Lucky felt like the wrong fucking word for any of this.
The IV in her arm dripped steadily, pumping fluids and antibiotics and probably pain medication that wasn't doing enough. I could see where the needle entered her skin, could see the tape holding it in place, could see the bruising around the insertion point. Her other arm had bruises in the shape of fingers. My hands curled into fists at the sight, knuckles still swollen from breaking bones in that alley.
Her face was the worst to look at. Not because the bruises were darker than the rest, but because her face was something I'd memorized. I knew exactly what she was supposed to look like. Knew the precise shade of her skin, the way her green eyes caught the light, the curve of her lips when she smiled.
This wasn't that face. This was a face that had been broken, had felt pain I should have prevented. Her right eye still bore some swollen features, discolored and closed up. Her lip was split on one side, scabbed over now but still visible. Her throat bore marks from fingers that had tried to choke the life out of her.
The paleness of her skin struck me every time I looked at her. She should have been vibrant, warm, full of the life that made her sing like an angel and smile like sunshine. Instead, she looked fragile, breakable, like something that might shatter if I held her too tight.
I turned away from cataloging her injuries, unable to stomach my failure anymore, and scanned the hallway through the small window in the door. Nurses moved past with clipboards and medication carts. A doctor consulted with someone at the nurses' station. Everything looked normal, routine, safe.
I didn't trust it.
My scent had been strong since we'd arrived at the hospital, broadcasting my Alpha status and my protective instincts to anyone within range. It said stay away unless you want problems. It said this Omega is under my protection. It said I'd already killed for her once tonight and wouldn't hesitate to do it again.
Footsteps approached in the hallway, and my body tensed immediately. I lifted Jasmine off my arm and sat bolt upright, ready to block access to her if there was a threat. The door opened, and a nurse stepped in, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and scrubs decorated with cartoon cats. She carried a blood pressure cuff and what looked like a thermometer, her movements professional and efficient.
“I need to check her vitals,” the nurse said, her tone patient, like she'd dealt with protective Alphas before. She probably had. But none of them had just killed five men to save their Omega.
“ID,” I said, my voice flat.
She didn't even blink, just pulled her hospital badge from where it clipped to her scrubs and held it up. I scanned it, checking the photo matched her face, verifying the name and credentials printed on the plastic. Rachel Morrison, RN. The badge looked legitimate, but I still wasn't satisfied.
I stepped past her into the hallway, scanning both directions. Looking for anything out of place, anyone who didn't belong. The nurses' station was visible from here, and I could see thesecurity desk near the elevators. Everything appeared normal, but my instincts screamed that normal wasn't safe anymore.
“Sir, I really need to check on your Omega,” Rachel said from behind me, still patient but with an edge of professional firmness now.
I moved back into the room but didn't go far. Positioned myself where I could watch both the nurse and the door simultaneously, where I could reach Jasmine in two steps if something went wrong. My muscles stayed tense, ready to move, ready to fight if this turned into something it shouldn't be.
Rachel approached the bed slowly, probably reading my body language and deciding not to make sudden movements. Smart woman. She hummed as she worked, then explained what she was doing as she wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Jasmine's arm. I watched every motion, tracking her hands, making sure nothing she did could harm rather than help.
Jasmine awoke, startled, but then smiled at the nurse. “I’m taking your blood pressure,” the nurse said. Jasmine nodded and thanked her.
Kade and Lucian arrived back, and Lucian handed me a coffee. They both stood back and watched the nurse work.
The blood pressure machine beeped, displaying numbers I couldn't interpret, but the nurse seemed satisfied with them. She made notes on a tablet, then checked the IV bag, then took Jasmine's temperature with a device she ran across her forehead.
“Everything looks good,” Rachel said, directing her words to Jasmine but probably meant for all of us. “Your vitals are stable. The doctor will be by in a few hours to check on you.”
She gathered her equipment and headed for the door, and I watched her go, tracking her through the window until she'd moved out of sight down the hallway. Only then did some of thetension drain from my shoulders, though not all of it. Not nearly all of it.
I turned back to find Jasmine watching me, tired but aware. Her hand lifted slightly from where it rested on the blanket, fingers extending toward me in a gesture that looked like it took effort. I was beside the bed immediately, my larger hand engulfing her smaller one. Her fingers were cold despite the warm hospital room, and I rubbed my thumb across her knuckles, trying to share some of my heat.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice still rough and broken. “For saving me. For staying.”
The words hit me hard, my guilt raging at me. “I should have been there sooner,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than I'd intended. “Should have realized something was wrong the moment you were out of sight.”
Her hand squeezed mine, the pressure weak but deliberate. “You came. That's what matters. You all came.”
Chapter Thirty-seven
Theo
The hallway felt too bright after the dimness of Jasmine's room, fluorescent lights casting everything in harsh white that made my eyes ache. I leaned against the wall outside her door, arms crossed over my chest, and let myself feel the exhaustion that had been building since we'd found her in that alley. My muscles screamed from tension held too long, and my hands throbbed where knuckles had split against bone and teeth.
We'd left Jasmine sleeping, the pain medication dragging her back under into something that looked almost peaceful. Standing out here felt wrong, like abandoning our post, but we needed to talk without her overhearing. Some things were better discussed away from the Omega we'd nearly lost.
Kade paced the corridor with controlled energy that spoke of rage barely contained beneath his executive exterior. His suit jacket was gone, abandoned somewhere days ago, and his white shirt was wrinkled and stained with blood that wasn't his. His oak scent rolled through the hallway, strong enough that a passing nurse gave him a wide berth.
