Martin Walters sat down at Lissa's bedside before she was taken away and took her hand. "I wanted to explain to you, before they took you away," he said softly. "Thomas and I came to help there at the last, because we have children. Thomas's kids are grown, but mine—I have a daughter who's four and a son who is two. I didn't want them growing up in a world where they have to watch their backs if they smell vampire. None of us kept the peace the other night. You did." Martin patted her hand and stood up to go.
"Lissa, I wish you'd wake up," Daryl whispered softly in her ear as he settled her into the seat and buckled the seatbelt around her. Winkler was growling when Daryl came off the plane carrying Lissa's body wrapped in a blanket. "You have to be careful, the wounds drip fluid and won't heal," Daryl said, handing the bundle over to Winkler. Gavin stood off to the side, an unreadable expression on his face.
"What the hell did they do to her?" Winkler asked, finally controlling his anger.
"The doc says that werewolf bites do this to vampires," Daryl said. "Their skin tries to heal itself, locking the saliva inside. It acts as a poison in their system. It should have been cleaned out right away and it wasn't. She has bites and rips everywhere. I know dad told you she saved him, but she killed herself doing it. She accounted for at least twenty of the thirty-seven who tried to take dad down."
The night sky was overcast as Davis drove Winkler and Gavin back to the beach house. Winkler held onto Lissa the entire way, growling at the others if they got too close and he and Gavin lifted the blanket from Lissa's body when they got her inside. Winkler carried her into the main house instead of her guesthouse bedroom and made sure the room was as dark as he could make it.
"What did they do to you?" Winkler said as he and Gavin pulled the blanket away. They'd dressed Lissa in some sort of loose gown to send her back and it was soaked in a yellowish fluid. Gavin felt ill, staring at the weeping wounds.
"Send somebody out to buy as many bottles of peroxide as they can find," Gavin turned to Davis and Glen, who were peeking over Winkler's shoulder.
"How many do you need?" Davis asked.
"Enough to fill a bathtub to about six inches, at least," Gavin said. "And buy scrubbing brushes. The stiffer the brush, the better."
"What are you going to do?" Winkler looked at Gavin.
"Attempt to do what those fools should have done to start with. All those bites need to be reopened and cleaned out. She won't survive like this and that's the only chance we have. If it kills her, well, she'd die anyway." Gavin looked both angry and determined.
"Christ," Winkler muttered. "All right," he waved at Davis and Glen. "Go clean out everybody's supply of peroxide and get back here as quick as you can." Davis and Glen took off. Every pharmacy, grocery and discount store had their shelves emptied of peroxide that night. Davis and Glen had to make four trips to the car to bring it all in. Gavin made sure the bathtub was watertight before pouring the peroxide into it.
"This is going to hurt," he told the unconscious Lissa. "I apologize beforehand."
"She looks like shit," Phil stuck his head inside the bathroom door.
"And you may, too, if you don't get the hell out of here," Winkler was up and growling. Phil disappeared.
Gavin started on Lissa's legs first, scrubbing with one of several brushes that Davis and Glen had bought and rinsing the scrubbed skin often. When he made his way to her thighs, she started whimpering.
"Just hold on, baby," Winkler was kneeling at one end of the tub, stroking Lissa's hair. Gavin worked on her throughout the night, getting the last bit of skin on top of her head shortly before dawn. Lissa moaned and thrashed while he did her ribs and the area around her br**sts. Winkler was crooning to her when that happened. Gavin let the peroxide run out of the tub afterward and then bathed her carefully, using the mildest soap he could find.
"There, now," Winkler had Lissa out of the tub and wrapped in a towel as soon as the bath was over. Leaving her naked, they placed her in the bed and covered her up.
"Now, we wait," Gavin said, rolling shirtsleeves down his arms. "Don't disturb her during the day. Her body has to heal if it can. If not, well," he didn't finish the sentence.
* * *
They told me later that I'd been unconscious for nearly two weeks, and that Gavin had scrubbed out the saliva that my body was attempting to lock inside skin and tissue. If I had known how toxic werewolf saliva was, I might not have stood there and fought with them on that cold North Dakota night. But what's done is done. There's no way to take it back, now. What I did know, for the first time in days, was whose arms were around me when I woke up completely. It was his arms, and his scent, and he left me as soon as he knew I was waking. Gavin.
I was stiff, too. Stiffer than my arthritis had ever made me. Gavin had already gone out the door to start work that night, so I limped and scuffled my way down the steps of the guesthouse. I didn't know then that I had slept for three days and nights inside the beach house before Gavin talked Winkler into placing me inside my bedroom. Someone had also unpacked my clothing, washed what needed washing and folded and hung all of it. My suitcases were empty and inside my closet.
"You should have called us, someone would have come to get you," Winkler was frowning as I walked through the French doors.
"I need to get myself around," I said, my voice sounding as rough as sandpaper.
"Sit down," Winkler pulled a chair out for me at the dining table. He'd been having a sandwich when I walked in.
"All right," I heaved myself into the chair, sighing heavily when I stopped forcing myself to move.
"Daryl's coming tomorrow just to see for himself and to take a report to the Grand Master," Winkler watched my face. I'd seen it myself just a few minutes before when I'd painfully showered and combed out my hair. There were red lines everywhere, covering my body, top to bottom. There were even telltale indentations in my scalp, indicating the bites I'd gotten there.
"I want to send a message to Thomas Williams' children, if they're still alive," I rasped.
"You met Thomas?" Winkler sounded surprised.
"I watched him die," I said. "That last batch of werewolves would have killed me if Daryl, Martin Walters and Thomas Williams hadn't shown up. Thomas was killed after taking two of them down. And if it's possible, I'd like to send a thank you to Martin as well."
"I think that can be arranged," Winkler told me. "Thomas' son is Packmaster now. He was Thomas' Second and has successfully fought off the challenge."