Dr. Faulks shakes his head. “It’s variant two, Ms. Harper.”
“Oh god,” she whispers, a wealth of grief and fear lacing the two words.
Charlotte tenses beside me, her worry like an ice cube under my sternum. I grab her knee to ground us both.
“What does that mean?” Charlotte asks after a minute.
“It’s the most aggressive form,” Megan says tonelessly. “If patients are lucky, they survive maybe ten years from onset if the Omega is never reunited with the bonded Alpha… or if they don’t take a second bonding bite from someone else.”
It’s as if a chasm opens, and I’m free falling into it.
Ten years?
I picture Cole on Friday, signing the paperwork, grinning, his cheeks flushed, and cuddling us all as we walked into the Manhattan Council office to make our match permanent. He’d been so full of life, so… normal. How could he be so sick? How could he only have ten years left? Grief twists through me, trying to drown me. I can’t keep back the haggard sound that rises up my throat.
“From the records I was given from his current specialist, he’s been able to stay out of the danger zone.” Dr. Faulks’s voice is suddenly softer, more cautious. “Not entirely stable, but not in imminent danger, either.”
“So where does that leave us?” Megan asks, taking over for me with no hesitation. She grabs my forearm in wordless support.
“As of now, we’ve gotten him mostly stabilized. He’s in a medically-induced coma for the time being while we work to keep him this way. His condition is delicate, to say it mildly. He’ll need to stay comatose for several days at the very least while his body recalibrates.” His gaze swings between the three of us. “It’s unclear how much permanent damage the crisis may have caused. Some things we can track using bloodwork, but a good deal more we won’t know until he’s cognizant again. It is… unlikely that he will come through this with no permanent effects.”
“Effects?” Charlotte’s voice is hollow.
It’s Megan that gives the list. “All kinds of things, mostly neurological. Loss of sensation in the hands or feet are common. Inability to walk, to talk. Memory loss and vision changes, sometimes blindness.” That chasm grows larger, deeper. I can’t fucking breathe. “The other things, the kidney and liver damage, they can track those with labs, though. So we should know in the next couple days if he’s sustained any of those.”
There’s a long pause, and the woman—Brandy—says, “Which of you are bonded to him? One of his scars is older, clearly the original that led to his OBS. But the other is newly scabbed, made in the last day or two.”
“We both are,” I manage to say.
Dr. Faulks’s surprise is palpable.
I clear my throat and elaborate, trying to keep my voice level. “I… We accidentally bonded three years ago. He hadn’t designated. It was an unintentional bite during a one night stand. I didn’t realize until days later what had happened, and by then I wasn’t sure how to find him.”
“And we bonded yesterday afternoon. It wasn’t planned, but neither of us were upset that it happened,” Charlotte says.
“You’re the original Alpha?” Dr. Faulks’s eyes grow shrewd. “How long have you been reconnected with him?”
“On and off since the Council’s most recent gala a month ago. But every day since a week ago Friday when he moved in with us.”
He nods. “Luke, adjust the restrictions, please. Both are to have free and open access to him. Contact RT and see if they’re available to change the ventilator so that they can lay beside him if they so choose.”
Ventilator. My mouth goes dry.
“Of course,” the man says. He gives us a quick smile that doesn’t touch his eyes and then leaves the nook, closing the sliding door behind him.
“I’m assuming you’d like to see him,” Dr. Faulk says.
Charlotte climbs unsteadily to her feet, wiping her cheeks. “Absolutely.”
Megan offers me a hand as she stands, too.
We follow behind him in something too similar to a funeral dirge. He opens one of the glass sliding doors that line the hallway, ushering us inside. The room is large, larger than even the biggest bedroom in our townhome. There’s a bank of cabinets to the left. Under the large window that overlooks the heart of Manhattan is a large sofa identical to the one just to the right of the door.
It takes all my strength to finally focus on the bed that consumes a good portion of the room. Even with all my preparation, it still hits me like a blow to the head. My knees wobble, and I force them straight while grabbing Megan’s elbow to steady me. A wordless sob echoes through the room, the only sound of Charlotte’s heartbreak spreading through the communal bond.
“You’re welcome to touch him.” The doctor’s words are softer now, more compassionate. “If you have any questions, let his nurses know. I’ll be back in the morning, and there’s a hospitalist that oversees the ICUs overnight.”
Megan nods and whispers a “thank you.”
