Forced

by Daniella Wright

  I froze in fear as I realized that it was walking on top of the car. I looked around me for something that I could use as a weapon. The front window shattered, and I found myself facing an enormous wolf, its hand-like claws reaching for me. It snarled, saliva dripping from its jaws. I tried to duck away from its grip, but I had nowhere to go since I was trapped in the smashed Camaro.

  I thought about my life, so far. I thought about my family, even my mother, with fondness. I thought of Mary, and I thought of Michael—my second family. Just then, another wolf charged the first, knocking it off of the car in a roiling mass of limbs, teeth, and claws.

  I exhaled, getting myself together. I needed to act immediately. I tried the car—it was dead, broken in the crash. Hoping that the wolves were distracted, I unbuckled my seatbelt, crawling through the passenger side door, landing on the ground on my knees. I got up quickly, sprinting. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins, and I felt like I was on fire.

  I had gotten less than ten feet from the car when one of the wolves tore out the throat of the other. I turned when I heard the one whimper, and saw a stream of red and one wolf standing over the other, gore dripping from its mouth. My stomach dropped in fear as it looked in my direction. I began to run, faster, as the wolf bore down upon me. It reached me, and it moved its head, nuzzling my arm. I stopped, stunned. I looked at it—it stood on two hind feet, like a man. It had midnight-black fur, and ice-blue eyes.

  “You want me to come with you?” I asked in shock. The man-wolf nodded, and began to walk along the road. I followed, and it waited a few feet ahead for me to catch up. We walked in silence through the night. I was unsure of what to do. I needed to thank this…being for saving my life. We were in sight of Chatsworth House when the sun began to rise. The wolf paused, beginning to shift, and before I knew it, Michael stood before me, bleeding from various injuries inflicted by the other wolf-man. He looked at me warily, but I ran to him, wrapping my arms around him. I stood on my tiptoes, kissing him passionately.

  “Mine?” he asked.

  “Yours,” I replied. He smiled broadly, for the first time. He picked me up off of my feet, and carried me towards Chatsworth House.

  Epilogue

  Placing me on the bed, he began to run kisses down my neck, unbuttoning the blood-splattered blouse that I had been wearing. I took his face between my hands, bringing him back to my mouth, kissing him deeply. I sat up, helping him to remove my shirt. I reached forward, cupping him in the palm of my hand and feeling him stiffen. He inhaled sharply, taking my bra and ripping it, before throwing it aside. I laughed huskily as he did the same to my pants—I should have known my clothing wouldn’t survive sex with a werewolf.

  He looked at me, running his hands along my sides, and goosebumps rose along my skin. I leaned back into the bed, arching my back, and letting him slide my panties off. I could feel myself responding to him as he cupped my mound, feeling the wetness of my desire for him as he slowly entered me.

  I moaned as he began to pump, rotating his hips so that he was hitting against my most sensitive parts. He placed a large hand on my stomach, and ran the flat of his palm upwards. I felt myself building—it was kinetic.

  He began to pump harder, and I felt myself coming undone in waves, crying out as we reached crisis together.

  Michael held me tightly in his arms, our bodies entwined beneath the sheets. I lay with my head on his chest, listening to his heart beat beneath my ear.

  “I was bitten three years ago,” he said, “by a werewolf who disappeared from the area shortly after. He either returned every few years, or was able to go dormant. I only knew because he would commit carnage that I would have to worry I would be hunted for. I couldn’t figure out who he was or why his pattern was so strange. I believed that he was either a migrant worker, or wealthy enough to travel often. It wasn’t until you introduced Damien to me that I figured anything out.”

  “His job as a travel blogger would certainly explain the disappearances.”

  “It did. That and the fact that he told me what he did. Evidently, ruining the life of a billionaire was a comfort to him.”

  “So the cage was to keep you from hurting people?”

  “Yeah. First Mary, and then you. Soraya trained with firearms after I was bitten, and so was able to take care of herself. I’m learning control, but only very slowly.”

  “What about last night?”

  “When I knew that you would be getting back after dark, I knew Damien would be out. I had to protect you.”

  “Aw,” I said. He held my chin between his thumb and forefinger, and looked me in the eye.

  “I fought my feelings, to protect you from me, but you are…my mate,” he said. “I’m part wolf, so that’s as romantic as it gets.”

  “Pretty romantic,” I replied, kissing him. “I like that you’re part wolf.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes. I’m a dog person, you know.”

  “Lucky me.” He was grinning, though.

  ~*~

  THE END

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  Forbidden Beast

  ~ Bonus Story ~

  A Dragon Shifter Romantic Thriller

  Samantha Hunter is a new resident at the Emergency Room at Linda Vista Hospital. She meets visiting doctor, Mark Johnson, and they hit it off.

  Recently, there has been a rise in the number of patients suffering from significant and inexplicable blood loss—where the only visible wound is two tiny pin pricks—like a bite. Ignoring Mark’s remarkably cold hands and strange demeanor, she agrees to go out with him. That same night, Samantha meets a strange man in the blood bank…he claims to know the reason for the string of patients with the same condition…vampires. Jared Hamilton is hunting a rogue vampire. Jared himself is a monster, of an ancient and almost extinct race. He finds himself falling for Samantha, seeing a future with her…so long as they can find a way to stop the rogue vampire before he kills both of them.

  * * *

  Chapter One

  I heard the code called over the intercom, and I rushed down the hallway toward the exam room that had been called. I left my coffee, abandoned by the machine. I was fighting exhaustion; every muscle in my body was screaming for sleep. It was my second week as a resident in the Emergency Room at Linda Vista Hospital. Upon entering the room, I beheld the patient, a young male in his late twenties, who was convulsing on the table.

  “Starting CPR,” I yelled as I placed my hands above the patient’s sternum, beginning to pump, forcing his heart to continue to move blood through his body. My arms strained as I began to coax his heart to continue pumping. This was maybe the fifth round of frantic CPR that I had done this shift, and my arm muscles were aching from the buildup of lactic acid. One of the nurses rushed in, a clipboard in her hands. She was a blonde woman in her late forties, frown lines evident on her face, as though she had seen too many bad things in her life.

  “Doctor,” she said, looking at me. It still hadn’t sunk in that that was now me. “Blood testing on this patient has come back from the lab.” She was frowning, making the lines on her face deeper and more pronounced.

  “And?” I asked, my breathing labored as I continued to pump. A strand of my own hair had become stuck to my forehead, but I couldn’t risk stopping the CPR to push it away.

  “It reports a low red blood cell count.”

  “Anemia,” I commented in disbelief. “We’re going to have to transfuse, ASAP. Get me some O-neg.” She nodded, rushing off to get it from the Emergency Room’s supply. I frowned, continuing CPR, and looking at another nurse.

  “We’ll need to defib to get his heart back on line.” She nodded, and went to get the defibrillator unit. This was the third case in the past week where the patient suffered from pronounced anemia that had nothing to do with the accident that had brought the patient into the ER, initially. I looked down at the p
atient. His skin was pale, bluish in the overhead lighting. His eyes were slightly open, showing only the whites. He had come in after falling while skateboarding; he had a concussion but no open or bleeding wounds on his head. I looked around his body as I worked; there were no signs of any major bleeding. His clothing was completely clean of any bloodstains; if he was suffering from massive blood loss, he should be covered in it. It just didn’t make any sense.

  The first nurse ran in carrying several dark red bags of O-negative blood. She immediately hooked one up to an IV, sticking the needle carefully into the patient’s arm. She placed a small rectangle of tape over the needle to hold it in place. Then, she hung the bag on the hooked pole beside the ER bed, watching as blood began to transfuse into the patient’s arm.

  The other nurse wheeled the cart with a defibrillator machine into the room. We needed to shock his heart back into acting on its own so that I could stop forcing it to pump with my flagging arms. She put gel on the paddles, and I knocked them together, gathering the shock.

  “Ready,” I said, placing them on the patient’s chest. A shock went through the paddles, and the patient’s body arched on the table. We all waited in silence, listening and watching the heart monitor as it beeped. It was faint. Too faint.

  “One more time,” I said, placing the paddles together before then placing them on the patient’s chest. “Go.” The patient convulsed with the shock, and I looked at the heart monitor, seeing that the heart was beginning to come back online, tiny green mountains on the background of black, the numbers starting to climb as his blood pressure rose to a normal rate. I sighed in relief.

  Handing the paddles to a nurse, I stood back, wiping sweat from my forehead and watching the patient’s vitals on the screen. As the blood entered his system, they began to further normalize.

  As soon as the alarm was beeping slowly and normally, I watched the patient’s heart worked on its own for a little while. I looked around at the other nurses and residents who had crowded into the room. In the Emergency Room, whenever a code is called, anyone who is free in the area is required to answer. You never know how many hands you will need in order to get the heart started again, put the guts back in, or stop the bleeding.

  “Good job, everyone,” I said. We all began to disperse, some people checking patients, some going to the break room to get some shut eye, and others to get some type of nourishment. So far, residency had been one long attempt to keep myself functional, or so it seemed. This was when he walked up to me.

  “Excellent technique, doctor,” he said. He was dangerously good-looking: perfectly shaped facial features, deep blue eyes, and a smile that lit up his entire face. If I knew my body structures, what was hidden beneath the scrubs was an even better sight—a definite gym body, for sure. I needed to stay far away because this one was trouble, and he knew it. You could almost smell the confidence brimming from him. It smelled like expensive cologne—the good stuff that makes you want to devour the man.

  “Thank you,” I said, pleased to have been noticed. I removed my latex gloves, tossing them into the trash.

  “Mark Johnson,” he said, holding out his hand, which I made sure to shake firmly. My father had taught me at a young age that in order to impress people, you had to shake their hands firmly and confidently.

  “Samantha Hunter,” I replied, keeping my tone polite but distant. I did not want to give him the impression that I wanted or craved this attention. I had, only recently, gotten out of yet another in a string of catastrophically bad relationships. I couldn’t tell if it was my tendency towards social awkwardness that made my choice in romantic partners so poor, or if I was cursed with some damn awful luck.

  “I’m visiting from St. Elizabeth’s,” he said, mentioning a hospital that was located out in the suburbs.

  “Ah, welcome,” I replied coolly, heading to retrieve my abandoned coffee from the machine. He walked along beside me, his hands in his pockets, and his stride easily matching my own. I arrived to find my Styrofoam cup still on the counter beside the coffee machine. I picked it up and took a sip of the espresso. Cringing, I realized that it had grown cold while I had been gone.

  “Ugh. Awful stuff in this machine,” I cautioned him, raising my eyebrows.

  “It is pretty standard fare for Emergency Rooms,” he said. “So, what was wrong with the patient?”

  “It’s been the third case of severe anemia that I have seen in the past week,” I went on, since he seemed like he wasn’t going anywhere. “It seems…uncommon. Especially since the patient seemed to lack any sign of major bleeding. I mean, he was here to be treated for a concussion.”

  “No bleeding anywhere?”

  “Some minor cuts, but that’s about it.” He nodded, crossing his arms and rubbing his clean-shaven chin with one of his large, masculine hands. His nails, I saw, were trimmed immaculately; typical for a doctor.

  “Anemia itself is fairly common,” he replied, cocking his head to the side as though he were studying me. “It’s related, often, to diet, and environmental factors. Sometimes, even genetic. It can seem like these things can come in waves…it doesn’t mean that it is, statistically speaking, significant.”

  “You think so?” He nodded.

  “The important thing is that you saved a patient’s life. It’s a good thing that Linda Vista has plenty of blood on hand to transfuse with.” I nodded and took another sip of my cold coffee as he spoke. I gagged—the coffee in the ER machine is bad enough when hot.

  “Might I take you out for some at least decent coffee sometime?” he smiled. I laughed and nodded.

  “That would be great.”

  “Let me give you my number so that we can find a time when we are free,” he said, taking out his sleek iPhone in the fake marble case that looked a little too perfect. He handed it to me, and I added my number to his contacts. He nodded, placing the phone back into his pocket. “It’s been lovely meeting you, Samantha.”

  “And you, Mark,” I replied, watching him walk away. As I gazed at his back, I wondered at what moment I had gone from wanted to remain single to agreeing to a coffee date that was without a doubt just that—a date. I shook my head, groaning.

  Chapter Two

  “Car wreck,” the attending physician said as we both rushed into the exam room. The sounds of the ambulance siren could still be heard. The nurses were cutting open the young man’s shirt, freeing his body so we could find any signs of internal injury. He had a large injury to his temple. The physician opened his eyes, shining a tiny flashlight into them.

  “No sign of a concussion,” he said. “But he’s definitely unconscious.” He began to study the rest of the young man, handing me a pair of scissors. He looked at the x-rays of the patient that were along the monitor on the wall.

  “I don’t see that there are any signs of internal bleeding on the x-rays,” he mused. “Looking at him, it seems that the only damage is to the head. Check his legs for any further injury, and I will go and attend to the young lady who was in the passenger seat of his car.”

  “Okay,” I replied. The patient was covered in scrapes and bruises. I took up the pair of scissors, cutting along his pant leg. It revealed a pale, hairy, masculine leg. One of the nurses came in with his test results.

  “This patient has a very low red blood cell count,” she said, frowning.

  “What?” I looked at the patient. I had to admit, he did look rather pale and bloodless, but he didn’t have any major open cuts which would have bled enough to make him that way.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I said in disbelief.

  “He’s anemic,” she confirmed in surprise. “Do you think that’s what made him crash?”

  “Could be,” I said, examining his leg. “Look at this.” I rotated the patient’s leg for her to see. There was a single injury to his otherwise unhurt limb. It looked like two large pin pricks on the pale skin of his leg. They were located on the inside of the young man’s thigh.

  “It’s
a double-puncture wound in the femoral artery,” I said. “Yet it’s clean.” I looked at the patient’s pant leg. There was no significant blood on the fabric where there should have been intense bleeding.

  “How recent?” the nurse asked me.

  “Very,” I said. “It hasn’t even begun to coagulate. It’s like it happened, stopped bleeding, and then he put his pants on and got behind the wheel.” I squinted at it. “It’s big enough that he definitely knew when it was happening. I mean, how could he miss it?”

  “It almost looks like a bite.” I turned to the nurse. I wondered at that. Could he have been bitten by a pet? A dog, maybe? “I want to just run to the medical library and see if I can identify the bite mark.” The attending physician stuck his head in the door.

  “Samantha?”

  “Yes?”

  “How is he?”

  “Low platelet count, but otherwise, he should be fine to be admitted into a room for observation for that head wound and the one on his leg.”

  “Anything serious?”

  “Just a puncture. Might be a bite.”

  “Get a specialist down to look, see if he needs a rabies vaccine.”

  “Okay.”

  “The passenger needs a transfusion. She’s lost too much from her injuries, and we’re low on our supply since it’s been such a busy night. Can you run to the blood bank and get us a fresh supply?”

  “Sure,” I replied. The nurse automatically began to call for a specialist to view the potential bite while I rushed off. As I left the room, I heard her mention to another of the nurses who had just walked in:

  “We’ve really had an uptick in the number of transfusions lately.”