Claiming Their Mate(5)

By: Vella Day

He winced. “We’ll take care of everything. You need medical help first, then we’ll let you tell us what happened.”

The murder, the attack, and the blood loss were taking a toll on her. Maybe she should worry about the cops later.

For the next few minutes, she wasn’t sure of much, other than Drake insisted she see his doctor. He was probably out of network and would cost a mint.

“I should probably go to the health clinic on Linton Street.”

He exhaled. “If you’re concerned about the cost, don’t worry. Besides, you really don’t have a choice. That bullet in your arm isn’t your typical 38 mm.”

Why did he have to complicate matters when she was just beginning to calm down? “What do you mean?”

“The gun the man used is unique to werewolves. The bullets spread poison throughout your system and only a shifter doctor has the antidote.”

“Werewolves are real?” Sure, her best friend claimed her mates were ones, but Chelsea hadn’t come to grips with what Liz told her. Now Drake confirmed it. Holy shit.

“Yes, they are.”

This insanity had to stop. Nothing made sense. He mentioned werewolves as if the whole world knew about them. “Since when do bullets contain poison?” She’d voiced her concern with amazing calm.

“I know this is a lot to take in. I’m sorry, but you need to understand that werewolves are different from humans.”

No shit, Sherlock. “Besides the obvious, in what way?”

“For one, the only way to kill a werewolf is either to poison them or shoot them in the heart.”

This couldn’t be real. She jiggled the handle to see if he’d locked her in.

“Take it easy.”

He would say that. He was driving.

“All of this creeps me out.”

He shot her a glance and nodded. “I know. I’m sorry to dump this on you. It’s not easy to buy into all this. Once the doctor fixes you up, you’ll be able to think more rationally.”

She wasn’t being irrational. The fear morphed the truth. The car ride didn’t help the pain in her arm either. With every turn and bump, it was like having knives driven into her wound.

Finally, he slowed and pulled in front of a residence.

“I thought we were going to a doctor’s office.” She prayed her trust hadn’t been misplaced.

“The doctor likes to keep a low profile.”

That made sense, but she would have felt safer being around more people. She slipped on her shoes and reached for the door handle. Drake insisted on helping her out and up the walkway. When they stepped inside the lovely old home, a pleasantly plump woman who sat behind a beautiful teak desk smiled. Instead of the usual scrubs, she wore a pretty pink blouse, and her white hair was short and stylish. Behind her was a living room, complete with a painting of a family over the mantel. It now made sense. The low profile doctor must live in the back.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Stanton.” She stood. “Come with me, Ms. Wilson. The doctor is expecting you.”

How had she known they were coming, since Chelsea didn’t even remember Drake calling?

Once inside the examination room, a tall man, looking no more than thirty, with broad shoulders and a nice smile, waltzed in and introduced himself. “I’m Dr. Deland.”

He motioned to the exam table. “Hop on up so I can assess the damage. Let Drake help you.”

After she was situated, Drake stepped off to the side. Did he plan to stay throughout the exam? He’d already seen almost everything, and while she normally would have asked him to leave, she found something comforting about having him with her to explain things, should the doctor share more strange tales.

“I need to remove your shirt to see the wound. Are you okay with that after your attack? Because if you want, I can have Melanie supervise.”

Melanie must be the nurse. Chelsea shook her head. “There’s no need.” Drake would make sure the doctor didn’t do anything inappropriate. Her body told her to trust him.

Since she was in an oversized T-shirt and Drake was shirtless, the doctor probably pieced together what happened.

“I’m sorry to bring up the nightmare, but from your torn clothes, I need to ask. Did your attacker rape you?”

Shivers rippled up her spine and goose bumps emerged at what could have happened. “He didn’t get a chance.” She rubbed her face and winced. “He did hit me, however.”

“I can see that.” The doctor pulled down her lower eyelid and shone a bright light. He repeated on the other side. “He winged you pretty good, too.”

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