Page 9 of The Eagle and the Shrew

She handed him his pile of clothes. “It’s pretty much standard-issue emergency FUC clothes. I did my best to estimate your size,” she explained as he eyed up the pile like an adder might jump out and bite him. “If you need to grab a different size?—”

“It’s fine,” he said before snatching the bundle from her. After eyeing up her outfit, he snorted. “You didn’t know your own size either?”

A blush crept into her cheeks. “I had a bad day and wanted to be comfortable,” she snapped, feeling strangely defensive. “You’re welcome for saving you, by the way.” For some reason, she wanted to make sure he knew that she didn’t have to save him from the henchmen. She could have easily left him behind. While a good agent would never have left someone behind, she was not in the mood for his sarcasm.

Then she realized why she felt that way. Because soon she’d be admitting that she’d lied to him, and she wanted him to know that it wasn’t all deception. She really did want to protect him and help him save his sister. She just happened to fake a little jailbreak to get him to allow her to help.

“I’ve never flown via eagle before,” he said with a small chuckle before raising his arms above his head to don the T-shirt. His face scrunched up in pain as he pulled his head through the neck hole.

“We’ll have to do it again sometime when you can stay conscious.”

“Yeah, I really don’t remember much of it.”

“At least you’re awake now,” she said, not mentioning how worried she’d been for the hours it took him to regain consciousness. “Now, let me take a look at some of those cuts.”

“I’m fine.” Though he seemed anything but when he wavered on his legs, trying to stand to step into the pants. Nari popped up to steady him, spilling the contents of the first aid kit across the wood-paneled floor. Better the kit falling than Anson. He wavered under her hands. Either his balance was off, or it was his coordination. Either way, he was in bad shape. So much for speedy shifter healing fully patching him up while he rested. She shouldn’t be surprised. He’d clearly been more injured than she had been, and the more excessive the injuries, the longer it took to heal, regardless of the shifter healing talent.

Nari looped a hand around his back, helping him over to the ratty couch. Anson must have been in poor shape because he sat on it without even inspecting its cleanliness—something she’d noticed him do both in the FUC interrogation room and at the hotel they’d stayed at the night before. He always seemed to do it discreetly, as though he didn’t want others to know about his concern, but Nari’s eagle eyes had noticed.

The fire popped and sparked as if complaining for him. He picked at the frayed armrest but didn’t say anything. Crossing the room to gather the first aid kit, she stumbled after tripping over the blankets on the floor. Maybe she wasn’t in the best shape either. Her neck and ribs hurt, throwing her balance off somehow. She’d already cleaned up the scratches on her left arm and the side of her face from when the window shattered—that was a sound she hoped she’d never have to hear again. But compared to Anson, she was in great shape.

After gathering all the supplies, even the gauze that had tried to roll away under the chair, Nari walked back to the couch to sit next to Anson. The springs creaked under her weight. That reminded her of Anson squeaking in shrew form while stretching his front legs. “Can I look at your arms? I want to make sure nothing’s broken.”

“Are you a doctor now?” At least his dry sarcasm was back.

“No. But all agents are trained in combat first aid.” She did her best to answer without being snarky or snappy. Some people lashed out when you tried to help them. It was hard to be in a vulnerable position. It was hard to trust.

A lump formed in her throat, stopping her from saying the words she was dreading. From admitting that she was a liar. Just one more in Anson’s life, like Dr. Grimm, who’d promised that if Anson did as he was told, he’d get his sister back—something that never came to be, even after months of Anson cooperating.

“I think I’m fine. I’ll heal. I don’t need to be patched up.” Like a cornered and wounded animal, his green eyes were wide. His arms seemed plastered in his lap, like a statue unable to move.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Anson. I just want to look for bruising and swelling. Please… let me help.”

Finally, he held out his arms. They shook slightly, though if that was from exertion or fear, Nari wasn’t sure. “Your left arm looks okay, but I want a better look at the right. That one was up against the car door. Can you rotate it for me?”

“What am I, a hot dog?” He tried to laugh but winced as he pivoted on the couch. He moved gingerly, as if afraid his body would fall apart at any moment. He appeared sore from head to foot, and Nari felt bad. She’d been the one driving, and his side of the car took the brunt of the force. If she’d maneuvered the car better, maybe they would have gotten away without crashing. This was her fault. Again.

Nari swallowed a gasp when his right arm came into view. She tried to keep her best poker face, but a purple spiderweb of bruising spread across his upper arm. It increased the sting of guilt she already felt over the crash. “Can you move it?” she asked, her voice nearly a whisper. It had to be incredibly painful.

“Yeah, but it hurts. Although so does nearly everything else.” A stony expression slid over his face. Nari felt he was trying to hide the pain from her, putting on a mask of indifference.

“We have an ice pack in the first aid kit, but I’m afraid your arm’s broken. Possibly the bones are shattered. Our best course of action is getting you to a hospital.”

“No,” he said forcefully.

“Anson…” She searched for the right words to talk some sense into him.

“I will heal just fine. I just need some food and rest. That’s all a shifter needs.”

“Shifters generally heal quicker than humans, but extensive injuries are best overseen by a doctor. They need actual medical attention, not superficial treatment from a first aid kit.”

“No hospitals and no doctors.” He winced after trying to shake his head. “That’s how he found her.”

“Who?”

“Ariel. Dr. Grimm used to be a real doctor. Or he at least posed as one and worked at a hospital for a time.”

Nari scooted to the edge of her seat. This was more than FUC had gotten out of Anson in his entire time in custody. It was more information in one sentence than practically everything they had in the Grimm case file. She stayed silent, hoping Anson would continue, and he did.

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