The Messenger( Iva) novel Chapter 317

Trouble

Trouble

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The moment the woman collapsed at their feet, something shifted in Lori.

The fear, the shock, the uncertainty-all of it melted away, replaced by a cold, focused clarity. This was what she had been training for her entire life. This was what she was meant to do.

“Forget bringing the medical kit. Get her inside,” she commanded, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart. “Now.”

Attia lifted the woman effortlessly, cradling her against his chest as he carried her into the farmhouse. Lori followed close behind, her mind already cataloging the injuries she had seen -the torn clothing, the blood, the pallor of the woman’s skin.

They laid her on the kitchen table, clearing away the clutter with a single sweep of Attia’s arm. Lori grabbed the medical kit from the cupboard-a comprehensive collection of supplies her parents had insisted she take when she left the pack.

“Attia, I need you to hold her steady,” Lori said, her hands already moving. “She’s lost a lot of blood. I need to assess the damage.”

Attia positioned himself at the woman’s head, his large hands gentle but firm on her

shoulders.

Lori’s fingers moved with practiced precision, checking pulse, breathing, pupil response. The

woman’s vitals were weak but stable-for now.

“She’s been shot,” Lori said, her voice tight. “Multiple times. The bullets are still inside her. That’s the immediate priority.”

She reached for a small metal tray and a pair of forceps.

But as she leaned closer, she noticed something that made her blood run cold.

The wounds around the bullet holes were dark-almost black, with thin, angry veins of purple spreading outward beneath the skin. Lori had seen this before, during her training. She had heard her parents describe it in hushed, grim voices.

“Wolfsbane,” she breathed. “The bullets are dipped in wolfsbane.”

Attia’s face went pale.

“That’s-that’s illegal. That’s a war crime.”

“I know.” Lori’s hands were already reaching for the antiseptic and the scalpel. “Help me turn

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her. I need to cut her shirt to access the wounds.”

Together, they carefully turned the unconscious woman onto her side. Lori took a pair of scissors and began cutting through the bloodied fabric of the woman’s shirt.

And then she stopped.

The scissors froze in her hand.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Attia’s sharp intake of breath was audible behind her.

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The woman’s back was a nightmare of scars and wounds-a horrifying tapestry of pain and cruelty. Some of the scars were old, faded white lines that spoke of years of abuse. Others were recent, still pink and raised, barely healed. And there were fresh wounds, still oozing blood, cuts and bruises that had been inflicted recently.

Lori’s eyes filled with tears.

“Who would do this to someone?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Who would do something like this?”

Attia’s jaw was tight, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury.

“Someone who wanted to break her,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Someone who

wanted to make her suffer.”

Lori took a shaky breath.

“We have to help her. We have to save her.”

She wiped her eyes and forced herself to focus. The wounds were extensive, but she had the skills. She had the knowledge. She had her parents’ training, years of watching them work, years of learning the delicate art of healing.

She could do this.

She would do this.

The first bullet was lodged deep in the woman’s shoulder blade. Lori worked carefully, her hands steady, her focus absolute. She cleaned the wound, probed for the bullet, and extracted it with a soft clink against the metal tray.

The second bullet was in her side, dangerously close to her ribs. Lori had to work even more carefully, her movements precise and controlled.

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The third bullet was the worst-embedded in her lower back, dangerously close to her spine.

Lori’s hands trembled as she worked, but she forced herself to stay calm.

*You can do this,* she told herself. *You’ve trained for this. You’re ready.*

Finally, the last bullet was out.

Lori collapsed back in her chair, her body trembling with exhaustion. The woman’s vitals were stabilizing. Her breathing was stronger. The wolfsbane had been neutralized by the antidote Lori had administered.

“She’s going to make it,” Lori said, her voice barely above a whisper. “She’s going to be okay.”

Attia crossed the room and knelt beside her.

“You saved her life,” he said softly. “You’re incredible.”

Lori shook her head.

“I just did what I was trained to do.”

“Don’t minimize this,” Attia said firmly. “You were amazing. Your parents would be so proud.”

Lori’s eyes filled with fresh tears.

Then Attia stilled.

His head snapped toward the window, his body tensing.

“I sense others,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Entering our property.”

Lori’s heart clenched.

“How many?”

“Four. Maybe five. They’re moving fast.” He stood, his expression hardening. “I’m going outside. Don’t come out. No matter what you hear.”

Lori’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist.

“Be safe,” she whispered.

Attia’s eyes softened.

“I will.”

He opened the door and stepped outside.

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The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the fields. Attia stood on the porch, his body coiled like a spring, his eyes scanning the forest line.

Four figures emerged from the trees.

They were young wolves-early twenties, their bodies lean and muscled. Their expressions were arrogant, their postures aggressive. They moved with the casual confidence of wolves who had never been challenged.

Attia recognized the type immediately.

Pack wolves. Young, brash, and convinced of their own superiority.

He stepped off the porch, his hands at his sides, his posture deliberately relaxed.

“Shift,” he commanded, his voice carrying the weight of his Alpha authority.

The four wolves sneered.

Attia’s aura flared.

The pressure of his Alpha command slammed into them like a physical force, and all four dropped to their knees, their bodies trembling as they were forced to shift back into human

form.

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