Alex could understand what Conor was feeling. She understood what it meant to take a life, whether it be pack or non-pack, sup or human. Her own share of demons rested deep within her, thinks she had had to do for her old pack and thinks she had done for revenge for a slain friend. She understood it and knew how easy it would be for Conor to want to slip away with the anger. If he did, though, he’d lose himself in a way that wouldn’t be good; however, if he had no feelings at all about what had happened she’d be even more deeply concerned.
A breath of relief left her as Conor forced himself to relax and gave her a nod that she could tend to his wounds. “I said an Irish prayer over him,” she stated. Quickly, she grabbed a wash cloth and dampened it under the still streaming water from the faucet. Then she turned him to face her, her eyes glancing over his wounds. “Give me a run down,” she then asked as she lifted the wet cloth to his face, wiping away blood and then glancing down his chest, a bone looked precariously out of place. “We will have to fix that immediately,” she stated about the broken rib bone. “What else could be broken?” She needed to know the most major at first; wolves healed quickly and if a bone was out of place it could forever be dislodged or mess with things when you went to shift.