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I nod weakly, sliding my hands up toward my belly. My arms are heavy and my head feels like it could float away, but somehow I manage to press my hands against my stomach as Avery pulls hers back, hot blood squelching beneath my palms.
Ares slides one arm around my back and the other beneath my knees, a pained cry escaping my lips as he scoops me into his arms and cradles me against his chest. Then he rises to his feet, lifting me up. My phone slips free from the waistband of my leggings in the process and Avery’s eyes light up when she sees it hit the ground.
She stoops to grab it with her bloody hands, wiping them off on her t-shirt so she can operate the screen. “Sloane, babe, what’s your passcode?” Avery asks urgently as Ares starts forward, blinding pain searing through me with every jostling movement as he carries me.
“Twelve twelve” I answer groggily.
Madd’s birthday.
Avery keeps pace with us, staying right beside me as she unlocks my phone and navigates to my contacts, hitting dial and holding it up to her ear. “C’mon, pick up, you moron…” she murmurs, growling in frustration as she ends the call and redials.
The trees blur around me as Ares carries me as fast as he can through the tangled foliage of the forest while Avery continues to try to place a call.
“Fucking asshole,” she mumbles after another failed attempt. Then she scrolls through my contacts again to call someone else- and they actually pick up. “Tris, it’s Avery,” she says down the line breathlessly. “Get down to the complex right now. Sloane took a stray bullet during our drill.”
Shit, my brother’s going to freak out.
So are my parents.
Everything starts going in and out, the pain and blood loss affecting my ability to focus. Black spots cloud my vision, agony searing through my body.
Distantly, I register our arrival at the complex. A medic meets us at the gate, jogging with us to the infirmary. They lay me down on a cot once we get there and my eyes flutter shut as I try to focus on the voices surrounding me.
“She’s already healing.”
“Don’t you have to get the bullet out?”
“It’s not silver, her body’s forcing it out. I’m more concerned about the blood loss.”
“We’ll have to give her a transfusion.”
“We’re the same blood type!”
I force my eyes back open at the sound of my brother’s voice, my vision blurry as I see Tristan rushing in, pale-faced and out of breath. He yanks up his sleeve, offering his arm to one of the medics as he swings his gaze over to me. “Fuck, is she gonna be okay? This wasn’t supposed to happen!”
“She’ll be fine,” the medic reassures, guiding Tristan away from my bedside. “She’s already healing, we just need to give her some blood.”
That’s the last thing I hear before my eyes grow too heavy to keep open. I allow them to slide closed, succumbing to exhaustion and drifting off. My mind shuts down to allow my body to work overtime to heal itself, and the last thing I remember is feeling at peace, somehow knowing it will all be okay now.
“The doctor said she can come home tomorrow,” my mom says as she sets her phone down on the dresser in her bedroom, turning toward my dad as he walks in from the hall.
His shoulders sag as he heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank god.”
He looks exhausted. His eyes are red rimmed with dark circles etched beneath them, like he hasn’t slept in days.
Upon seeing his posture of defeat, Mom crosses the room to her mate, wrapping her arms around his waist. She just hugs my dad for a long moment, then tilts her head back to look up into his eyes. “It’s going to be okay, Brock.”
He stabs his fingers through his disheveled hair, shaking his head. “We almost lost her,” he grits out.
“We didn’t,” my mom reassures.
“But we could have.” His voice is gravelly, his green eyes shiny with unshed tears.
Mom’s arms fall away from his waist as he steps around her, pacing across the room and scrubbing a hand over his face. “We have to do something, Astrid. She’s only seventeen. She keeps getting into trouble, and sure, she survived this time, but what about the next?” He scowls, shaking his head. “We can’t just sit back and do nothing.”
“And you really think Denver’s the answer?” Mom asks.
He shrugs, pacing away from her again. “If we send her away, maybe she won’t get hurt again…”
