“Shit,” the doctor says again.
I should know his name, but right at this minute, it’s not something I can remember. I look at his name tag, and I can read his name, but it still doesn’t register. The noises in my head won’t let up, and I’m shaking like I’m caught in an earthquake. But I can’t fall apart. I can’t be a victim of my designation. A weak Omega doesn’t save anyone, let alone themselves.
Gritting my jaw so hard until it hurts, I use the pain as a focus and start to wrestle control of my mind by reciting the procedure involved with Alpha bites. Out loud. For him, but more so for me.
By the time he’s done everything to textbook perfection, the initial shock waves have nearly gone. The longer we chat about checklists, systems, and procedures, the more settled I become. We’re discussing possible changes to protocol when the charge nurse appears.
“Are you good, Quinn?”
“Yeah. I did not see myself being the patient. I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be silly, it’s not your fault,” she throws in, though we all know it kind of is my fault. She rushes over her faux pas with a smile. “Let’s blame the full moon.”
“How’s the patient?” I ask, hopping off the table and helping the other doctor, whose name still won’t stick, clean and wipe down the room to get ready for our next “real” patient.
“Stable. Everyone was more worried about you.”
“I can’t believe it happened.” I blaze, probably as pink as a flamingo.
Thankfully, no one comments on it again. Later, I'm sure we’ll sit down and work through what the hell happened, but for now, we’ve still got people to save. Including him.
“So, do you think you’re good to help again? If not, I can get Ian here to help, right?”
“I can definitely help. Ian did a great job. No stitches needed, and I’m all wrapped up and raring to go.” I don’t lie, but it is a stretch of the truth.
Instead of grilling me, she disappears back into the area where I got mauled, which is a sign of her faith that I am good to go again. After athank youto Ian, I return to the scene of the crime.
As soon as I step inside, the nurse is giving me a rundown of everything that has happened since I left. It’s crazy it was only minutes ago; it felt like I was gone much longer.
Getting the patient breathing was their objective, and now I’m back, I’ll be treating the reason he showed up in the first place. The stab wounds.
I wait until she’s wiped him down with iodine, the yellow liquid staining his tanned skin a honey color. The plastic sheet she places to keep the area sterile cuts off my thoughts about the color of his skin and redirects it to a patient we need to fix up. Lifting up the syringe, I show her what I’m using so she can document it.
“You’re using a local?” she asks.
“I’m confident we’ll be able to get everything done without putting him under a general. He was pretty insistent on not going under.”
We don’t talk while I start fixing his wounds. She pulls her computer close, so she can observe and also keep updating our file notes. No doubt, there’s a fair bit to write up.
Though he starts to stir as we’re finishing up, his eyes are barely open, weighed down by the drugs. The nurse is talking with him, but he moves her away. He keeps trying to say something, but his speech is hard to understand because of the tube, and his words are slurred. If I could scent him, maybe he wouldn’t need to struggle to speak; I’d be able to use his scentas a way of communicating. The blocker I used took that off the table.
He mumbles something faint, in a language I can’t make out, before he loses the fight of staying awake.
Even with him out cold, there’s something about him. Like a peacefulness to his presence. Until the voice in my head pipes up again, this time taunting me about being a soft-hearted Omega and inserting romantic nonsense into any situation.
Chapter Two
QUINN
The very nature of being a doctor in the ER is how I escape the reality of not only what happened earlier, but also the most recent wave of Victor’s taunting. A call goes out on the PA for a doctor to assist, and I jump at the chance, leaving without looking at the Alpha again.
You’d think after the years that have passed, I’d be able to forget Victor better. Sadly, I remember him so vividly, his voice is still crystal clear, like we only spoke yesterday. I hate that the trauma he left behind impacts me so much still, but in a perverse way, I also use those same memories as a source of inspiration.
Much the same way he does. Victor is a professional player, constantly trying to get me to concede. Once a year or so, he sends someone from his staff into my favorite coffee shop when I’m there. They’ve even showed up here, at the clinic, his reminder that he’s watching me.
He also occasionally sends me links to articles, both good and bad, that further embellish his accomplishments or raisequestions about his integrity. I wish there were more of the latter, but they are far and few between because he keeps doing “so much for international relations.” Getting everything set up for our inevitable showdown keeps a pep in my step and motivates me to be better.
Spending hours with different patients, filling my head with tasks, illnesses to solve, and lives to save doesn’t alter the impact of what happened with the patient who bit me. I catch myself touching the wrappings so many times during my shift. I want to unwrap the bandage to look at his bite, but I’ve been too busy. Well, that’s the lie—the truth is a lot more complicated, and I definitely want to be at home when I start to unpack those emotions.
