Young Brothers - My Sister Is A Werewolf Part 30

"Do you really think there are two of those things out there?" Granddad countered.

Yes, he did. He struggled to his feet. He knew there were two. And the other could be right behind the

shed, waiting.

"Give me the gun," he told the older man. "And wait inside."

For once, Granddad didn't seem to need to be told twice. He handed the rifle to his grandson.

Jensen headed toward the woodshed, listening closely. For some reason the breeze through the branches, the leaves under his feet, seemed much louder than usual. Not to mention the scents of damp earth, dead leaves wet from the earlier rain, and the hints of gasoline from his grandfather's ancient sedan. All of it seemed so intense, so p.r.o.nounced. Obviously because his senses were already in overdrive from the earlier incident. Now everything had him more aware, more on edge.

He glanced around, easily seeing the garage and the woodshed behind. He blinked, wondering why he could see them so easily now, when earlier he'd had a hard time even making out that animal that was only inches from his face.

Because he wasn't panicking now, he reasoned, even as his heart pounded against his rib cage. He lifted the gun. Then a sound stopped him. He froze, listening.

It was a faint moan. A feeble sound, yet filled with pain. He glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source. Another small groan, low and distinctly feminine.

He zeroed in on the woodshed. The sound had definitely come from the same place where he'd seen the other one. He paused, debating whether he should wait for his grandfather to get his other rifle. It there were two of those things... But he didn't wait-he strode in the direction of the shed. When he got closer, a familiar scent wafted around him.

Elizabeth.

"Elizabeth?" he called, opening the doors and looking inside. His grandfather's ride-on lawnmower was parked in the middle of the s.p.a.ce. Several rows of wood lined one wall; the other was littered with gardening tools and other lawn equipment.

She was here. He knew it. He shut the doors and walked around the shed. He reached the back and spotted her-half-sitting, half-lying against the side of the building-right where the thing had been.

"Oh my G.o.d." He rushed forward, stopping short of touching her. She moaned again, but otherwise didn't respond. He wasn't even sure if she was conscious. He stared at her, unsure what to do. He knew what he'd seen back here, and it hadn't been Elizabeth. Yet here she was now.

What was happening?

She groaned again, the sound so pained, and this time he couldn't stay away. This was Elizabeth. And she was hurt.

He set down the rifle and lifted her against his chest. He ran toward the house, barreling up the back steps and into the kitchen. Granddad started as he entered, then rose.

"Dear G.o.d. Is she all right?"

Jensen shook his head. "I have no idea. I found her out by the woodshed."

He hurried through the kitchen, taking her to the sofa. Carefully, he placed her on the cus.h.i.+ons. She moaned again, something obviously causing her pain. He inspected what he could see. Her face was free of sc.r.a.pes. Her arms, too. Then he noticed a wet, dark spot barely visible on her blue s.h.i.+rt. He looked down at his own hands, and saw they were covered with dark red. Blood.

He peeled back her t-s.h.i.+rt, easing it upward until he could see the wound-round, red, and ragged-in her right shoulder.

Not a wound that could have been made by an animal. Definitely a gunshot wound.

"I shot her." Jensen heard his grandfather say, his voice a little reedy and confused. "How did I shoot her?"

Jensen didn't answer. He didn't know. Given what he knew now, he found it hard to believe that his granddad could confuse Elizabeth for what he saw out there. He knew what he'd seen and there was no mistaking that creature for a human.

"Maybe it ricocheted or something." Even as he said the words, he didn't believe them. "But she definitely needs to go to the hospital."

Jensen started to lift her again, his panic at the paleness of her features making him a little rough.

This time she cried out-the jarring pain roused her. She blinked up at him, her gaze dazed although she gradually managed to focus.

"Jensen?" She started to lift her arm to touch his face, but she winced and let it drop back to her stomach. Still she gazed at him as if he were a figment of her imagination.

"You are alive," she murmured. This time she did touch him, using her other hand. "You are alive."

Her pale eyes welled with tears.

"Yes, sweetheart, I'm fine." He wondered if she'd seen the attack. She must have, since it was the only reason for her emotional reaction.

"He was going to kill you."

She had seen that attack.

"It's okay. Granddad shot him. It's okay now."

She stared at him for a moment, then let out a sigh of relief. "He's gone, then?"

"Yes. Gone for good."

"Good. Good."

Her eyes drifted shut for a moment, and he was afraid she'd fallen unconscious again. Although given how painful her injury must be, it might be a blessing.

Carefully, he attempted to lift her again. Her eyes snapped open.

"Please, Jensen, no." Her plea nearly broke his heart. She was in a lot of pain. That was clear in her eyes.

"Sweetheart, I have to get you to the hospital."

Her eyes widened and panic, true panic, filled them, just as they had the night of her fever. "No! No!"

She struggled, trying to sit up.

He gently held her down, trying to stop the worst of her struggling. "Elizabeth, stop. You are going to hurt yourself even worse."

She did stop, but her eyes still pleaded with him. "No hospital. Promise me."

He hesitated, taking in her pale skin and the sweat dampening her hair. She was in serious pain. Instead

of answering her, he carefully slid an arm under her shoulders and lifted her. She moaned.

"Sorry, baby," he whispered, then he carefully lifted her s.h.i.+rt to see if the bullet had gone straight through

her shoulder. There was no exit wound.

He eased her back down.

"Elizabeth, I have to take you to the hospital. The bullet is still lodged in your shoulder. It has to be

removed or it could get infected. It definitely won't heal properly. Not to mention there could be damage to the bones and the nerves. You have to go."

"No," she said adamantly. "You can get the bullet out."

He shook his head. "No, Elizabeth."

"You are a vet. You can take care of me better than anyone at the hospital."

Jensen frowned at her reasoning, a flicker of panic seizing him. A vet? What was she telling him? But he pushed the thought aside, scared of how pale she was. She did need help.

"Elizabeth," he started, his voice coaxing, but she cut him off.

"If you take me to the hospital, I'll leave the first time you turn your back."

He stared at her, believing her.

He nodded. "Okay. But I'm going to move you upstairs."

She nodded, and this time she didn't make a sound as he lifted her. Probably another attempt to show

him she didn't need a hospital.

He brought her up to his bedroom. Granddad followed close behind, remaining silent.

He settled her on the bed, then turned to Granddad. "I need my bag. Could you get that for me? My

bag is in my truck."

Granddad nodded and left the room.

Jensen turned back to Elizabeth. "Okay, sweetheart, I'm going to have to get rid of your s.h.i.+rt."

She nodded. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

He laughed at that. "Well, I have to admit I like it a lot more when I'm looking for other reasons."

"Me, too," she murmured.

He lifted her, working the t-s.h.i.+rt upward and over her good shoulder and her head; then he carefully eased it off the injured arm.

He gently settled her against the mattress, and pulled the sheet up over her chest. Her skin was burning hot, he realized. As hot as it had been that night at her house. This time, he worried that she already had an infection coursing through her body.

He left her just long enough to grab towels from the linen closet. When he came back into the room, the sight of her, almost gray against the white of his sheets, shook him. Her pallor shook him badly. What if he couldn't do this? What if she died like Katie had?

He closed his eyes briefly, trying to get control of his doubts, of the absolute fear gripping him.

When he opened his eyes, Elizabeth was watching him. She offered him a small, pained smile.

"I must look really bad."

He immediately shook his head. "No. No."

He sat down beside her, careful not to jar the bed too much.

Granddad hurried back into the room carrying a tray, which was actually a cookie sheet, and Jensen's medical bag.

Jensen thanked him, then searched his bag for a scalpel, long-handled tweezers, gauze, and antibiotics to pack the wound with once he had the bullet out.

Elizabeth watched him set everything out on the tray. She didn't react to the use of the cookie sheet. If the makes.h.i.+ft operating room concerned Elizabeth, she didn't show it.

He reached back into his bag for a topical anesthesia and a syringe. He tried not to let her see the syringe, but she did, again watching with no noticeable concern.

"Okay. I'm going to numb the skin around the wound before I give you the shot of a more powerful anesthesia."

"Okay," she said, closing her eyes. Somehow that made it easier for him to work. He hated looking into those pale blue depths, seeing complete trust there. It unnerved him.

He swabbed around the area, and then prepared the syringe.

"Okay, this will hurt a little." He pierced the tip of the needle into the fragile flesh of her shoulder, hating to do it, but knowing it would be better than rooting around for the bullet without it.

She flinched and made a small hiss, but otherwise remained still.