Had he said the words wrong? Was her brain injured? He tried again, putting more force behind the message though it hurt his chest to do it.
“Go. Away.”
“You were a bear! I shot a bear!”
“Human.” He tried to push up, but the pain kept him from moving far. Instead, he rolled over onto his back, his breath seizing tight as bolts of agony shot through his ribs.
He focused again on his body, itemizing sensations. His ribs weren’t broken but—damn—they ached. The bullets. Trapped in the muscles between ribs. Still sensitive from the shift, he could feel them as hard points inside his body. As his human mind took more control, those sensations would dull. He needed to remove the bullets now while he still had bear’s magic strong inside him.
“Get. Knife,” he said, his voice stronger now that he had a plan.
“What?”
“Dig. Bullets. Out.”
“I…You were a bear!” she said.
“Knife!”
She fumbled to obey, rooting into a purse that he now noticed was slung across her muscular frame. She pulled out a decent-sized Swiss army knife and popped open a blade. “Just remember, I’ve got a gun.”
He didn’t respond except to snarl as she extended the blade to him. He had to fully stretch out his arm to get it, and the movement made him hiss with pain. But a part of him admired that she was smart enough to keep back.
He palmed the blade, adjusted it, then reached down to feel where the bullets lodged between ribs. This was going to hurt.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Her tone told him she knew exactly what he was going to do, but couldn’t believe it.
Neither could he. But the window was fading on his keen physical awareness. He had to cut the bullets out now. So he did, starting with the one pressed on the inside of his left floater rib. He sliced down precisely, releasing his breath in a slow hiss of pain.
“That’s not sterile!” she cried. He hadn’t the focus to comment. The good news was that shifters on a whole had really good immune systems.
It sucked to dig around with his fingers to get the bullet. He managed it, though it stole his breath and made him weak with pain. He dropped the bullet and his whole arm to the ground with a grunt of disgust.
One more.
He narrowed his focus, but the bullet was higher on his chest, just on the inside of his right nipple. He’d have no dexterity to use his right hand. The pectoral muscle would move the bullet around while he worked, and he didn’t think he could do this one-handed.
He opened his eyes. “You. Now.”
“What?”
“Bullet. Here.” He pointed, and her eyes widened on horror.
“Hell, no! Jesus, just call a doctor!” Then she grimaced. “Call 911. Why the hell didn’t I call 911?”
“You. Shot me.”
“You were a bear!”
He looked at her, not even bothering to hide his fury. And he knew his silence challenged her because they both knew no one would believe he’d been a bear. Though there were as many as a million shifters in the United States, their existence was a closely guarded secret. He’d probably get into serious trouble for changing in front of her, but he had to survive first.
“Help. Me,” he said, panting the words because of the pain.
She stared at him slack-jawed, her cell phone clutched in her fingers. His rational mind told him that anger wasn’t getting him anywhere, so he moderated his tone.
“I’ll show you. Bullet. Pretty close.” He focused on her face and tried to smile. “I’ll heal.”
“W-what?”
