Thomas's POV
Blood. That's all I can smell right now. Blood and fear and the bitter stench of chemicals that shouldn't exist in a werewolf's world.
I wheel myself between the makeshift beds we've set up in the medical station, my hands sticky with blood that belongs to people I've known for decades. Tommy's still unconscious on the stretcher, his breathing shallow and wrong. Mike's chemical burns refuse to heal, the skin raw and angry. Jenny's shoulder wound keeps reopening no matter how many times we bandage it.
"f**k," I mutter, pressing gauze against another pack member's leg wound. "This is so fucked."
Sixty years. Sixty f*****g years I've been protecting this pack, and now I'm stuck in a wheelchair playing nurse while my people die around me.
"Thomas, I need more bandages," Sarah
