Page 16 of Fool Moon First Aid

I briefly meet her gaze, seeing the flicker of fear beneath her bravado, before turning to Marcus. “Alert the OR now,” I command, the urgency in my voice echoing off the sterile walls. Marcus, his spectral form shimmering as it catches the fluorescent lights, nods and phases through the wall with an ethereal grace.

Ty, his brow furrowed in concentration, examines the snow globe lodged in her leg. His hands, usually as steady as stone, show a faint tremble as he assesses the situation. “We need to stabilize this before we can do anything else,” he advises, the weight of the responsibility to care for our injured mate evident in his crackling voice.

Ethan strides into the trauma room, his presence filling the space with an air of command that he doesn’t have here, and I won’t hesitate to kick his ass out if he tries to play alpha. “Any wrong move could cause Ava to bleed out,” he warns, his voice a deep timbre that resonates with the severity of her condition.

Which only pisses me off. I can see how hurt she is.

“Let’s stabilize the leg first,” I agree, my mind racing to strategize the best course of action while battling the emotional storm brewing inside me.

Kael, his face etched with worry, steps closer to Ava. Urgency ruffles his usually calm demeanor. “What about pain management? We can’t just overlook that.”

Ethan, glancing at the monitors that beep persistently, displaying Ava’s faltering vitals, interjects. “She’s losing blood too fast for heavy sedation,” he says, his eyes dark with concern. “We already gave her witch’s morphine, but she’s metabolizing it like a shifter.”

I take a moment to process this. Ava’s human body, so fragile and yet unpredictably strong, is defying expectations. “Administer minimal sedation,” I decide, my voice calm yet carrying the gravity of the situation. “Keep her conscious but comfortable.”

As we work to stabilize her leg, Ava’s eyelids flutter like fragile butterflies against a storm, proof of her struggle against consciousness. I itch to praise her.

“Is this how you impress all your dates?” she teases, her attempt at a smile revealing her indomitable spirit.

Ty, his focus unwavering as he pulls supplies from cabinets, offers her a brief, strained smile. “Only the special ones,” he replies, his voice a comforting rumble.

Ethan’s movements are precise, a dance of professionalism masking his concern. “We’re going to take good care of you,” he assures Ava, his gaze momentarily locking with mine in a silent promise.

In that instant, a profound shift occurs. Ava, lying vulnerable on the bed, becomes more than just a patient. She becomes the epicenter of a world we never expected to have. A visceral fear grips me—fear for her safety, her life—unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It keeps me rooted to her side.

For the first time in all my years as a doctor, I freeze. What if I lose her due to an action I take or don’t take? Try. The thought whispers to me. If I do nothing, then she will surely bleed out. Move your ass.

“We need to prep her for surgery as soon as we stabilize the injury,” I announce, my voice steadier than I feel.

Ty nods, the fierce determination in his eyes reflecting my own resolve. “I’m scrubbing in,” he states firmly.

Ethan looks to the ceiling, his teeth grinding. “Fuck it, I’m in,” he says, though he doesn’t sound too happy about it.

“I’m sleepy,” Ava slurs, her voice a delicate thread holding her to consciousness. Her eyelids flutter, fighting a losing battle against the darkness threatening to engulf her.

It’s enough to get all of us moving.

“Stay with us, Ava,” I urge, trying to keep my voice steady, despite the unruly emotions exploding inside me.

“Don’t go…planning your…victory party yet,” she mumbles. Her brave attempt at a smile warps into a grimace, pain etching lines on her otherwise smooth forehead. The fierce spirit in her eyes is a glaring contrast to the alarming pallor that has taken over her face.

Ethan, his expression tight with concern, looks over. “She’s losing blood too quickly,” he states, urgency lacing his voice.

Kael, holding the sedatives like a lifeline, meets Ava’s gaze. His voice is a soothing balm in the chaos. “Ava, I’m going to give you something for the pain. Just a little, okay?” he says, his tone a blend of professional calm and genuine care. He freezes abruptly, his eyes widening. “Fuck, can someone get the snake off her neck?”

“There’s a snake?” My surprise leaps into my voice as I instinctively reach out, but the creature moves faster than anticipated, sliding off the gurney and onto the cool floor. “Shit.”

“Leave it. Focus on Ava.” Ty’s command cuts through the confusion. “I’m running to grab the stabilizer.”

Kael, regaining his composure, steps forward again. “Let’s try this again, okay?” His voice calms not just Ava, but me as well.

Ava’s response is a heavy nod, her voice a fading echo. “Make it…a double.”

As Kael administers a sedative created by his voice, Ty arrives with the stabilizing equipment. Our movements are choreographed as we secure Ava’s leg with meticulous care to ensure the embedded snow globe remains undisturbed.

Marcus phases back into the room finally, his ethereal form shimmering with the intensity. “Mercy’s ready. She is having the OR prepped now,” he announces. “She said to get your asses up there.”

“Good,” I reply, my focus laser sharp on Ava. We transfer her onto a hospital gurney, her breaths shallow and labored.

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