Hunter

24. How to Conceal a Stake

You'd think that winding up in the infirmary after nearly losing my arm would give me a free pass out of helping the pack hunt down vampires.

But no. I spent all of two days in the infirmary before Alpha Bossiness decided I'd wasted enough time sitting on my ass.

I'd tried to point out that I had the slight problem of being unable to move most of my body, but he'd fixed his green glare on me and pretty much pushed me off of the bed.

Rude.

I'd begun to wonder if maybe I'd imagined that brief moment of vulnerability he'd shown when I was practically unconscious. It certainly didn't really fit the character he'd been sporting since I woke up.

An undefined period of time after I'd desperately wanted to punch him in the face but could only summon enough strength to gently squeeze his hand, my body had finally started cooperating with my wishes. The instant I'd opened my eyes, they locked with his own, which had widened the smallest amount.

Honestly, there were worse things to wake up to. At least I had something attractive to look at.

We'd stared one another down for about five minutes, before I shifted my shoulder and winced as pain ripped through the wound.

His gaze had immediately flicked over to the wound - or, rather, the bandages covering the wound, and he frowned, which I began to think of as his signature expression. Would it kill him to smile - and not in a mocking way?

Probably.

"You're awake," he'd finally said. Thank you, I hadn't noticed.

"Your perceptional skills have improved," I'd said sweetly, my rasping voice taking the punch out of my words. Traitor. "Where's Opal?"

He snapped his eyes back to mine. "Gone. I seem to recall making a deal stating that you can only see her after you help me." For a brief moment, he peeked back over at my shoulder, before his gaze slid aimlessly around my face. "For a fire witch, she did a decent job healing you."

I'd looked at my bandaged shoulder, then at my broken hand, bound in a cast, and raised an eyebrow.

"It's better than it was," he'd said. "I'd never seen Tristan panic before."

"Who - ?"

"The medic," he'd explained. "He's used to treating wolves, so when you didn't start healing on your own... he didn't know what to do." Something had flashed across his eyes then, and I finally sat up, gritting my teeth as the action sent a fresh bought of pain through my shoulder.

"Why are you here, Elijah?"

For once, there had been no hostility in my tone, only simple curiosity. It surprised me.

"I had to make sure you'll be well enough to join the strike team in a few days."

Of course.

I had raised an eyebrow. "A few days? Do you even know how long it takes a human to heal? My wrist will need a least a week or two. And my shoulder will - "