Malcoda caught the hesitation, the wariness in her scent. She was nervous, ashamed and scornful of the idea that a lowly human would have to come to the aid of a mighty hellhound. Keeping his thoughts to himself, Mal backed out of the room when she agreed. He headed down the hall, leaving another trail of blood that would have to be cleaned later on the way to the master suite.
It took him twice as long to shift as it normally did, a combination of pain and blood loss making it harder to focus on the foreign form. It wasn't the natural one and was nowhere as easy as slipping into a new pair of jeans. Bones snapped, flesh ripped and sulfur scented the air as Malcoda finally shifted into Malakai in the privacy of his own fireplace. Being dirty and filthy, covered in dust, grime and smeared with blood of his own and another's, was not the most pleasant way to greet someone into his home.
Finally, panting softly from the effort, Malakai moved to his computer, searching for who would be around that could come over. Wesley was out of town apparently, as was Starbuck, so he contacted the other healer on call, asking him to come out to the house. He'd agreed and Mal logged off, taking stock of his own wounds. Deep gouges across his chest and throat, a chunk of his ass was missing and he didn't examine his lower region, already knowing the extent of the damage there. Ziv was nothing if not a dirty fighter.