Meara came in and out of sleep now and then. The first time, Bran coaxed her through the Change - it often made the healing process faster. It was the longest, most agonizing shift she'd ever been through. She fainted as soon as she finished, Bran's voice soothing and assuring in her mind.

The second time Bran fed her bits of raw steak. He'd cut them into small pieces so that she had little else to do but swallow. She managed to eat two whole steaks before she fell back asleep, curled up against Bran's side with her head in his lap.

The next time she was only awake long enough to realize that Bran had her cradled his lap, running his hand through her fur. He was singing to her. She'd never heard him sing before; his voice was beautiful and rich and it sent chills down her spine. The song was strangely familiar. It was in Welsh, she realized. It helped lull her back to sleep.

After that, she only woke enough to eat and have water every now and then. At one point she was awake enough to change back, but she only recalled the pain and feeling her fingers wrapping around Bran's hand.

When she finally woke up, she first felt the pain. It was hot and deep, but not as bad as it had been. She groaned, attempting to move. The room was dark - Bran's room, she realized after a moment. The blankets and pillows were arranged in a comfortable nest for her, family quilt set by the pillows. Someone had put her in fresh underwear and an oversized shirt. Even her hair was braided.

The room smelled of magic, blood, and anger. Bran's anger, she knew. She wondered how much time he'd been spending in here, with her.

She was bandaged, she realized next. Tightly wrapped all around her body, everywhere she recalled the feeling of claws and fangs. Her ribs, her shoulder, her hip , everything hurt - but those were the worst. Her left arm was heavily secured, bound to her chest with bandages to keep her from moving it. It was definitely broken; the joint burned, and she vaguely remembered feeling like her arm had been torn out. She tried to sit up, but her body felt weak and that made her hurt worse. "Fuck, me." Meara mumbled, wincing. Her hip felt like it was on fire.

The footsteps were sudden and rapid, and the door opened seconds later. The light poured in and she turned her head sharply, eyes used to darkness.

Bran immediately shut the door. He didn't say anything, just looked at her for a moment. Like he was waiting for her to pass out again. "Can you help me sit up?" Meara asked, instead. "I don't think I can do it by myself."

Bran came and situated the pillows quickly. His hands were soft and gentle as he pulled her up and helped her settle. She sighed, feeling not only a little relief from the pain of lying, but a little safer now that she could see the room.

Bran stayed very still, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing her. His eyes were gold, and despite the smoothness to his expression, she could feel his anger and frustration. The bond was open again, now that she wasn't holding it shut. It didn't feel as strong as it did before. She wondered if he was holding back from her. She angled herself towards him; her right side hurt less anyways. "How long have I been out for?" She asked, mumbling. Her jaw ached - but it wasn't broken anymore.

"Two days." He ground out. "I would have had you stay as a wolf to heal faster, but you kept trying to change back in your sleep."

Meara blinked groggily. She recalled, vaguely, feeling frightened. She was afraid of being alone, of Bran leaving and she not being to talk to him. "I was scared." She said truthfully. "It's easier to talk with words."

"You would have healed faster." He said again. "The worst of your wounds would be better."

As if to emphasize, her arm ached and her ribs throbbed. "I'm sorry." She said after a moment of silence. "I can change back, if you want me too." She turned her head away, eyes down. He was mad at her, and she didn't have the energy to feel like anything but a child being scolded.

Bran sighed. He slid onto the bed and pressed as close as he could without touching any injuries. "No, no. I'm not angry at you." He murmured, brushing loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "You're fine. You're healing."

Meara closed her eyes and leaned towards him. "Is Rebecca OK?" She asked, sliding her arm out from her under so she could take one of his hands. He cradled her fingers as gently as he could. "She is safe, and has recovered from her injuries." He said. Meara got the feeling he didn't want to talk about her.

She opened her eyes. "It's not her fault, you know." She said, trying to see what he was feeling. There was only the obvious she could perceive from the bond.

"No," Bran said gently, "it is not. And she has been trying very hard to help you heal faster."

That explained why the room smelled like magic. Meara felt a sense of relief, knowing Rebecca was safe and unharmed. That she hadn't just killed two people for it all to go to waste.

"Do you think you can eat?" Bran asked. "You haven't had enough food in the past few days."

"Yeah, I think I can." Her stomach rumbled at the thought. "But not yet."

He frowned ever so slightly. Sheepishly, she admitted, "I don't want to you to leave yet." She squeezed his hand.

Bran sighed, smiling softly. "Even to get to food and come back?" He teased.

Meara smiled - and then her lip quivered, as she remembered why she was afraid of him leaving. "When you came, you were so angry. I'd been shutting you out - I couldn't focus enough if I listened to you - so I don't know how angry you were. I thought - I was afraid -" Tears welled in her eyes. She couldn't bring herself to look at him in the eye. "I was afraid that you'd lose yourself. That you would get so angry your control would snap and I wasn't right enough to bring you back. For a moment I thought I might lose you, before I even really had you."

Bran wiped a tear away before it reached the bandage on her cheek. He was quiet for a moment; carefully considering his words.

"My mate had been left beaten and bloody. You could barely even speak - and then you screamed -" He had to stop for a moment, looking away from her and taking a breath. Meara squeezed his hand again. "And you were shutting me out. I couldn't feel you, couldn't reach you."

"I'm sorry-" The horrible notion that she had pushed him into that made her gut turn.

Bran shushed her, pressing his forehead to hers. "No, no, do not apologize for what you had to do." He said. "It wouldn't have mattered if you had done that or not. You were hurt ."

He cupped her face in his hand as gently as he could. "I wouldn't have left you, despite how close I was to the rage. You were alive; I held onto that. It was…" he closed his eyes. "...it was hard, to fight back the beast when it stirred. When it called for blood. But then you soothed us both, and I was fine. And I was fascinated at how you could be so hurt, yet waste all your energy fretting over me."

She sniffled. Then she gave a small grin. "It's a talent." She joked. He kissed her, soft and warm.

"It's a bad habit. Let me get you some food." He said. She nodded, letting go and settling into the pillows. He brought her food, and stayed while she ate. When she was done, he stayed with her, humming a soft tune as he stroked her hair and lulled her back to sleep.

The next time she was awake, Samuel was there, Rebecca standing behind him, and Bran perched on the edge of the bed. The curtains were drawn and the lights were on, making the room feel a little less prison like.

Samuel grinned at her. "Morning, sunshine." He said.

"Samuel?" She asked, groggily rubbing her eyes. "Don't tell me you came back to doctor me."

Samuel held up a doctor's bag. "I won't tell you, then."

They helped her sit up all the way. She smiled at Rebecca, who gave a small smile in return before helping tug off her shirt and pull the blanket up to give her a measure of modesty. Meara laughed. "Modesty amongst werewolves." She kept the blanket over her breasts, anyways.

Samuel cut free all the bandages and had Rebecca hold her arm while he cut that loose, too. "Your ribs have mostly healed, now, but your arm looks like it's still broken in several places." Samuel told her. "We'll have to take you to the clinic so I can get an x-ray later on."

"It's definitely broken, I can feel that much." Meara winced as he straightened her arm out. Rebecca came and sat so she could reach the arm and her back. "I think I can fix that today," she said softly, "I've been working on it enough."

Samuel nodded. The smell of magic followed the tingling sensation in her arm as Rebecca ran her fingers over it, muttering words Meara didn't understand. Her arm stung for a moment, but the pain gradually subsided and the aches faded away.

"There will be a few scars." Samuel told her. "Only silver and another werewolf can leave scars in earnest. Unless Rebecca fixes it."

"I don't mind." Meara said absently, watching Rebecca work. The dark bruises were fading to nothing rather quickly; it was fascinating.

"I'm sorry I can't fix your tattoos." Rebecca said softly. "They're all so pretty, too."

"It's ok." Meara said. "I didn't get any of them because they were super important or anything like that. I just got them because they were pretty. And it's just the one on my hip that's gotten messed up."

"Up until Anna told me," Bran said, sitting cross legged by her feet so he faced her, "I didn't even know you had tattoos, much less so many. And you have yet to talk about them, or show me."

He looked younger, sitting like that and smiling like he was. Baby faced like she was, but without the roundness or the actual baby part.

She smiled sheepishly. "Like I said, they're not significant or anything. They're just there." She sighed when Rebecca finished her arm, and the pain in it was gone. Samuel checked it over and Rebecca moved to the shoulder, where there were still cuts and marks from the wolf's claws. "You back healed nicely." She noted, frowning. "I was surprised to see they didn't damage this one - this tattoo."

"Lucky me." Meara said dryly; Bran looked at her oddly.

"Wouldn't tattoos heal with the Change?" Rebecca asked Samuel. He shrugged. "It depends on the person. If she'd been older, perhaps. The Change removes damage, even the damage of age, but you were what, twenty when you were Changed? Probably hadn't the tattoos long at all."

Meara nodded, absently. Bran's fingers pressed against her calf, stroking through the blankets. He sensed her discomfort.

"Already young and fresh. The human body generally stops growing around that age. So even with the ink there's wasn't much that needed healing in her body."

Meara closed her eyes and leaned an elbow on her other knee with a sigh. Bran's fingers wrapped around her ankle, comforting.

Rebecca pushed a little harder and healed as much as she could; leaving Meara with only deep bruises and sore ribs. Samuel didn't bother with fresh bandages, now that all the wounds were closed. Her hip still hurt horribly, but there was little to be done about that. The silver would hurt for a few days, Samuel explained, even with the magic.

"After a good meal, you should be back to tip top shape." He told her, catching Rebecca's arm when the witch swayed. She was pale as as sheet and her eyes were drooping shut. "Burned myself out." She mumbled.

Bran stood and Samuel took a step back; Bran took her arm and supported, much to their surprise. "Let's put some food in you, too, before sending you back to Jonah. Daniel should be here to pick you up." He told her.

Rebecca looked too tired to be afraid. "S'good idea." She mumbled.

Bran nodded to his son and kissed the top of Meara's head before taking Rebecca downstairs.

Meara looked hopefully at Samuel. "Does this mean I can get up and shower?" She asked, eyes wide with hope. It wasn't that she stank, she just felt gross.

Samuel's lopsided grin was encouraging. "If you're careful. Da might get fussy with you out of bed, but being clean would help you feel better."

Meara didn't have to be told twice. She was careful about putting her shirt back on, but she sprang out of the bed and skittered ahead of Samuel into the bathroom, ignoring the way her hip burned. She heard him laugh as she closed the door and turned the water on.

Despite having to sit on the floor of the tub for a few moments to stave off a wave of dizziness, the shower was the best shower she'd ever had. She scrubbed herself clean and freed herself of any grime she felt, and lingered under the spray of clean water.

She paused to examine the scar on her hip, the puckered, quarter shaped mark that the bullet left. A scar she'd keep, no doubt. It marred the watercolor manta ray she had there, the hole through one of the wings.

When she finally got out, she laughed at herself. She'd forgotten to grab fresh clothes. She dried her hair until it was no longer dripping and wrapped the towel around herself. She wadded her old clothes under her arm and padded out of the bathroom to her room.

She heard Bran come up there stairs; briefly, she thought of him walking into her room, towel on the floor and wet hair hanging down her breasts. The thought was arousing; the feeling was sexually charged in a way she hadn't felt before. Where did that come from?

She heard Bran's sharp inhale when he nosed her arousal, and felt her body throb when a need like hers trickled through the bond. But Bran went into his room, and Meara, red faced, rushed to dress.

Her shoulder ached after her struggle with her bra, but once she was dressed in real clothes - jeans and a mid sleeved button up - she felt phenomenally better than she did before her shower. The magic of being clean.

Bran waited by the stairs. "There's food ready." He told her, smiling. She smiled back, smelling the burgers from the kitchen. She forgot he was there for a moment - food, sweet, amazing, better than any boyfriend ever food.

Bran laughed. She was halfway into the kitchen when he finally caught up, managing to get ahead without looking rushed like she did. He handed her a plate with three burgers, and she sat beside Samuel at the kitchen bar and ate with a ravenous intensity.

Samuel whistled. "Never seen someone eat that fast and still look so dignified." He teased. She'd finished her three before he even made it through one.

Meara smiled, but her mouth was full, so it looked pinched and awkward. Samuel laughed as she swallowed. Bran slid her three more, wordlessly watching.

"I'm hungry. Like really hungry." Meara said, between bites.

"That comes with healing from injuries like that." Samuel mused. "Rebecca almost ate as fast as you did. Daniel came and got her while you were in the shower."

"She's alright?"

"Yeah, she'll probably sleep for a while." Samuel mused. "She pushed herself pretty hard."

Bran was silent across the counter. Samuel glanced at him. Meara paused, and tried to get a feel for him through the bond. But it was still strange and empty feeling; he was bottling himself up, holding things back without shutting her out. It bothered her; something was wrong, but he didn't want her to feel it.

After they ate, Samuel left to see someone on the outskirts of town. "I missed them last time I was here, and promised I'd come to see them next time I was in town." He explained. "I'll crash at the clinic tonight. It's closer than the house."

"Thank you, for coming." Meara said, smiling back as she saw him off on the porch. "You'll come say hi again before you go home, right?"

Samuel grinned at her. "Of course. I'll have to check you over again once the bruises heal, just to be sure." Then he nodded once to his father, and left.

Meara turned to Bran when Samuel's car was gone. "Are you sure you're ok?" She asked suddenly, taking his hand.

Bran smiled and pulled her closer. "Yes, yes." He told her, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Don't start fretting now."

She didn't look like she believed him, but smiled after a moment and went into the house. She would be right not to believe him - because he was lying. But only one of his sons would have been to hear the lie there.

"Anna and Charles went somewhere?"

It was dinner, and Meara had been forced to sit instead of help him make the food. It would be just them tonight; Kara had gone to stay with Sage on Bran's request.

"Houston." He said, absently. "FBI asked for our help on their missing person's case, and narrowed down a central point in Texas. Charles and Anna have worked with them several times before, so they went."

Meara, perched on the counter by the sink, went to cross her legs, but winced and straightened them when her hip protested. She leaned and watched him cook. "They're up to around seventy people, now, right?" She asked softly.

"Eighty-four. Three of those are werewolves." He said, and he turned and smiled at her. "But we won't worry about that right now."

Meaning, she thought with a pout, that he did not want to discuss those matters with her. She supposed she could understand, in some way. She'd just been lying in his bed for two, three days because she'd been too beaten - and shot - to do anything but sleep. He probably just wanted a quiet day with her in one piece, and not filled with worry and anger. She sighed. "So how are the new ones? Have they been making it through alright?"

Only five had survived the ceremony and become werewolves - out of twenty or so. She knew it grieved him to have so many try and fail. A lot of things seemed to bring him grief.

"They all seem to be coping well." Bran set about getting them plates and dining ware. "No trouble with them yet. Not any that required me to step in, that is."

"That's good, right? Means they'll probably make it?" She asked, hopeful.

Bran shrugged. "There can be sometimes no warning. All we can do is wait and help in the ways we can. Most of them aren't too dominant, which helps. One, Louis, seems to be submissive; from the Boston pack."

"That's...Isaac's pack, right?" She'd been trying to remember the names of all the alphas under Bran's control. He flashed her a smile. "Yes, Isaac is his alpha. Louis and his uncle will be going back to him soon. The other three from other packs will take longer, due to their being dominant."

"The one from Aspen Creek - that one was a girl, right?" She tapped her chin. "Someone's daughter. How's she doing?"

"Gregory's daughter is coming along smoother than the boys are." Bran said. "But Gregory's other two daughters seemed just fine at first, as well. They both lost control before their year was up, and Charles had to help Gregory put them down."

"So there's some concern she'll snap, like her sisters?" Meara sighed. "Gosh, so much in so little time. I feel like I missed a week and not a few days."

Bran's hands tightened visibly on the pan. She cursed herself - bad to mention.

Bran's phone rang, saving her from the tension. He sighed and peered at the caller ID - and promptly tossed the phone on the counter with a tad bit more aggression than she expected.

"Who was it?" She asked, morbidly curious. He turned the burner off and served up their plates; he'd made some sort of dish with pasta and elk. It smelled amazing - Bran knew how to cook.

She slipped off the counter and took her plate. "Rob." He said shortly, and they went to dining room. He sat at the table head and she slid her chair a little closer to the corner, so she could press one of her bare feet against his. He sighed.

"Werewolves are terrible gossips. He found out about your injuries the day after, and has been pestering me." He said, tone revealing nothing on how he felt. "He has been...insinuating that you should be returned to his pack sooner than later, seeing as we are incapable of protecting you from harm here."

Meara frowned. "Sooner than later?" She jabbed her fork into a slice of elk. "I was expected to go back?"

Bran looked at her; his expression was unreadable as always. She couldn't pull anything from the bond, either. "You have the option to go anywhere, even back to Florida." He said.

"But I thought -" Anxiety hit her suddenly, his vagueness and all around calmness making her uncomfortable. "I mean, I didn't think I was going anywhere. Not anymore. I'm staying here, right?"

Bran was still looking at her with that unreadable expression. "Are you?"

Meara blinked at him, struggling to not let the discomfort become some form of panic. "Well-" she leaned her other arm against the table, still holding her fork in the elk, "-yeah. I thought it was a given. You're my mate, right? That's not something that can be long distance. I was under the impression that I was going to stay here with...with you."

Bran set his silverware down very gently. He took a moment to respond, looking away from her now. "You said you were going to try." He seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. "Does this mean you are done trying - and that you are ready for something permanent?"

"I don't want to go anywhere, I want to stay." Meara paused, setting down her fork and putting her hands in her lap. Embarrassment kept her from looking at him. "I know you wouldn't be able to let me leave - you can say you would all you want, but I know you wouldn't if it came to that. I don't think I myself could leave, anyways. I want to stay here. Or, at least, go where you go. I don't mind that -" She swallowed again, trying not to lie. "- you may not be able to love me, but you care, and that's enough for me. I love you - I'm not going anywhere, I'm yours."

Her cheeks were red and she screamed internally at herself; she just said that to him. What was he going to say? What was there to say? He'd told her - when he told her about Blue Jay Woman and Leah - that he couldn't love her. Wouldn't love her. But that didn't...it bothered her, of course. But it didn't change how she felt. What she wanted.

Bran exploded to his feet suddenly, startling her when he chair clattered back. He grabbed the back of her chair, turning her away from the table so abruptly her feet lifted and she had to grip the seat to stay in it. "What are you-" Meara got out, before he kissed her.

It was fire and passion and need . She stumbled to her feet, to be closer to him and push herself against him. He shoved aside their plates - they broke loudly on the floor, but neither seemed to notice. She was up and on the table and he was over her, against her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him as close as she could.

Meara yanked at his shirt, and Bran pulled it off and threw it aside. Her shirt joined moments later; one of his hands tore free her bra and the other made quick work of the button on her jeans. She tugged on his belt and the rest of their clothes ended up in a heap on the floor.

Bran was gentle, aware of her body and the way it reacted. He made sure every touch left her breathless and writhing with need. And when she was comfortable, she pushed him into a hard and fast pace. She saw stars, felt the world spinning, saw the center of the universe and the ones who danced before it.

Meara had never envisioned her first time to be on a table, but at that moment she couldn't think of any place better. And when they were done, he pulled her into his arms and together they lied in a tangled heap on the floor.

Mine, her wolf preened in satisfaction. Her wolf rarely spoke, but now, she was loud and clear. He is ours.