The Alpha And Her Tinkerer

5_Severe Trauma

Reeva POV

I grind my teeth, praying that the men will choose to leave. Keeping him in this position is draining my energy. I was not prepared to be this weak, and if they decide to fight back, I am in a world of trouble.

But I could not just idly sit inside, watching these big ass wolves gang up on Hayden. Not only do they outnumber him, but he is the weaker person. And he has no wolf. Fine, neither do I, but that is not the point. I am a warrior with years of training behind me, and Hayden tinkers with … whatever he tinkers with. He is not man enough to handle these bullies, and I would be no better if I did not step up.

I am vaguely aware of Hayden standing up and looking at us with disbelief and worry. I am sorry I had to push him out of the way, but I had to act fast.

“You’re rather cocky for your size,” a man sneers, his eyes gliding over me.

“And you’re a coward for not picking on your own size,” I snap, applying pressure to the man’s arm, and he howls in pain.

“Cut it out, Brian,” the man whimpers. “She’s going to break my arm.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” I hiss. “You’re a wolf, you’ll heal.”

“I’ll tear you apart,” Brian growls, clenching his fists.

I know the signs; he wants to shift and is fighting his wolf. I must bluff like I have never done before, or Hayden and I are toast.

“Oh, yeah,” I huff, releasing the man’s arm and kicking him in the back. He falls face-first into the dirt, stands up and dusts himself off.

“Try me,” I sneer, taking a step closer. “I can’t wait to hear how you explain to your buddies that you got your ass handed to you by a girl.”

With a growl, Brian storms towards me, and I master my last strength, kicking his knee from the side. His knee gives in, and I slam my fist down on his jaw. He lands in the dirt, and his three friends are instantly by his side.

“b***h, you broke my knee,” he screams.

“That was the idea,” I smirk, taking a fighting stance, readying myself for an attack, but they only glare at me as they pick up Brian. He yelps in pain when he tries to stand on his leg, and one of his friends helps him keep his balance.

“I will make you regret this,” Brian grunts, glaring at me with hatred.

I slowly release the air from my lungs when they turn around and help Brian hobble to the truck. Desperately, I cling to my last strength, fighting to stand. Dammit, I did not realise I was still so weak.

The truck speeds off, leaving us in a cloud of dust.

“Reeva,” Hayden says softly beside me. “That was …”

But his words become inaudible when darkness consumes me.

Hayden POV

“Reeva!” I gasp, rushing forward and catching her before she hits the ground.

Concerned, I look at her pale face and carry her inside. My hands are trembling as I lay her on the bed. I am clueless about what I should do.

She was not injured. Why did she collapse?

“Come on, Pudding,” I say, shooing her off the bed. “She needs her rest.”

I push my fingers through my hair as I pace up and down in the room. I must get Reeva out of here and to a doctor. But taking her to the clinic is asking for trouble. Treating a wolf from another pack is juicy gossip, and Brian and his gang will surely hear about it.

I know Brian and his friends. They will never forgive the humiliation, and I know they will be knocking on my door before the day is over. And they will bring reinforcements.

Reeva saved me from an ass-kicking, and even though I cannot fight to save my life – literally – it is my turn to help her.

Hastily, I grab a bag and pack supplies. I sent Mr Smith a message that his lamp will not be ready and put the phone away. I cannot take it with me. Brian will trace it and find us. I sling the bag over my shoulder, pick up Reeva, and carry her to my truck. I lay her down on the backseat and open the passenger door for Pudding to jump in.

I get behind the wheel and head for the woods. There is only one person I know and trust who can help. Greta’s methods are unorthodox and frowned upon, but I do not give a s**t. I am out of options.

An hour later, I park my truck.

“Pudding, stay,” I command, before getting out and running to Greta’s cottage.

Greta opens the door before I can knock, and her wrinkles move as she gently smiles at me. She must be close to a hundred, but she can still care for herself. Wolves have a longer lifespan than humans, but not as long as witches. And Greta is a witch, but nobody knows, nobody but me. Like Reeva, I found her in the woods. She was disoriented and lost. If a warrior had seen her, she would have been dead. But I took her home, fed her and helped her find this cottage.

“This is a surprise,” she says, her voice creaking like an old door. “I didn’t expect you until the end of the month.”

“Hi, Greta,” I smile, hugging her frail and bony body.

“I need your help,” I confess as I pull away, and tell her about Reeva.

“Bring her in,” she says. “I’ll prepare the room.”

I run back, open the door for Pudding, and pick up Reeva. Careful not to trip, I carry her into Greta’s cottage and lay her on the bed she prepared.

I stand quietly in the corner, with Pudding by my feet as Greta removes Reeva’s shirt. I swallow hard when I see her body and lower my gaze. As much as I want to feast my eyes on her naked perfection, I respect her privacy.

Greta lights a variety of candles and incense, and soon the room is filled with an overwhelming sweet scent.

“She’s pretty,” Greta murmurs, pouring oil into her palms and rubbing it on Reeva.

“Yes,” I clear my throat, looking everywhere but at Reeva. I know what is coming. Greta has been on my case about a girlfriend for years.

“Her muscles are nicely developed,” she continues. “She must be a warrior.”

“No doubt,” I mutter, still flabbergasted about the ease and confidence with which she took control of the situation. What would I give to be able to do that? One thing is for sure: I will never pick a fight with Reeva. She will kick my ass harder than any man has before.

“Oh, dear,” Greta sighs, sounding sad and concerned, and I look directly at them for the first time.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as agony forms a thick knot in my throat. It is not what Greta said, it is how she said it.

“She endured severe trauma,” Greta answers.

“Well, yeah,” I huff. “I found her half dead in a rogue cemetery. Trauma is to be expected.”

“That’s not what I’m referring to,” Greta replies, looking at me, and the light in her eyes sends an ominous feeling to my gut.