Everly's POV
The wolf stopped breathing.
"No. No, no, no." I pressed both hands hard against his side, feeling for the rise and fall that had been there three seconds ago. Nothing. "You are not dying on my table."
I grabbed the oxygen mask I used for big dogs and pressed it over his muzzle. My other hand found the injection already loaded on the tray, epinephrine, the last one I had. I didn't let myself think. I just pushed the needle in and depressed the plunger.
For five seconds, nothing happened.
Then his chest heaved. One huge, painful breath that rattled his whole body.
"There you go." My voice cracked. "There you go. Stay with me."
It had been forty minutes since I dragged him through the back door of my clinic. Forty minutes of cutting away matted fur, cleaning wounds that shouldn't have been survivable, and pulling out things from his body that made my stomach turn. Thorns soaked in something black and oily. Not natural thorns. Nothing about this wolf was natural.
He was too big. An adult male grey wolf topped out at around 150 pounds. This one was closer to 250, maybe more. His paws were the size of my face. His silver fur, even crusted with blood and snow, almost seemed to glow under the clinic lights.
And his wounds. I'd seen animal attacks before. I'd seen traps, car accidents, and infection. This was none of those things. These cuts were deliberate. Precise. Like someone had wanted him to suffer slowly.
My hands shook as I threaded the suture needle.
I didn't get scared often. Working alone in a small mountain town meant I'd handled emergencies that would have made other vets call for backup: a black bear with a broken leg, a moose tangled in barbed wire at two in the morning. I'd handled them fine.
But this wolf made me scared in a way I couldn't explain. Not of him. Scared for him. Like something in my chest had grabbed hold and refused to let go.
"You're going to need a name," I muttered, mostly to keep myself focused. "Since you can't exactly tell me yours. I'm thinking... Silver. Boring, maybe. But it fits."
I started stitching the worst cut along his flank. It was long, deep, and clean-edged. Like a blade.
Who does this to a wolf?
That's when I noticed his eyes were open.
I froze.
He was watching me. Not the dull, glassy stare of an animal in shock. Actually watching me, his gaze moved slowly from my hands to my face and back again. His eyes were the most impossible color, pale blue, like ice in sunlight.
"Hey," I said softly, keeping my voice low and even. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm trying to help. You're safe, okay? You're safe."
His ears flicked once. Then he went still, but his eyes stayed on my face.
I went back to work.
We fell into a rhythm, me talking quietly about nothing, him watching. I told him about the snowstorm outside. About how my truck had nearly died twice on the way here. About how I'd been planning to spend Christmas Eve with a frozen pizza and a movie, and how this was honestly better, even if better felt like the wrong word.
An hour passed. Then two.
The black stuff in his wounds scared me the most. I'd never seen anything like it. It sat in the tissue like ink, spreading in thin lines from the cuts like roots growing through dirt. When I cleaned it out, the flesh underneath looked raw and red, inflamed in a way that didn't match any infection I knew. I flushed it out with saline, packed the wounds with the strongest antiseptic I had, and hoped it was enough.
I didn't know if it would be.
At some point, the snow outside turned into a full whiteout. The power flickered twice. I had a generator, but the thought of it cutting out while I was in the middle of this made my stomach drop. I lit the backup lanterns I kept in the cabinet, just in case, and kept going.
Around midnight, his breathing finally steadied.
I slumped into the chair I kept in the corner and pressed my palms against my eyes. My back ached. My feet were numb from standing so long on the cold tile floor.
"You made it," I said.
I looked over at him. He was still on his side, but his chest moved in a slow, even rhythm now. The worst of the wounds was closed. Whatever poison had been in his system, we'd gotten most of it. I thought. I hoped.
His eyes were still open. Still watching me.
"I don't know what happened to you," I said quietly. "But whoever did this, they wanted you gone. And you're still here. So that's something, right?"
He blinked. Once, slowly, like an agreement.
I laughed before I could stop myself. "Great. Now I'm having a conversation with a wolf." I rubbed my face. "I really need to get out more."
I got up to check his vitals one last time before I let myself rest. Pulse stronger. Temperature is still low, but climbing. The black lines in the tissue around his wounds had faded. Whatever we'd flushed out, it wasn't spreading anymore.
I reached out and, without really thinking, rested my hand gently on the top of his head, between his ears. Just for a second. A habit. Something I did with every animal I treated when it was over.
A strange warmth moved through my palm. Not from his fur. From somewhere deeper. Like pressing your hand to a wall and feeling the heat of a fire burning on the other side.
I pulled my hand back fast.
He made a sound. Low, not a growl. Something else. Almost like relief.
I stood there staring at him, my heart beating too fast.
"What are you?" I whispered.
He didn't answer. Of course, he didn't. He was a wolf.
I shook my head and went to set up the folding cot I kept for late nights. I needed a few hours of sleep before I did anything else. He was stable. He would make it to morning.
I was almost asleep when I heard a sound from outside. Not the wind.
Footsteps. Heavy ones. Multiple sets, moving slowly and deliberately through the snow around the building.
I sat up.
The wolf heard it too. He lifted his head for the first time, and the sound that came from him raised every hair on my body. Not a growl. A warning. Deep and ancient and nothing like any sound I'd ever heard an animal make.
I went to the window and looked out into the dark.
Three shapes stood at the edge of the tree line. Human shapes. Watching the clinic.
One of them pointed directly at my window.
I ducked back, my breath coming fast, my mind racing.
They're looking for him.
And now they knew exactly where he was.