Page 36 of Eden and her Mercenary
"Stay with me," I murmured to Eden, whose face had gone alarmingly pale. Her breathing came in short, shallow gasps, each one seeming more difficult than the last. "Look at me, Eden. Focus on my voice."
Her eyes found mine, pain and confusion swimming in their depths. "Hurts," she whispered.
"I know, sweetheart. Help's coming." I tore off my shirt, wadding it against the wound. The bullet had caught her high in the chest, too close to vital structures for comfort. "Wren!" I called. "We need an ambulance, now!"
Eden's hand clutched weakly at my arm. "Stella," she managed. "Keep her safe."
"You'll keep her safe yourself," I insisted, hearing the desperation in my own voice. "This is just a setback. You're going to be fine."
But her eyes were beginning to lose focus, lids fluttering as shock set in. Blood continued to seep through my makeshift bandage, her life literally slipping through my fingers.
Wren appeared beside us, her face grim. "Ambulance is fifteen minutes out. Mack's on his way, five minutes tops."
"She doesn't have five minutes," I snarled,gathering Eden into my arms. "Get the truck started. We're meeting them halfway."
As I lifted her, Eden's head lolled against my shoulder, her skin clammy and cold. Stella followed, whining anxiously, trying to stay close as I carried Eden to the truck. Wren slid behind the wheel while I climbed into the back seat, cradling Eden across my lap.
"Stay with me," I kept repeating, applying pressure to the wound with one hand while the other checked her pulse—rapid, thready, fading. "Eden, please. I can't lose you. Not when we've just found each other."
Her eyes fluttered open briefly, finding mine with effort. "Not... your fault," she whispered, blood bubbling at the corner of her mouth—a very bad sign. Her lung was hit.
"Don't you dare say goodbye," I ordered, my voice breaking. "This isn't over. We're just getting started, remember? The Way Station, our home. Stella needs you. I need you."
Wren drove like a demon possessed, the truck fishtailing on the curves as we raced down the mountain. Through the rear window, I could see Ryker's Jeep following, dust billowing behind him.
"Two minutes to meet up with Mack," Wren called over her shoulder. "How is she?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't. Eden's breathing hadbecome erratic, each inhale a struggle that seemed to drain what little strength she had left. Her blood soaked my jeans, warm and sticky, an obscene reminder of how quickly life could drain away.
"Eden," I whispered, leaning close to her ear. "I love you. Do you hear me? I love you, and you are not allowed to leave me. Not like this."
Her eyelids fluttered but didn't open. Her pulse under my fingers skipped, faltered, then resumed its weakening rhythm.
Mack's truck appeared around the bend, screeching to a halt as Wren pulled alongside. The retired vet jumped out, medical bag in hand, his face setting into the focused mask of a battlefield medic.
"Move over," he ordered, climbing into the back seat. His practiced hands immediately found the wound, probing gently before reaching for his bag. "Tension pneumothorax. Lung's collapsing."
He pulled out what looked like a large needle with a catheter attached. "Hold her steady," he instructed, positioning the needle between her ribs. "This is going to hurt her, but it's necessary."
I cradled Eden's head, murmuring apologies as Mack inserted the needle. A rush of air escaped, and Eden's next breath seemed slightly less labored.
"That buys us time, not a solution," Mack said grimly, already packing the wound with gauze. "She needs surgery, blood, proper equipment. The ambulance—"
"Here," Wren announced as flashing lights appeared in the distance.
The next minutes were a blur of paramedics, urgent voices, medical terminology I barely understood. They transferred Eden to a stretcher, hooked up IVs, attached monitors that beeped with concerning irregularity.
"I’m coming with her," I stated, not a question.
The paramedic nodded, stepping aside to let me climb into the ambulance. As the doors closed, I caught a glimpse of Stella watching from Wren's arms, her eyes fixed on Eden with an intensity that mirrored my own desperation.
The 45-minute journey to the hospital in Springbank passed in a haze of fear and medical interventions. Eden coded once—her heart stopping completely—before being shocked back to life by the grim-faced paramedic. I sat clutching her limp hand, making promises to whatever power might be listening.
At the hospital, they whisked her away behind swinging doors marked "Authorized Personnel Only," leaving me blood-soaked and hollow in the sterile waiting room. Ryker arrived minutes later, his expression thunderous.
"Junction," he said without preamble. "Found shell casings with their markings. Sniper was set up about 400 yards from the cabin."
Cold fury replaced the fear in my veins. "They were after Stella."
