“Call up to Communications and have them ready for her,” Emma ordered the soldier. “Make certain she has a cup of coffee or she’s going to crash and burn on us the way she’s using adrenaline at the moment. I also want the doctor standing by for hormonal injections if needed. That adrenaline crash sometimes retriggers the heat.”
And Anya could get pissy if she went into heat without warning. Not to mention the fact that Del-Rey would have all their heads if Anya ended up in pain again.
The soldier nodded and made the calls as they stepped into the elevator and made the descent into the well-protected communications center.
She glanced at Anya. Her coya’s shoulders were straight, her head held high, sapphire eyes glittering in her pale face. And for the first time, Emma noticed the little sprinkling of freckles across Anya’s nose.
“He’s fine,” she murmured again.
“Of course he’s fine,” Anya snapped. “Have Medical be prepared just in case. And tell me again why the hell we don’t have our own operating rooms and surgeon in-house.” She turned and glared at Emma.
Emma shrugged. She knew the answer; Anya knew the answer. “Dr. Armani . . .” was their designated specialist.
“Is a Wolf Breed specialist,” Anya snapped. “I’ve had enough of this.”
“Hard to get a surgeon to perform surgery when he’s dead,” Emma reminded her.
She remembered. Just as she knew there were at least two Coyote specialists well adept in surgery, Coyote genetics and general Breed medicine that would be well able to treat them.
Anya pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and turned to stare at the Breeds watching her curiously.
They were hardened killers. But standing there, they were staring at her as though she represented more than a pretty face or a singular title she had refused to acknowledge outside the most basic of duties.
She let her gaze connect with one of the olive green-garbed soldiers. Her gaze flickered over the plain military uniform he wore. Wolves and Felines both had a uniform for each designation of their forces. Something else Del-Rey hadn’t been able to take care of.
“Find me some damned jeans,” Anya muttered as the doors opened and they swept into the huge communications network set up underground. “This dress sucks.”
CHAPTER 11
If there was a bone or muscle that didn’t hurt in his body, then Del-Rey couldn’t find it. Brim did a rough stitch on the laceration on his arm after he managed to reset the dislocated shoulder.
Blood fury had raged, though, the second the all-terrain went flying through the air. Jumping from it, they had moved in on the position of the men attempting to ambush the Breed limos.
They’d run like rats, but humans were no match for the Breeds’ night senses and tracking abilities. They’d captured five of the bastards; one had died as he fired a bullet that managed to lodge in Del-Rey’s other shoulder.
They were still trying to find all the pieces of his throat after Del-Rey had managed to tear it out.
Wolfe, his heads of security, Jacob and Aiden, as well two Wolf Breed and two Coyote teams were present. Del-Rey was still staring at Ivan in disbelief as he was relating how Anya had sent out the second team of Coyote soldiers along with three of his enforcers—Ivan, Samuel and Mordecai—in the heli-jet to make certain they brought back their alpha, breathing.
He wanted to shake his head. That wasn’t the Anya he knew, but as he’d learned in the past week, the Anya he had known had grown in ways he still didn’t fully understand.
“She has control of Communications.” Brim covered the mic of his communications headset and stared back at Del-Rey in amusement. “She hasn’t cussed yet, but she’s demanding a report.”
“Tell her I’m breathing,” he grunted.
“She’s ordered a team to Haven,” Brim told him then. “And an enforcer to interrogate the bartender we brought back with us. She’s been in contact with the lupina, Hope, and they’re coordinating—umm—defenses.”
Del-Rey winced and looked at Wolfe, who didn’t seem in the least concerned.
He finally shrugged. Hell, Hope, Faith and Anya’s bodyguards had prepared her for this. At this point he had no choice but to trust in her abilities.
“She threw Sofia out of Communications. Did you know she was headed back to Base?” Brim asked. Del-Rey gave him a negative shake of his head. “While her soldiers turned their backs and covered her, she tossed her dress aside and within seconds had on jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers, and she was barking out orders the whole time. Our men are scared, Del.”
Del-Rey snorted at the thought of that. His men were scared of nothing, least of all a coya they all but revered.
“Damn, she’s running the place like she was born to it.” Brim looked worried. “What the hell is she doing learning how to run Command this way?”
Del-Rey lifted his head from where he had glanced at the ground, processing the information Brim was giving him. God, he f**king hurt.
“She’s going to make our lives hell and in the end most likely have us thanking God for it,” he finally told his enforcer. “Get the heli-jet ready to fly. I need to get to Haven for medical assistance before I return to Base. Our medical techs aren’t experienced enough to deal with my wounds.”
He might have a cracked rib. He probed at it and winced, hoping it wasn’t too severe. He’d had every intention of mating his little mate at the first opportunity. He had a feeling that wasn’t happening tonight.
“She’s demanding a detailed report,” Brim suddenly hissed.
“Down to that last scratch on that mangy Coyote’s hide, as she’s calling you. Del-Rey, I’m not dealing with her.”
“Then deal with her when we get back to Base,” Del-Rey sighed. “Is that heli-jet prepped yet?”
“Fuck! She finds out you went to Haven for medical and she’s going to be waiting on all of us with a gun.”
There was something more serious than his coya’s irritation. Del-Rey forced himself not to sway as he felt the blood seeping from his side from the branch that had punctured it earlier.
Blood loss definitely. Possible internal damage. He listed the injuries in his mind, searching for any other problems. Sometimes, Dr. Armani needed help in diagnosing Coyote medical problems.