Riley’s voice rips from the strange space. It’s only then I realize the people nearest me are staring with wide eyes, fear written on their faces. And then I hear the violent, lethal growl.Mygrowl.
“Get her out of here!” One of the doctors. “The last thing we need is a nurse rutting right now. Tech three, take over compressions. Someone get the standby nurse in here, please!”
Someone pulls me from Cole, and I screech, fighting against the hold. How dare they take me from him? He’smineand they’re forcing me away exactly when he needs me most. People condense around him, blocking him from my sight. I can’t hold back another feral growl. One woman looks up as she flinches, and her face blanches of all color.
“Megan, come on, girl,” a deep voice rumbles beside my ear. It’s Loren, one of the security guards. “You know you can’t be in here if you’re rutting. Don’t make me sedate you.”
“How long until the specialist is down here?” Peterson asks, watching one of the monitors now ringing with an alarm.
“About ten minutes,” Riley says. “He was at the clinic in Brooklyn.”
Someone curses viciously, and then there’s another round of orders, medications and doses and a charged, waiting silence. I thrash against Loren’s hold, needing to get back to Cole, but he doesn’t relent, walking us backward and out of the room entirely.
Thirty-Eight
MEGAN
“Get yourself together,” Loren orders, his arms tight bands across my chest.
I shake my head in an attempt to clear it.
“You need to,” he says, misinterpreting my movement. His voice brooks no argument. “I can get you into a second room if that respirator has failed, but you need to pull yourself out of that rut before it settles in completely.”
He’s right. I know, logically, that he’s right. I can’t do a damn thing for Cole if I’m out here having a meltdown over his condition. Closing my eyes, I try to find that center of calm when the case is horrific and I need to manage through it, but that numb place is gone. All I can see is Cole’s bleeding head wound and the other nurses continuing to give pulse-less updates. With a gasp, I force my eyes back open, staring at the empty nurses’ station in the middle of the room.
Cole is… Jesus, he’s sick. He has OBS and is in a crisis event. The list of outcomes runs through me unbidden: kidney damage,lung damage, heart damage, blindness, memory loss, partial or total paralysis, coma, even death.
A desperate rage burns through my veins, slowly obliterating common sense. My entire body trembles. Holy fuck, I need to get away from here before I do something rash, like try to fight Loren even more than I already have.
“Okay, yeah, I need a room,” I admit, forcing my body limp in Loren’s arms.
Without hesitation, he turns us away from the trauma bay. He’s only taken a couple steps when someone calls my name.
“Loren, wait up.” It’s Riley. Why isn’t he in the room with Cole? He’s supposed to be saving my Omega’s life right now, not talking me down. Loren stops but doesn’t turn around. Riley grabs my elbow, and I force my eyes open. His eyebrows are furrowed, his hair an absolute mess.
Tears line my lashes, and I do my best to blink them away.
“Compressions?” I croak out.
Riley shakes his head. “We got ROSC. They’re working to get his blood markers out of the danger zone while we wait for the specialist to make it over from Brooklyn. Then he’s going to the Omega ICU.” He looks at the security guard. “I’ve got her, Loren. If you’ll stay nearby just in case, though, I’d appreciate it.”
Loren eases me to my feet, silently stabilizing me when my knees buckle. Riley grabs my elbow, but I rip out of his hold, not trusting myself right now. He might be a Beta and my closest friend, but that doesn’t mean much when a true, uncontrollable rut happens to an Alpha.
Even as I think that, though, I mutter, “I’m fine.”
Not that anyone will believe me right now, not with how I just lost my absolute shit on my coworkers during a relatively routine OBS event. A shiver of rage goes down my spine. Fuck, I can’t eventhinkthose letters right now.
“You’re not fine,” he says sharply, giving me one of his don’t-bullshit-me looks and crosses his arms. “Don’t lie to me right now.”
Wordlessly, I nod. After a long minute, he guides me to one of the open computer stations, helping me into the chair and then spinning me around until I’m looking into his eyes as he crouches in front of me.
“Your respirator fail?” he asks without preamble.
I shake my head. It worked as intended, not a single scrap of apple scent hitting me while I was in there. He purses his lips and sighs.
“All right. So what’s going on with you? You’ve never reacted to an OBS crisis before.”
I twist my hands together before shoving them under my legs.
