Until she could figure out a better way to avoid her future mate. Whoever he was.
Running full speed across the small yard Cleaver used to store junk he didn’t need anymore, she flung open the gate separating his personal property from the business of his bar. She squeezed past several used kegs to the back entry and gave the heavy door a shove. Rushing through the kitchen, one of the bags slipped from her shoulder, knocking an empty pitcher to the floor.
Not important. She’d clean it up later.
In the bar, she was met with the undeniable scent of blood, coppery and thick. Surprisingly, the place was empty except for Cleaver and his bear bouncers huddled over two others at the pool table.
“Talk to me,” Christina barked, hurrying around the bar and kicking a stray chair out of the way. The bears cleared out and she set her bags on the table, her brain already cataloging wounds and assessing the situation.
A panther. Female. Young, but several years into adulthood, lay sprawled on the table. The green felt beneath her was quickly turning a blackish red from the blood seeping from her wounds.
“Help her. You have to help her.” The frantic voice belonged to the naked male hovering over the injured cat. His skin was slicked in red and his eyes were peeled wide with determination.
Christina nodded calmly. “Okay. But you have to help me help her. What’s your name?”
“My name? My name? What the hell does that matter? She’s the one that needs the help.” His voice rose with each new sentence.
“His name’s Owyn,” Cleaver spoke near Christina’s ear. “From the Ouachita’s.”
The Ouachitas. A mountain cat like her.
“Okay, Owyn. I need your help to understand what happened here so I can know how to best treat her. You follow?” she asked, lining up the supplies she’d need. She waited for him to nod before turning to one of the bears. “I need water. Several buckets of it. Soap. Towels, and some clothes for Owyn here. And what the hell with that music? Turn it off, will ya?”
She couldn’t be piecing this poor female back together to the tune of Achy Breaky Heart. It just wasn’t right. She was a touch superstitious, and Billy Ray Cyrus seemed like bad operating juju.
The bear nodded gravely and stalked off to fetch her supplies.
Christina gave Owyn a raised eyebrow glance.
“The bastard ripped her up before I got there,” Owyn said, as she drew up a dose of tranquilizer for the female. “H-He was trying to force her to mate. I think she clawed him first and he did this. Fuck. I was just leaving. Getting in my truck, but I heard her and knew something was wrong. Followed the cries, and found him trying to use her to heal himself while she was bleeding out.”
He stopped talking when Christina inserted the syringe in the female’s muscle. Darting a glance to Cleaver, she sent a message with a single look. They needed to find the asshole that did this.
Cleaver gave a tiny nod, and turned to Owyn. “What direction did he take off to?”
From the corner of her eye, Christina could see Owyn’s head as it shook back and forth, and she stifled a growl. If he even thought about covering for the sick bastard who’d inflicted this kind of injury… well, she’d have to count on Cleaver to make things right.
“I…”
“Son, don’t fuck with my patience,” Cleaver growled. “He can’t hide from my bears. They’ll find him with or without your help. And after they deal with him, they’ll come for you—”
“I killed him,” Owyn blurted, bringing Christina’s head up in surprise. “Goddamn. You think I’d protect a male like that? After everything, you think I’d stand for… for… this?” He glared at Cleaver like he wanted chicken for dinner and falcon would do.
Shit. She didn’t need the distraction of two males fighting right now. She needed to focus.
“No,” Cleaver said finally. “No, I know you better than that.”
He nodded to one of the bears, and Christina knew they’d be taking care of whatever was left of the dead male’s body. And if all the blood Owyn was wearing was anything to go by, there probably wasn’t much of a body left.
Using one of the buckets, Christina scrubbed her hands clean. Shifters didn’t catch infection the same way humans did, but her med school habits were still intact. Better safe than sorry.
When she was done, she nodded to Owyn. “Your turn. Get some of that blood off you. I might need your help, and you can’t do it looking like that.”
He frowned but did as she directed.
Carefully, she peeled away the blood soaked cloth he’d been holding to the female’s torso, and fought the urge to hiss at what was revealed. Three deep claw marks, approximately ten inches long, stretched from her ribs to her lower belly. They were deep enough they’d never heal on their own. And at a cursory glance, she suspected the patient might lose her uterus. Or at least the use of it.