Of Doms & Subs

Rock and a Hard Place

After her little act of defiance, which had happened with the Jeep between us and the rest of the pack thus obscuring her actions, she mingled quite thoroughly. Somehow, she'd picked up the trick of gauging distance and hearing to pitch her voice quietly enough to avoid being overheard. No one knew of our exchange. Too bad that she was adept at following the letter of the law if not the spirit. I'd have liked to punish her. Thoroughly and publicly.

I was too busy keeping an eye on the new wolf that I didn't see what pathetic excuse started the fight. But I knew who started it. Ellie was standing with her back to Ian and Gordon, who had borne the brunt of the former's territorial aggression during the football match. The next anyone knew, Ian went flying. Shane had just enough warning to grab Ellie's arm and try to drag her to safety.

Later, I realized I should have broken up the fight and immediately meted out punishment for putting others at risk. If I had, the two males might not have survived my wrath. But I would never regret running to Ellie's crumpled body, surrounded by chunks of brick and blood splatters.

Getting slammed by four hundred pounds, give or take, is painful no matter who you are. Being caught between this freight train of flesh and a stone wall, such as the one surrounding the grill setup, is taking the term "between a rock and a hard place" to its most agonizing extremes. Once the tweety birds spiraling my head dissipated, Alan and Mickayla filled my gradually returning vision. Confirming with Alan that I was all right for the moment, Angus stalked off to go bash some heads together judging by his face.

"Anybody get the number o' that Mac truck?" I groaned, my accent thick from the pain that was already setting in. Where's a good case of shock when you could really use it?

"Can't be too bad if she's making bad jokes," Mickayla said to Alan. Then to distract me from his poking and prodding, she said with a roll of her eyes towards where I assumed Ian and Gordon were. "They're just like teenage boys when they're trying to show off."

"There're easier ways o' getting' my attention. 'Hey, you' works fine." I hissed through clenched teeth when Alan inspected my shoulder. "Dislocated, probably torn rotator."

"Amongst other things," he agreed mildly as he did something that should have been a violation of the Geneva Convention. "Couple of cracked ribs, mild concussion. Ever dislocated anything before?"

"Nope, but's gonna hurt like a mother."

Alan nodded to Mickayla and before I could react, they set the joint back in place with a sickening crunch. The world swam in a nauseous haze, but I didn't pass out. Woo!

"Lemme know when I can return the favour," I groaned. "In spades."

"The rotator'll heal on its own in about a week. Compared to months for a human." Let's hear it for regeneration. "But your scapula's split, and even if your joint's set, your shoulder's still messed up."

"That the medical term, doc?"

"Recovery will still take weeks. If you shift, you'll heal faster."

"No." I shook my head too fast and the world wobbled.

"Tell me, is this normal?" Alan carefully lifted my right, injured arm. Around the blinding agony I dimly hard disturbing sounds that should be coming from a cereal bowl instead of a person.

"Fuck all ya'll," I panted when I could breathe again.

"No thanks," he said blandly. "Cute as you are, I don't want to fight the others over you. The longer you take to shift, the more you'll heal wrong." We both knew that improperly healed rotator cuffs are a bitch and can take a year or more of PT to correct. That's not even taking into account complications from broken bones knitting without being set right. Logic and experience said that he was right. The only problem was that the wolf wanted to come out and play too much. And there were too many humans. Pain and panic, exacerbated by the wolf coming to the fore, paralyzed me till I could only shake my head faintly.

"Don't make me use the Dommy voice," Mickayla warned sternly. I opened my eyes to let her see the fear that chilled me. Or maybe that was finally shock. Could werewolves go into shock?

A pair of familiar suede loafers stood at the edge of my vision. A moment later Angus crouched to fill my field of vision, which was threatening to narrow again. "Ellie, stop this nonsense and shift." There was no power other than the natural force of his personality, but the order allowed me to stop worrying. His melodious tone of authority reminded me that he would keep me from gorging on a human buffet instead of potato salad and burgers.

"Come on, you don't need an audience for this." Mickayla moved to help me up. Angus beat her to it, scooping me up in his arms so that my shattered shoulder wasn't pressed against him. This unnatural strength still took me by surprise. Of all the places, he took me inside the house and downstairs where he set me on the edge of a bed. There were shining metal bars over the narrow windows set high in the wall. Pretty comfy digs for a cage.

"My safeword's 'apples'," I panted as my body settled into its new position with no small amount of complaints.

"Good to know." The dry bit of humour coming from Angus was so unexpected that I giggled and immediately regretted it when the motion rippled through my battered body. Alan and Mickayla helped me undress while Angus stood over us, a statue of controlled rage. I tried to protest the men's presence, but was immediately shot down by all three. Resoundingly so.

"Please be gentle, it's my first time," I said tightly as they drew off my pants and underwear. You never realize how much you move any part of your body until it's injured and you try to move it. Once I was naked, that was when I freaked out. "I can't."

"Sshh," Angus said soothingly as he carefully held me against his chest. It was like a warm brick wall, but far more comfortable than the one I'd just been introduced to. My mind and hormones swung back and forth between embarrassment and pleasure at being naked in his arms until I sensed Alan crouching on the bed behind me. Damn, he still had to set the shoulder blade. I didn't even have time to tense before his deft, quick hands crunched the pieces back into place.

After awhile I realized that Angus was saying my name and stroking my hair. "To shift you have to let the wolf take over. You'll not likely have control, nor will you be able to change back for several hours. We're going to have to lock you in so you don't hurt anyone, or yourself. Do you understand?" Right then I would have agreed to anything if he kept petting me and speaking in that resonant voice.

Too many things had been spinning out of my control I wasn't ready to relinquish any of it. But the wolf didn't care. She wanted to come out and properly meet Angus and the pack. The instant I seriously thought about passing off the reins she seized the chance. I quickly closed my eyes not only because it hurt like a bitch, even worse than my short-lived career as a wrecking ball, but because I couldn't stand watching my own flesh ripple as muscle and bone crunched and reformed. I almost wondered if letting everything heal relatively slowly wouldn't have been preferable.

They were making soothing noises and urging me to be quiet at first, then they realized I was cursing under my breath in between soft whimpers and whines. "Son of a mother biscuit eating cracker" made them laugh. You can't curse in front of patients, even if they're coding. Instead you get creative with alternatives to four letter words. At some point the torture ended and everything went black.