without being allowed to keep a job or go to college outside of online classes.

Now, with Avery moaning in the back, Sascha goes as fast as he can justify, arriving at the hotel three minutes before the GPS estimate.

Petra sends him inside to pay and retrieve the keycards, and then, together, they wrap Avery in a medical blanket to hide his wounds and walk him inside.

Sascha tries to look calm, like this is a completely normal situation, even though Avery is barefoot and staggering between them.

It probably doesn’t work, but no one stops them.

Petra strips the comforter of one queen-sized bed and spreads the medical blanket on the sheets, then helps Sascha settle a barely conscious Avery on the mattress.

After a tense visual examination, she says, “As much as it galls me to admit this, I’m not sure where to begin.

This is my first time examining a werecreature, and I can already tell his magic pathways are different from ours. Can he not simply shift?”

Sascha would have told her to ask Avery himself about how his body heals, except he doesn’t think Avery knows, either. That makes three of them.

“I have no idea, but Avery doesn’t…” Sascha frowns, not wanting to expose Avery’s weaknesses without his consent, but Avery is barely conscious. “He doesn’t have full control over his shift. We’ve been working on it.”

Needles might as well be shooting from Petra’s eyes when she levels Sascha with an incredulous stare. He avoids meeting her gaze because admitting that he’s hanging around an unstable werecreature is not going to inspire much confidence.

“His shifted form is also, um, huge.”

That sends Petra’s brows higher on her forehead. She considers Avery, who looks rather tiny and pitiful, with a skeptical expression.

“I know it sounds wild, but I’ve seen it. He’s massive . For all I know, the transformation could seriously hurt him while he’s in this condition.”

Lips forming a grim line, Petra nods. “I see. I’ll do what I can, and what I can’t… Well. That’s what the internet is for. There’s a lot of information about werecreatures on Reddit,” she adds, in response to Sascha’s questioning look.

“You read about werecreatures on Reddit?”

“A doctor is allowed to have questions.”

It seems hypocritical to spend time learning how to care for people one doesn’t respect, but Sascha doesn’t say that. “So you think you can figure it out?”

Petra scoffs. “Of course I do. Don’t bring me places if you’re going to insult me.”

Collapsing onto the opposite bed, Sascha breathes a heavy sigh of relief. Petra has taken Sascha’s life in her hands many times over the years, and he’s confident that if anyone can put Avery back together, it’s going to be her.

The run he’ll be missing tonight pokes at the back of his thoughts.

Sascha should text his dad that something came up, but he doesn’t want to.

In fact, he turns off his phone entirely, allowing his attention to slip across the space between the beds, watching Petra’s deft, brown hands drag supplies from her bulky black bag.