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PARANORMAL & SCI-FI COLLECTION
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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 patient. 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, mascul
ine 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.”
“It’s an ER, Mary. People mostly come here when they’re bleeding to death.” I didn’t hear the rest of their conversation. I, too, wondered if maybe there were more instances of anemia than usual.
When I reached the blood bank, I found a man dressed in blue hospital scrubs inside, staring at the bags of blood through the refrigerator door. He had warm-toned skin, as though he spent a lot of time in the sun, but he had dark bruises beneath his eyes, as though he rarely slept. There was something off about him that I just could not put my finger on—not off, as in weird, but different, not your usual, run of the mill human being. I was sensing that something else was there. But I could not have told you what, as it was an experience that I had never had before.
"Excuse me, can I see your identification?” I asked him as the door to the blood supply room shut behind me with a click. The sound my stomach feel a bit queasy. My heart pounded strangely in my chest. I tried not to show how intimidated I felt.
“Oh, I'm fine,” he said blithely, looking into my eyes. A strange, tickly feeling ran through me as soon as we met eyes. He smiled confidently, and a chill ran down my spine, as though he were doing something to me; what, I didn’t know. I shrugged the feeling off. He was definitely not supposed to be here. I frowned.
"No you're not. And I'm calling hospital security if you don't show me that you have a right to be in here.” I made sure to make my voice drip with superciliousness. He looked taken aback, as though he were seeing me for the first time. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"How did you do that?" he asked me, his voice and his face both registered extreme shock.
"Do what?” I snapped. I wasn’t here to play games. There was a victim of a car crash in the ER, possibly bleeding to death. Every second counted at that moment. “You still haven't told me who you are."
His eyes widened. "You—it’s impossible!"
"That's it. I'm calling security." I backed away from him. He must have escaped the psych ward.
"Wait! You want to know why so many people are getting sick, don't you?" I looked at him, sighing.
"This is a hospital. Of course people are getting sick. They come here when they get sick.”
“But the increase…in the blood loss…unexplained anemia in otherwise healthy patients? Strange puncture marks?” That caught my attention. I crossed my arms to hide the shake of my hands. This guy was really throwing me off balance. “It's happened within the past ten days, right?” I was dumbfounded. How did he know?
“I’m a detective…of sorts,” he said. “I’m working to find the party responsible.” As he said this, he stepped backward, placing one of his pale hands on the metal countertop…where there was an empty bag of blood. It looked like it had been sucked empty—like a child’s juice box drank dry. I wanted to gag, thinking about this man drinking an entire bag of blood. What sick, twisted…I took a step back.
“What did you do?” I growled, grabbing the phone by the door off of its hook. An operator answered immediately.
“Emergency,” the woman’s voice said. Before I could answer, the man rushed past me, knocking me off balance as
he bolted from the room. He moved unnaturally fast, and when I looked out into the hallway, he was already gone. I frowned; I couldn’t remember actually seeing him cross the room. One second he was there, the next, he was gone.
Chapter Three
I stood, looking at the monitors that oversaw the entirety of Linda Vista Hospital with hospital security. The man, a bulky ex-cop, dressed in a black uniform and ball cap reading SECURITY in white letters, was frowning at me. He had a buzz cut, large beefy hands, and his face was slightly reddish. He was obviously a drinker when he was off-duty. Beer, if I had to hazard a guess.
“Play the tape again,” he directed the lanky, nerdy kid who operated the monitors. The tape burred as it rewound, and then began to play again. The kid sucked his teeth audibly. There I was, walking into the blood bank, the cameras flickering and blacking out a minute later, and then my head, peering out into the hallway.
“I see no man,” the ex-cop said bluntly.
“But…he was there,” I said incredulously. “He was there before me. I saw him. I spoke to him. Did you go back far enough to see him enter?” The ex-cop shook his head.
“There was only you.”
“What about the empty bag?”
“There is saliva…with an anticoagulant mixed in, which strange,” the ex-cop said. “But it’s funny how the cameras failed when this individual should have been either coming or going.”
Collared By The Warrior Page 4
