Piotr, who’d made his way around to the stern, answered her. “Nah. It’s expensive to take their boats out and we’re not drug smugglers, just drunk fishermen. They will think the people at the bar talking about polar bears and wolves were—as Americans put it—drunk off their asses. Pardon me, young lady.” He moved past Rae into the pilot house and collapsed onto a bench. “I think I have not had so much fun in a long time. Zander, friend, you have been shot.”

“I know.” Zander plotted his course, his alcoholic haze gone—Shifters could recover from such things quickly. Adrenaline from the fight and the pain of the wound helped sober him up fast.

The human police maybe wouldn’t chase them but if those at the fight reported that they were Shifters, someone might call Shifter Bureau. Shifter Bureau was the coordinator of all regulations and laws regarding Shifters—they didn’t have a police force but they had a military attachment and they could alert the local authorities to round up the Shifters causing trouble and bring them in. As soon as the authorities saw that neither Zander nor Ezra wore Collars and that Rae was out of her territory, they’d be in deep shit.

Zander knew how to hide out from Shifter Bureau though. He’d been doing it for a lifetime. He steered the boat toward the coordinates he’d chosen, keeping an eye on his gauges and the readouts on the laptop open next to the wheel.

Piotr was right, however, that Zander’s wound needed to be dressed. He opened a cupboard and glanced inside but it didn’t contain what he was looking for.

“I have a first aid kit somewhere,” he said. “Maybe below.”

Rae glared at him. “First aid? Seriously?” She left the doorway and stomped her way down into the cabin.

“She’s very pretty,” Piotr said, his eyes sparkling. “You two . . . ?”

“No,” Zander answered quickly. He didn’t like the pang of regret the negative answer produced. But Rae was here to learn from him, that was all. She’d return to her Shiftertown when Zander was done teaching her how to fight—though she’d done pretty damn good at the bar—and Zander would go his own way again, solitary, alone . . .

Rae banged her way back inside, her hands full of bandage rolls, alcohol, and a pair of pliers.

Zander swung away from her, putting up his hands. “No you don’t. No way am I letting you rummage inside my body with a pair of greasy needle-nose.”

“I washed them,” Rae said. “Relax. I’ve pulled bullets out of my brothers more than once. Colin and Logan run in the woods and hunters shoot at them. Taking pellets out of your shoulder will be a piece of cake in comparison.”

She dipped the pliers in alcohol and opened and closed them with a few little taps.

Zander flinched and Piotr laughed. “I will hold him down.”

Zander growled. “No you won’t.” He sidestepped Piotr and plunked himself down on a clear space on the bench.

Piotr moved to the wheel without Zander asking and took over the controls. Piotr was one of the best fishermen in the area and he’d guide the boat steadily to open sea. Ezra was still a wolf, watching the wake of the boat as the green and brown shores of Homer receded.

Most humans might suggest Zander go to a hospital. Piotr, however, knew about Shifters, courtesy of Zander, and would know a human hospital might not be able to treat him. Plus the hospital staff would call Shifter Bureau, obligated to report the incident. Rae was obviously used to home medicine and Zander would heal quickly, as Shifters did.

Rae sat right against Zander and put her hand on his shoulder, above the wound. Her touch was warm, already soothing the pain.

She brought alcohol-soaked gauze to the hole in Zander’s upper arm and very carefully began to clean it. Zander winced at the sting but tried not to move too much.

Rae wiped the wound then held it open with strong fingers as she very carefully and steadily eased the pliers into his flesh.

Zander snarled, fists balling. He let his head drop back to the wall, his jaw clenched as he fought the pain. He couldn’t let it make him shift—if he went bear, he might hurt Rae.

Something like a white-hot pincher tore at his shoulder, then Rae eased the pliers out, a pellet clamped between them. She quickly shoved clean gauze against the wound.

“There we go,” she announced.

Zander studied the squashed ball squeezed tight between the pliers. “What the hell did he load in that gun?” he asked, voice a croak. Shot came in several different sizes and this hunter must have used the biggest he could get away with.

Rae didn’t move. She kept the gauze against his shoulder, her pressure slowing the bleeding.

“You should be all right,” she said. “Can you, you know, help it heal?”

Her eyes held belief in him. Zander wanted to reach up and cup her face, wrap his hand around the warmth of her braid, and pull her down to him.

She’d kicked the ass of the last guy who’d tried that, Zander remembered. “You mean, Shifter, heal thyself?” he said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t work that way. When I’m beat up and hurt, I don’t get healed—I just have to live with it.”

Rae’s dark brows came together. The contrast between her nearly black hair and gray eyes was enchanting. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It’s the way it is.” Zander started to shrug, then grimaced at the pull of injury. “The way it is sucks sometimes.”

Rae set down the blood-soaked pliers and applied both hands to the gauze. She leaned in closer, brushing against him, her warmth working through his body. Rae knew that touch soothed and she was generously offering it.

Her breath was soft on Zander’s skin, the scent of her, sweet. Zander leaned closer and ever so lightly pressed his lips to the line of her hair.

Rae started but she didn’t pull away. She sat still, her breath lifting her chest, her hands fixing the bandage in place.

Zander moved his kisses along her hairline, breathing her scent, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin. Rae said nothing, did nothing. Zander kissed her temple, the brush of her hair tickling his lips.

He eased back and looked down at her. Rae’s cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, her eyes flicking away when he tried to read what was in them.

Anger? Fear? Outrage? Interest? Whatever she felt, Rae concentrated on holding the gauze in place as though that were all-important. At least she didn’t spit on him, punch him, go wolf and rake her claws through his already smarting shoulder.