"Wait," he said, and opened a drawer to grab a pair of scissors. When he saw Charles's face, he grinned. "Hey, it's just a suit. I know you can afford to replace it."
"Fittings," snarled Charles. "Four fittings and traveling to the city to be poked and prodded. No, thank you. Da, can you help me get this off and keep your son and his scissors out of reach?"
"Put the scissors down, Samuel," Bran said. "I expect that if he managed to get it on, we can get it off without cutting it. No need to growl, Charles."
With help, sliding out of the jacket was possible, but it left Charles sweating and his father murmuring soothing words. They didn't even ask for his help unbuttoning the shirt when they took it off of him.
Samuel got a good look at the bright pink vet wrap and grinned. "That wasn't your idea."
"Anna."
"I think I like this little wolf of yours. She may scare a little easy all right, but she faced down Asil without breaking a sweat. And anyone who'd dare to wrap you in pink-"
Samuel was abruptly serious, though, when he cut through the silly pink stuff and saw the holes, fore and aft. He put his face next to the wound and sniffed before rewrapping Charles in something a little less spectacular.
Charles was amused to find he preferred the pink because she had put it on him.
"Almost lost you with that one, little brother. But it smells clean and looks like it's healing well enough. Drop the pants now, I want to look at that leg you've been trying not to favor."
Charles didn't like to take off his clothes-too much Indian in him, he supposed. That and a little reluctance to bare his wounds. He didn't like other people knowing his weaknesses, even his brother and father. He reluctantly skimmed his slacks down.
Samuel was frowning even before he'd gotten the bright green wrap cut off. Once he did, he put his nose against it and jerked back. "Who cleaned this out?"
"The Chicago pack has a doctor." There weren't very many doctors who were werewolves. No one but Samuel as far as he'd known: the Chicago pack's doctor was one of the new ones Leo had been hiding from the Marrok. Being around all that blood and flesh made it pretty difficult for a werewolf to keep his mind on healing-though he'd never noticed it bothering Samuel.
"He was a quack," growled his brother. "I can smell the silver from six inches out."
"Poorly schooled in being a wolf," corrected Charles. "None of Leo's new wolves know what to do with their noses- including Anna. I doubt he thought to sniff for silver."
"And I am under the impression that he was pretty frightened of you, too," said his father from the corner he'd exiled himself to. "You aren't exactly a good patient."
"Up on the table," Samuel told him. "I'm going to have to do some digging. Da, you're going to have to help him while I do this."
It hurt a lot worse than getting shot in the first place, but Charles stayed still while Samuel dug and probed. Sweat dripped off his forehead, and the urge to change and attack was held at bay, barely, by his father's hands on his.
He tried not to pay attention to what Samuel was doing, but it was impossible to ignore his running commentary completely. When Samuel shot saline solution through the wound, every muscle in his body tightened in protest, and he hissed.
But-"Sorry, old man, there's some still in there." And it was back to probe and cut. He wouldn't let himself cry out, but he couldn't stop the wolf-whine as Samuel flushed the wound with another round of saline-or the groan of relief when Samuel started bandaging, signaling the end of the torture.
While Charles was still down and out, trying to relearn how to breathe, Samuel said, "I'm not staying here, Da."
Charles quit worrying about his leg and watched Samuel's face. Samuel wasn't in any shape to be off on his own again. He assumed his father knew that-Bran was better with people than Charles was.
Bran didn't reply, just spun himself slowly, around and around on the little stool in the corner of the room.
Eventually, Samuel was driven to continue-doubtless just as Bran intended. "I can't stay. Too many people who expect too much here. I don't want to be pack."
Bran continued spinning himself around. "So what are you going to do?"
Samuel smiled, a quick flash that made Charles's heart hurt with the lack of genuine feeling behind the expression. Whatever had happened to his brother in the years he'd gone off on his own had changed him, and Charles worried that the change was irrevocable. "I thought I'd go tease Mercy for a while more."
His voice and his face said casual, but his body was tense, giving away how much this mattered to him.
Maybe Da hadn't been crazy when he pushed Samuel and Mercy together-though in Charles's experience, romance was neither painless nor restful. Maybe painless and restful weren't what Samuel needed.
"What about Adam?" asked Charles reluctantly. Mercy lived in the Tri-Cities of Washington state, and the Columbia Basin Pack Alpha wasn't dominant enough to hold his pack with Samuel in it-and Adam had been Alpha too long to adjust to another in that position.
"I already talked to him," Samuel answered quickly.
"He's all right with you taking over?" Charles couldn't see it. Another wolf maybe, but not Adam.
Samuel relaxed against the counter and grinned. "I'm not taking over his pack, old man. Just coming into his territory like any other lone wolf. He said he was all right with it."
The Marrok's face was carefully neutral-and Charles knew what was bothering him. There had been nights that Samuel had to lean pretty hard on pack for stability the past two years, since he'd gotten back from Texas, and a lone wolf had no pack to lean on.
Samuel, like his father-and Asil-was old. Old was dangerous for werewolves. Age had never seemed to touch Samuel much-until he'd come back a few years ago after being gone on his own for over a decade.
"Of course," continued Samuel, "he doesn't know I'm moving in with Mercy."
Adam had a thing for their little coyote, too, Charles suddenly remembered. "So Mercedes decided to forgive you?"
"Mercy?" Samuel's eyes climbed to the top of his forehead, but for the first time in a long time the shadows left his eyes. "Our Mercy, who never gets mad when she can get even? Of course not."
"So how did you get her to agree to you moving in?"
"She hasn't yet," he said confidently. "But she will." Whatever scheme he had in mind brightened his eyes with their old joie de vivre. His father saw it, too. Charles could see him come to a sudden decision.