Page 24 of Butterfly

I drop to my knees next to him as Catcher sits in a corner. “Dart.” Blood soaks his golden fur.

“Keep him still. Don’t let him move. I’ll get my bag.” Sienna’s quick footsteps echo from the hallway, and her figure disappears behind a corner.

My chest heaves and constricts at the same time as I stare at Dart’s terrified gaze. His upper lip is pulled back in a grimace of pain, showing his pale gums. He tries to stand up, but I keep him down, stroking his fur.

“Stay,” I order him, my voice shaking. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m here.” Sienna crouches next to me and rummages through a large leather bag. “We must take him to the clinic, but I need to stabilise him first.” She rips a small plastic bag open. “This powder will stop the bleeding temporarily, but it burns. I need you to keep him still while I remove the glass and pour the powder on the wound. He’ll jerk and thrash around, but you must hold him down. Is that clear?”

I nod, unable to speak. Catcher is whining around us. His nostrils flare with the coppery scent of blood filling the air.

“Be ready.” Instead, Sienna’s voice is firm, business-like, and her gaze is focused.

With a quick pull, she removes the glass blade and tosses it away. Dart yelps, his legs kicking. But when she sprinkles the white powder on the cut, he cries out; it’s a sound filled with so much pain, my heart gives a squeeze for him. I have to lean on him to prevent him from moving around, pushing him down while trying not to hurt him. It feels like I’m killing him. Hell, a lump the size of a boulder is swelling in my throat.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, choking on the words. “Stay down, mate.”

Sienna touches him, lingering on his throat, and sinks her fingers into his fur. “Is your car close?” Her practical tone helps me snap out of my emotional moment.

“Right in the front yard.” I nod towards the hallway.

“We must be quick.” She rummages through her bag again. “And try not to move him too much.”

Footsteps approach. Martin screeches to a grinding stop upon seeing us. “What the hell—”

“We need help to lift him.” She unfolds a thick blanket taken from her bag. “Quick.”

He doesn’t ask questions, although he gazes at the destroyed glass window with a furrowed brow. We spread the blanket next to Dart and gently move him on top of it. When he’s fully lying on it, we lift him. Sharp shards of glass crack under my shoes. Dart’s breathing is shallow and quick as we go down the short flight of stairs towards my car.

“What the hell happened?” Martin asks, manoeuvring Dart around the corner.

“We don’t know.” I swallow hard, staring at the blood staining the blanket. “We heard a noise, then Catcher rushed to us. When we arrived, Dart was already on the floor. He must’ve smashed against the glass while playing.”

“I’m sorry,” Martin mutters. “I meant to replace that glass with a thicker one.”

The back seat of my Aston Martin barely contains Dart’s build. He usually rides shotgun with me. Dammit. Sienna straps Dart with the seat belts on the back seat as I drop myself onto the driver’s seat. With trembling hands, I turn the car on. Martin waves and says something I don’t get. Then Sienna is next to me, and I press the gas.

Nine

Alex

AS I DRIVE, I try not to think of Dart bleeding behind me, but it’s bloody hard work.

“The clinic is five minutes from here. Harrow Street, number forty-seven.” Sienna fastens her seat belt before checking on Dart again.

I speed up, the tyres crunching the gravel on the driveway. “Will he make it?”

“I’ll do my best.” She’s opening a tablet she must’ve taken out of her large bag. “Has he ever had surgery before?”

“No. Wait, yes. He’s been neutered.”

“Problems with anaesthesia?” She types on the tablet.

Hell, I turn the steering wheel while chasing the random thoughts in my head. “He wasn’t my dog at that time. He’s been with me only for a few months.”

“Allergy to antibiotics?”

“Not that I know.” I glance at Dart lying motionless on the back seat, and a knot of anxiety almost chokes me. The glaring lights in the streets flash too brightly, glinting off the slow cars in front of me. I blink. My hands are clammy on the steering wheel.

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