“Hey,” he heard. Nurse Biel was nudging Vincent’s foot with her knee. “You still awake in there?”
No answer. A look inside the car revealed Vincent’s arm to have fallen from his face. Though his body jostled at the attempt to wake him, he didn’t open his eyes. Logan felt a pang of concern.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head,” she consoled him. “Vincent’s been through worse than this.” Her tone adopted a dangerous edge. “He has a knack for sticking his nose where it don’t belong and getting the tar beat out of him for it.”
Before Logan could fully process the implication behind her words, the emergency room doors slid open. An obese doctor emerged with a gurney at his side.
“What do we have here?” he breathlessly asked. He raised an enormous arm to wipe the sweat from his face. By his flushed appearance, he’d been shuffling to receiving since Nurse Biel called for him.
“An old friend,” she informed him. But the way she said friend made Logan wonder if she meant the opposite. Something wasn’t right.
“Let me take a look.”
Logan moved aside so the doctor could see Vincent for himself. He was forced to ignore his worsening instinct to protect him from these people.
“Ah, yes, so I see.” Dr. Allen chuckled. There was a gleam of delight in his expression before it disappeared behind a mask of professionalism. “Let’s get him onto the gurney, then. Quickly now.”
Logan helped maneuver the gurney into place. As he did so, one of the rusted bars snapped. He yanked his hand back with a hiss of pain. There was a cut across his fingers.
“Oh, dear.” Nurse Biel rounded the gurney. She snatched his hand and pulled it toward her to examine it. “I do hope your tetanus shots are up to date. Come inside, and we’ll top you off to make sure. Wouldn’t want to take a chance. Not with some of this equipment dating back to the fifties.”
He cradled his throbbing hand and nodded. “I’ll do that. Just help him first.”
With the gurney broken, he expected Dr. Allen to hurry inside to grab another, or perhaps for them to use the wheelchair. What he didn’t expect was for the doctor to drag Vincent from the car and hoist him into his arms like he was a child. Vincent wasn’t small by any means, but he looked downright vulnerable against the doctor’s broad chest.
Blood blossomed over an edge of the lab coat in a matter of seconds. Vincent’s head lolled to the side, hair falling over his forehead.
As Dr. Allen began marching for the hospital doors, Logan hurried to catch up.
“Wait up, boy,” Nurse Biel called after him. “You’ll need to move your car around back.”
He stopped and shot her a glare he reserved for emergencies. By all accounts, she should have flinched, or at least backed down. But she merely smiled, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth. They looked out of place on someone with oily skin and hair in disarray.
“I know your hand is bleeding, but there’s plenty of blood in the backseat already. A little more on the steering wheel won’t hurt.”
That logic was twisted, but money was tight these days. He couldn’t afford a parking ticket. Without another word, he returned to the car and climbed into the driver’s seat.
He watched Nurse Biel disappear into the hospital. She was humming an off-key tune that faded with her presence. The horrible feeling that he’d just delivered the man who saved his life into danger had him reaching for another cigarette.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Four
Blood. There was blood everywhere.
Vincent sharply turned once, then twice.
No, damn it, no.
The trees surrounding him blurred as tears filled his eyes.
“Maria!” he yelled.
When his wife didn’t answer, Vincent sank to his knees. She wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be. The blood belonged to someone else.
Even as denial flooded his mind, tears began to stream down his face. Thunder rumbled over his sobs.
A single raindrop hit his jacket. Then another. Before long, rain poured down in sheets, chilling him to the bone. It mixed with the blood on the soil around him. He watched it happen, entranced by how he could no longer separate water from crimson streaks.
Maria’s essence slowly faded. From the soil, to the roots, to the leaves that drifted on the wind. It carried across the wilderness of Maine, spreading far and wide, to where Vincent couldn’t follow. She was gone.
Too engulfed by his grief to hear the footsteps behind him, he wasn’t prepared for the teeth that sank into the nape of his neck.
“No!”
His eyes snapped open. Blinded by the lights overhead, his head whipped to the side.
There was a sting in the crook of his elbow.
He barely registered the words, “Easy, boy. This is just a dose of antidote for the silver fragments in your wounds. Nasty stuff, silver. Makes you feverish enough to relive the last few moments you were human.”
His clothes were gone. Hard restraints encircled his wrists and ankles, the leather cold against his skin. The air was hot, too hot. His skin was on fire. He struggled against the heat, twisting left, then right. The muscles in his arms burned with effort, but the restraints held firm.
“No,” he grunted. Rage boiled inside him. “Let me go!”
Meaty hands pressed his shoulders to the exam table. The odor of antiseptic burned in his nose, alerting him to his surroundings. The hospital. But that meant–
He squinted up into the eyes of the werewolf who turned him. His sire. The man’s scent was unforgettable, but Vincent had hoped it was a remnant of his nightmare.
“Haven’t seen you in a lunar cycle,” Doc greeted him. “Not even in passing. By your injuries, I’d warrant a guess that you haven’t been taking proper care of yourself. No matter. We’ll have you patched up in no time.”
“Don’t touch me,” Vincent growled.
This only earned him a smirk and a condescending pat on his forehead. When he jerked away with a snarl, the hand moved to prod at his injuries. He pressed his lips together to avoid crying out. The tears pricking behind his eyes must have been proof enough of his pain. In the next moment, Doc’s touch softened.
“Poisoned wounds span the left thigh and buttock. Judging by the splinters of tree bark, they’re the result of silver bullet fragments.” His eyes flashed before he continued. “There’s substantial bruising over the ribs, the most severe of which is surrounding multiple lacerations. Torn sutures over the abdomen. Possible internal injuries…”
As Doc listed his wounds, Nurse Biel’s ballpoint pen scrawled over a chart. The sound grew louder as the seconds ticked by. It roared like a plane overhead, drowning out everything but the blood rushing in his ears.
The moon was calling.
But if his wounds were indeed poisoned with silver fragments – and they were certainly painful enough to be so – he would need silver antidote injections throughout the night. And Logan would need him to be strong, to protect him.
His body spasmed on the bed, tearing a yell of pain from him. Pulling breaths through his teeth, Vincent squeezed his eyes shut. He could control the change if he focused.
Focus.
Oh God, it hurt.
Doc was speaking to him. He heard his voice as if it was calling to him from the end of a tunnel. Despite their resonating echo, he was able to understand the words.
“Vincent, fight it. You’ve obviously changed once during this full moon already, so you can defy it. You can’t undergo the change in your condition. The silver will kill you.”
If he could have, he might have smiled sadly. Was death so terrible? These last few years of struggle had been for nothing. Maria was still dead. He was still an animal. He just wanted the pain to stop. Just wanted it to–
Hands locked onto either side of his head, and he opened his eyes. By the way the light had changed, he knew the wolf’s eyes had overtaken his own. He saw everything as they darted around, f
rom the rotting overhead tile to the dust drifting through the air.
“Look at me,” Doc growled.
The moment he obeyed, Vincent knew the wolf would never fully emerge. The eyes staring back at him were just as golden and twice as commanding. They were the eyes of his sire. They held the power to force him into submission.
“Back down,” Doc ordered in a steady voice. His fingernails dug into Vincent’s scalp, anchoring his human form. “Now.”
The energy drained from his muscles in seconds. His limbs sagged limply against the restraints. Then he began to tremble. But it wasn’t from fear. Being at the mercy of his sire didn’t frighten him.
Though he hated himself for it, Vincent felt tears burn behind his eyes. The feeling of helplessness that overcame him whenever he crossed a dominant wolf was part of the reason he’d separated himself from the pack. The laws of the animal kingdom were for animals. He was half human. He was a person.
The eyes of the wolf finally retreated. As they faded, he was blinded by a halo of light around Doc’s head. But he couldn’t break his stare into those golden eyes. The eyes of the wolf that changed his life forever. It wasn’t long before they too retreated, leaving a pair of eyes all too human in their wake.
He might have imagined the flicker of sympathy there. Perhaps it was only understanding. Either way, there was little time to process it before Doc released his head and reached for a syringe.
“This will be easier on both of us if you sleep for a while.”
The needle slid into his arm, a sting followed by a wave of dizziness. His limbs grew even heavier.
“Coward,” he mumbled, eyes closing of their own accord.
There was a heartbeat of silence.
He heard Doc’s next words as if from a distance. “Check his vitals and grab a gown. Let’s do an ultrasound and flush these wounds…”
As he drifted into unconsciousness, Vincent suddenly realized how futile his hopes of escape had been.
There was no escape from the pack.
Chapter Five
Logan dozed on and off throughout the night. His head snapped up when he heard Vincent shift in the hospital bed. There were a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue. But when he opened his eyes, he realized Vincent was still asleep.
He sighed impatiently, wanting to know more about the origins of the dead werewolf. Where it came from. If there were more. A scrap of information on Vincent himself would be useful.
A look at his watch revealed that he’d missed his scheduled 9pm call-in. By nine hours. Eddie and Rudy would be pissed that he hadn’t managed to radio within the eight-hour grace period. Another prowler had probably already been mobilized to further investigate and provide backup.
Logan rubbed the grit from his eyes and leaned forward in the bedside chair.
The motion made his arm twinge with pain and he grimaced, rubbing the site of the tetanus injection. His hand hadn’t needed stitches. He eyed the gauze, wondering how easily he could sue the hospital for pain and suffering.
The thought made him smile. He could use the cash, but judging by how empty the ward was, one lost lawsuit would shut them down.
Vincent mumbled, shifting restlessly, but he didn’t open his eyes. Accordingly to the doctor, it might take several more hours for the sedative to run its course. For whatever reason, he was clawing his way toward consciousness sooner rather than later.
Definitely a prowler, then. Not one to let his guard down. But according to Nurse Biel, if he’d just stayed quiet and let the medical staff do their job, he wouldn’t have needed a sedative in the first place.
Yeah.
She and Logan had exchanged a few choice words about that. Something told him that she wasn’t so keen on taking him out to dinner any longer. It was a win-win situation.
Vincent’s head tossed on the pillow.
He reached over, hand hovering in a hesitant gesture to provide comfort. They didn’t know one another, and yet, the man had saved his life. At risk to himself. It was a greater sacrifice than what most friends could muster when the time came.
Biting his lip, Logan returned his hand to his own knee.
He glanced out the window. The sky was lightening to blue beyond the trees.
“No,” Vincent muttered, tossing his head again. The steady beep, beep, beep of the heart rate monitor increased.
“Hey,” Logan tried to calm him, keeping his voice soft. “Just relax, man. Can you hear me?”
He rose to his feet, lingering by the bed, wondering if he should press the call button. A wave of annoyance mingled with his concern. He didn’t have extensive medical training, he had no idea if this was normal–
Vincent’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist in a bruising grip.
Logan felt his skin grind against bone. He tried to pull away, but the grip was unyielding. Utilizing a pressure point had no effect. Sweat beaded his upper lip when he realized the call button was out of reach. If the grip tightened any further, it might snap his wrist.
He was about to yell for a nurse when Vincent cracked open his eyes. They were terrified.
“Help me,” he pleaded.
Logan’s voice gained an edge of authority. “Let me go. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe.”
“No.” With a fierce yank, Logan found himself inches from Vincent’s face. “Not safe. We need to leave. Before they come back.” His words left no room for argument.
Logan’s heart pounded harder. In the receiving area, he’d acknowledged and then ignored his suspicions that the hospital wasn’t the sanctuary it appeared to be. Now the feeling was back, and stronger than ever.
The sinister comments made by Nurse Biel weren’t merely unprofessional.
The lack of medical staff wasn’t the result of budget cuts.
And the fear in Vincent’s eyes wasn’t put there by a drug-induced nightmare.
“We’re leaving,” he agreed.
Part of him questioned if his immediate trust in Vincent was wise. But if he couldn’t trust someone who’d saved his life, the world was deeper in the gutter than he thought.
“We’ll be out of here in less than ten minutes. Can you walk?”
After a moment, Vincent nodded, releasing his wrist. Though his eyelids fluttered with exhaustion, the determination in his gaze never faltered.
Logan straightened slowly, feeling another pop in his lower back.
Walking around the foot of the bed, he switched off the monitors one by one. It wasn’t the first time he’d fled a hospital. Serious injuries were an occupational hazard. Since claw marks tended to raise questions, he never remained a patient longer than necessary.
“Try to sit up,” he ordered, slipping an arm under Vincent’s back to support him. The heat radiating there almost made Logan yank his arm back in surprise. There was no doubt in his mind that Vincent had a fever. It might complicate things, but Logan had dealt with plenty of infection-related fevers before. This one should be little different.
He made quick work of removing the IV, muttering an apology when Vincent groaned. There wasn’t much they could do about the absence of clothing. None had been left in the room, not even a hospital robe.
“Look on the bright side,” he said, helping Vincent to stand. “At least your gown ties at the sides instead of the back. You get to keep a little dignity.”
The look Vincent gave him was one of exasperation.
Logan shrugged. He tried to find the glass half full whenever he could.
“Do you need help to walk?”
“I think I’m all right,” Vincent answered. “The sedative is wearing off.”
Logan crossed the room and peered into the hallway. There were cameras overhead, but there was also an exit door not thirty paces away. They should be able to make it.
“Okay–” He turned back, almost colliding with Vincent. “Geez! Were you always that tall?”
A raised eyebrow was his only answer.
“Right. There’s an exit d
oor to the right and it’s not far. You ready to do this?”
“Look, kid, if you’re going to keep asking stupid questions–”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Logan stopped him right there. “First of all, I’m not a kid. You can’t have more than five years on me. Second, you might want to get used to my questions, because I have a shit ton for you when we get out of here.”
He didn’t wait for Vincent’s reply, slightly worried it would involve a tightly-clenched fist. Instead, he glanced down the hall one last time and began speed walking toward the exit.
There was a sharp inhale behind him. Then Vincent had a grip on the back of his shirt, dragging him forward at a run.
“Get off–” he started, but a shout from down the hall cut him off.
“Vincent!” Dr. Allen yelled. “You need your last dose of antidote!”
A gunshot made Logan’s heart leap into his throat. He looked back to see Dr. Allen aiming directly at him, firing another round. He was aiming wide to avoid hitting Vincent. The protectiveness in his eyes was frightening.
They flew through the door, hitting it with enough force to break the latch. Two more gunshots rang out behind them. Logan struggled to suck early morning air into his lungs, reeling as he took in their surroundings.
One of these days, he’d quit smoking for good.
“This way,” he panted, sprinting across the parking lot. It took him less than five seconds to reach the car. Fumbling for his keys, he wrenched open the door. It was only then that he realized Vincent had fallen behind.
He lay on the concrete halfway between the exit door and the car, hospital gown bright in the fading darkness.
Shit.
The exit door opened, revealing Dr. Allen.
Logan met his eyes with a hard stare.
He dove into the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt. As the car roared to life on the first try, the doctor began shuffling toward Vincent.
The open driver door swung as Logan backed out of the parking spot. Shifting into drive, he hit the gas. Tires squealed as he veered around Vincent and aimed for the doctor.
Fever Page 3
