"Isolde is fine," Damon finally said, his voice carrying the kind of news that felt like cool water to Charlotte's heart, which had been drowning in worry. "After she was shot, the chauffeur dumped her by the side of the road, and our werewolves brought her to the hospital right away."
If a werewolf were shot with a silver bullet, the wound takes much longer to heal than an ordinary one. They might still recover eventually, but if the silver pierced the heart, the chance of survival would drop to zero.
"The bullet didn't hit her heart," Damon continued, gently. "It missed by a little. That's why she made it. But … she's still unconscious for now."
"At least she's alive," Charlotte whispered, pressing her hand over her chest. Her eyes filled with tears, not from grief this time, but from pure, aching relief.
Isolde hadn't died protecting her.
"You can go see her once you're stronger," Damon said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
