Donovan stood in the shower, his forehead pressed to the wall as though he might otherwise slide down into an exhausted and confused puddle.
With a deep breath in and fortitude he didn’t know he still had, he turned off all the water and twisted awkwardly to examine his most prominent stab wound.
Noah and GJ, dirty and bloody, had entered the back door of the hotel with a wolf-shaped Donovan in tow. They'd walked him right up into the room. Maybe because they looked too much like refugees—or maybe because they looked like they were not to be dicked with—no one questioned them.
The suite boasted two full baths, and GJ had sent Donovan and Noah into the showers first. He'd called out for a first-aid kit, grateful that GJ had jumped up to grab it.
Now he cranked off the water and stood, still dripping, as he pulled a pre-threaded needle from a sterile pack and then twisted around, attempting to stitch the gaping wound on his thigh. He should have given himself an injection of lidocaine to numb it, he thought at the first jab of the needle’s pain. But he’d believed he was already too numb from his injuries, and it would be a waste of medication. Now he felt every stab of the needle, every soft tug of thread through his skin as he pulled.
But he didn't stop.
He had two layers to stitch. Although the wound hadn’t been mortal, it was still deep enough that this first round of stitches were beneath the surface. He used dissolving stitches from the first-aid kit, which was an ER version rather than a standard home kit. The bath tub was a damn awkward place to try to stitch up a deep gash on the side of your thigh. It took too long, and it hurt too much, but it was necessary.
This was the second time he’d used sutures in as many days. He reminded himself to check on GJ’s shoulder when he got out. Next, he would have to take care of Noah—unless the other agent decided to hit up a real hospital.
When he snipped the last suture from the black chain that ran the few inches down his thigh, he turned to his lower rib cage. This gash wasn’t as bad. His attacker had sliced rather than stabbed him here.
Drying the area quickly, he applied pressure and then laid steri-strips across it, pulling the edges together as he went. He found other cuts and bruises galore, but luckily, nothing else seemed to require full medical attention. They would just take time to heal.
He needed to get dressed. He couldn’t go out in public in a T shirt and shorts any time soon, unless he wanted to frighten people, he thought, gazing at his reflection. But he knew he might have to. He still didn't know where Eleri was.
With one towel around his waist and another in his hand, rubbing at his head, he finally stepped out of the bathroom. GJ stood in the doorway, shaking her head at him. “She's not here.”
“Do we wait? Or do we need to go find her?”
Eleri had gone missing from the Queen’s Staircase. In the melee, Donovan had lost track of her. Noah had hardly seen her at all, and GJ was suggesting that an invisible Eleri had bumped past her and fled the scene after the assassin died. Donovan didn’t know what to think about that.
He only knew she’d been nowhere to be found. She wasn’t answering her phone or any other attempts to find her. He was worried she wasn’t safe. But GJ shook her head again.
“She doesn't want to be found.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Look.” She held out a scrap of hotel stationery. The handwriting was definitively Eleri’s—neat, prep-school cursive, although a little shaky, as if she had written it in a hurry.
I've gathered my things. I'll get myself back to the States. I need some time alone. E.
This was maybe the hardest impact Donovan had felt all day. Eleri had fled. Scanning the message quickly for a second time, he looked for a hidden code, for words or things only he would know the secret meaning of, but he found nothing new. Maybe GJ could find answers.
GJ's voice broke his thoughts. “There's no code. There's no sequence shift. There's no message created by every first word or every third word. It's just a note from Eleri. Her things are packed up and gone, too.”
“What?” He should have had more interesting things to say, but he was too stunned to think of them.
“She got here before us, packed everything, and left the note. Apparently, she even said goodbye to Hannah and Jason.”
Jesus, Donovan thought, he'd almost forgot about her friend and the research assistant. They were likely huddled together in the other room, having watched Noah walk by, dirty and damaged, as he headed into the shower.
Not sure what else to say or do, Donovan waved his hand back toward the open door behind him. “The shower is all yours.”
GJ took him up on the offer.
Closing the door, he pulled on his human clothing again. Everything felt wrong, from the fit of his shirt to the emptiness of the room. But there were still things that he needed to take care of.
He stitched up Noah’s wounds. GJ emerged from the shower, clean and freshly dressed, even before Donovan finished. Noah had needed medical attention for three wounds, and it took a while. If Donovan thought he looked bad, Noah looked worse. Noah had fought with bare skin. Donovan had at least had the protection of thick fur. He hadn't thought about it before, but it clearly made a difference.
Letting Noah’s shirt fall to cover the last of the bandages, he couldn’t stop wondering where Eleri was and why she hadn't spoken to him. He found himself picking up his phone to text her, even though she had asked that they not bother her.
He got the message half typed and then erased it. He wanted to follow her wishes, but he also needed to talk to her. Undecided, he headed into the main room where Noah and GJ looked up at him. Now they’re expecting him to take over as head of the operation.