“Pain level?” Iris asks clinically.
Crushed. Relieved. Scared. Angry. I answer inside my thoughts. I’m not ready to talk.
“I’m going to check your vitals,” she says quietly when I don’t answer.
But even though I don’t talk I have to watch. I need to see where she is at every moment because my self defence mechanisms are offline. She talks as she does her job. “I will have to eventually let the doctor know you are awake. You’ve got very worried family outside waiting to see you. Or I can add some more morphine and you can do this later.”
I don’t care if she’s following correct medical procedure or if she’s skating the line of medical incompetence, but I manage a nod as my answer. I shut my eyes and wait.
“Honey, you did nothing wrong. But I also don’t want you skipping to conclusions. He hurt you viciously, but he did not get to do what he set out to do. Does that make sense?”
A whoosh of air rushes past my lips as relief floods my system. Despite my memories being cloudy I knew he hadn’t committed the unimaginable but hearing her say it is such a relief.
Within a few moments, I feel the morphine tug on my awareness, shutting everything down as it moves through my body. The pain disappears first, my thoughts follow—but before I go completely under, I make a promise to myself that one day I will track this nurse down and thank her for giving me the chance to hide a little longer.
* * *
Even without opening my eyes this time when I wake up, I know I’ve got an audience. I also know my medication has changed, so I don’t have the option of sleeping anymore.
I keep my eyes shut as my fingers tighten around Margot’s. And I’m not being a martyr, but I didn’t expect her to be sitting here when she should be in her own bed.
I get a waft of her soft, peony scent, along with the chemical burn of her own medication, before I feel the press of her warm lips against my forehead. She keeps them there, giving us both the chance to deal.
“My brave girl,” she repeats over and over, her lips not leaving my forehead. As much as I love and need her, I push her to give us a little distance.
She doesn’t try for conversation. Instead, my mother does the most uncharacteristic thing I’ve ever seen her do: she climbs up next to me and lies down beside me. Not talking, just hugging me gently.
As soon as she finds a comfortable position, the door behind us opens and Allan enters with a team of doctors.
Before anyone says a word, he cracks out of his usual stoicism and surges forward to drop his arm around both me and Margot, sheltering us in a lot of ways. And much like Margot, he doesn’t say a word, though his actions are so fucking loud and uncharacteristic I have to bite my tongue not to have a complete breakdown.
He goes to move away but stops and gently pushes his forehead to mine. I feel his regret, I scent his sadness, and I try really fucking hard to lock down the surge of my emotions that threaten to tear down my freshly constructed walls.
“Heidi,” an older male voice interrupts us, but I’m glad. I want to get this done so I can get out of here and away from the added pressure of everyone’s heavy mood.
“Yes?” I ask. My voice cracks after not being used for a while, or it might be because I damaged my vocal chords from the screaming.
“We have already briefed your parents as to the extent of your injuries.”
I have no doubt Dr. Carlisle has briefed them. I also have no doubt he will treat me like he always does when we talk about Margot and her illness, with undiluted truth and fact. He often comes across robotically in his lack of feeling, but that works in this instance, and it makes this easier in a way.
“I can confirm no broken bones or major organ damage, however we are monitoring several abrasions for infection along with heavy bruising and a laceration to the inside of your thigh. The injury on your thigh was near your femoral artery but there was no nerve or vein damage.”
“What?” I whimper, before steeling myself stronger.
Our long-standing family physician shocks me, breaking out of his clinical composure. He loses his voice for a moment until he returns to his methodical professionalism. “It appears that the Alpha who attacked you attempted a forced bonding. It was unsuccessful, and we have undertaken non-invasive surgery on the wound. I suspect you will have minor scarring.”
“He bit me?” My tongue feels suddenly thick at the horrible implication, but at the same time before I freak out anymore I need more information. I use my hand to wave him on.
“He bit you through your clothes, but he was infected by ADV.”
“You’ve high dosed Omara just in case?” I ask sitting up.
“Of course. You know ADV is non-transferable to Omegas. Medically impossible. Purely as a precautionary measure since there was no penetration, we commenced antibiotics, levonorgestrel, and azithromycin to mitigate any contractible diseases.”
He looks over the top of his glasses to make sure I’m keeping up with him. I nod, and he continues.
“You were clothed when you arrived to be treated. And your security confirm they found you that way too. Your assailant was also found fully dressed. The bruising to your neck, caused by manual strangulation, will fade. X-rays confirm no internal damage. Your parents approved DNA collection of samples from your clothing which has been provided to the detectives handling your case.”
