If the wood had caught the underside instead, I’d probably already have bled to death.

Marc stood, and his jacket hit the ground. He ripped a sleeve from his long-sleeved tee, then knelt again and stared into my eyes. “This is going to hurt, but I need you to keep quiet, okay?”

I nodded, and Jace nudged my shoulder with the top of his head for comfort, then went back on alert.

Marc wrapped my arm quickly and tightly, while I held back a scream with nothing but willpower. The pain was unlike anything I’d ever felt, and I couldn’t stop silent tears. When he was done, Marc wiped my face with his remaining sleeve. Then he helped me get my jacket back on.

“Can you walk?”

“My legs are fine.”

He pulled me up, and I let him, because I couldn’t put weight on either of my arms. “If you start feeling light-headed at all, tell me. Don’t let yourself pass out just because you’re stubborn.”

He got no argument from me.

I made it about half a mile on my own before the hill we were descending began to tilt on its own. “Marc…” My voice was barely a whisper, but he heard me. An instant later, the whole forest swam as he picked me up, cradling me in his arms like a baby.

He took two steps forward. Then everything went black.

Twenty-One

A familiar hum, the sounds of traffic, and the scent of leather told me I was in a car. The rental. We were in Kentucky, trespassing in Malone’s territory. Sitting ducks, with both my arms messed up. I had no words strong enough to describe the pain. I’d literally been ripped open, and there must have been muscle damage, because my fingers didn’t respond properly when I tried to curl them.

I opened my eyes, and the roof of the car came into focus. Next came Marc’s face, peering down at me, lined in concern. Had my eyes Shifted back in my sleep? Marc repositioned himself, and I realized I was lying across the backseat with my head in his lap. “Hey. How does your arm feel?”

“Like I got it caught in the tractor.” My left arm lay across my stomach, stinging, throbbing, burning endlessly, the pain spiking with each beat of my heart.

“Yeah, that’s about what it looks like.”

Great. At least he wasn’t prone to sugarcoating. “My fingers don’t work right. I can’t fight.” My eyes watered at that realization, and his face blurred.

“We’ll worry about that later.”

The car turned right—with Jace presumably behind the wheel—and we passed a broad brick building, sunlight glaring in the windows. “How long was I out?”

“About forty minutes.”

“You carried me the whole way?” I asked, and Marc only smiled. Of course he had. “Where are we going?”

“We’re getting a room. You need to rest.”

“No.” I tried to sit up, but the world swam, so I lowered my head onto Marc’s lap again. “We have to go get Kaci.”

“We will,” Jace said from the front seat, beyond my line of sight. “But we can’t fly until we get you cleaned up, and we need somewhere private for that.” He turned right again, and the car bumped over rough pavement. “It’s nothing fancy, but they won’t ask questions.” He turned again and pressed the brake gently, then shifted into Park. “I’ll get a key.”

“They’ll smell my blood,” I said after Jace closed the car door. “They probably heard me scream. They’ll be looking for us. I messed this up, Marc.”

“No.” He stroked my hair back from my face and let it trail over his leg. “They didn’t hear you. We’d have heard them coming for us if they had. We were at least two miles from the main house. And they won’t smell your blood unless they get close to the deer stand.”

Or anywhere I’d dripped on the way back to the car. But neither of us said that. Just knowing it was scary enough.

Marc stroked my hair and I closed my eyes, trying to ignore the pain in my arm, which refused to settle into a quiet throb.

Jace came back minutes later with an old-fashioned metal doorknob key. He drove us to the back of the motel and parked in front of our first-floor room. I could have walked, but Marc insisted on carrying me, and I let him, because it made us both feel better. Jace hovered as Marc carefully unwrapped my arm while I sat on the edge of the first bed, then bundled his bloody, detached shirt sleeve in the plastic liner from the trash can in the bathroom.

I stared at the wall. I didn’t want to see my arm in daylight. Or even in the murky glow from the bedside lamp.

Jace whistled, and still I didn’t look.

“Well, at least it’s mostly stopped bleeding,” Marc said. And then I had to look.

I regretted it immediately. My forearm was one big scab. The gash was easily five inches long, and ragged, and now crusted with dried blood. It hurt to look at. It was unbearable to move.

“She can’t travel like this,” Jace said.

“She can if we wrap it well. But she needs antibiotics. And stitches—lots of stitches.” Marc stood, and Jace shot to his feet, already pulling the car keys from his pocket.

“I’ll go. Faythe, you want something to eat while I’m out? And you’ll need some new clothes.”

Marc growled and stepped between Jace and the door. “I’ll go. I know her size.”

I was beyond caring who went. I wanted nothing but an end to the pain. An end to this whole mess, so we could hand over the feathers and take Kaci home.