Elias slid to the cabinet, one hand clamped to his forearm, blood slick to the elbow. His face went a color that didn't belong in a living person. "I can—" he started, and didn't.
"Shut up," Sera ordered, already pressing her palm to the wound. "Zubair—heat."
He didn't argue. Heat bloomed through his glove like a held coal. She lifted her hand. He took her place, expression blank, and put his palm on Elias's forearm.
The room smelled like burnt fur and coins and human.
"Tourniquet," Elias ground out, not quite conscious and still trying to give instructions.
"Already there," Alexei grunted, cinching a belt above the injury until Elias hissed.
Lachlan crouched with his hands on his knees, blue still riding his skin, breath a saw. He stared at the wolf like he wanted it to stand up again so he could hit it more. Blood laced his mouth. He spat red on tile and wiped his arm over his face.
"The seal?" he rasped.
