“Thatwasmy job. Not anyone else.”
“Didn’t Simon say you’d help me with whatever I need? Isn’t he your boss or something?”
Yes. Simon was both his alpha and his boss. The Griz paid him to do a variety of tasks, but initiating someone into the shifter world was delicate, and not something he ever wanted to do again.
He opened his mouth to argue, but she stopped him with a shake of her head. “There’s no one else.” Then she hopped out of his car and headed for the hospital.
He would have argued further, but they were rapidly surrounded by people. Whereas he had made a point of driving through the quiet parts of town—Alyssa sent regular updates on any violent outbursts in the city—the hospital was one place where people would come. Not just because of the Flu, but because of injuries and all the regular reasons people sought medical attention. So he buttoned his lip as Cecilia seemed to power walk through the huge building.
No one stopped them. She clearly belonged, and he did his best to make it clear he was with her. And while people eyed him warily—they always did given his size, race, and his big damn scar—no one questioned them. Pretty soon they were back on the floor where they’d first met what seemed like years ago but was really just yesterday.
They went first to the same lab she’d been in before. Her coworker was awake today instead of drooling on his shirt. He greeted her without looking up from his microscope.
“Get some sleep?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “You?”
“Enough.”
“Any news?”
“Couple DOAs came in. More of the same. Am working them up now.”
“Brittany?”
He sighed and sat back on his stool, his eyes focusing with surprise on Hank. Neither said a word though and he ended up speaking as if Hank wasn’t there.
“Mom just came through the quarantine. She’s been in California visiting relatives.” His expression looked sad. “They’re bringing Brittany to consciousness now. Taking it really slow to see if Mom can help calm her down before she’s fully awake.”
“Good,” Cecilia said as she grabbed a tablet from her workstation and started tapping. “This is Hank. He’s going to help.”
Her coworker flashed him a grin. “Great. How?”
Cecilia waved at him without even looking up as she headed out the door. Hank followed her, thinking that anything he said was likely to get him into more trouble, not less. So he kept his mouth shut as she took him down the hall to what she’d called “the Weird Ward.”
“We talk to Mom and Dad first,” she said in a low voice. “To find out if they’re part of your club.”
“I can’t—”
“Give it a shot, Hank. We’re all clutching at straws.”
Fair enough.
They crossed into Brittany’s room. It was a normal hospital room if you counted a dozen or more machines whirring away as normal. A pale blond teenage girl lay unmoving, looking like she belonged on the set of Hollywood’s latest teen flick rather than with IVs sticking out of her…black bear arms. A closer look showed him that beneath artfully arranged blond hair, her ears were furry and rounded. Definitely a bear. And now that he looked at the silhouette beneath the sheet, he guessed that her hips and legs had bearlike dimensions. At least some. And then, of course, was the usual hybrid stench. Not strong, but definitely present beneath all the antiseptic smells.
“My money’s on Peter, the father,” Cecilia murmured as she turned to greet the parents. Mom was holding her daughter’s hand and surreptitiously wiping away tears. Dad stood back a step, his expression stoic, but anyone with eyes could see the pain burning underneath.
“You’d be wrong,” Hank whispered back. Shifters held pain differently than full humans. This man was large and broad, built for football, though he was obviously aging. Broad shoulders, straight spine, probably had some military experience in his background. But his gaze remained trained on his child. Shifters—especially those in pain—couldn’t resist scanning the environment for threats. Even if their body was tall, they tended to stand in defensible positions in a room. Tucked into a corner or braced near an exit. It was rarely conscious, but a trained observer noticed.
Brittany’s father stood with his back to the door and his gaze never wavered. He was completely and wholly there for his wife and child. And when Mom looked up at Cecilia and Hank, he wrapped her in his arm and provided comfort in the way men do: with a touch, but no sound. Shifters were more likely to nuzzle and murmur. A purr or a whisper. Some sort of sound that soothed the animal inside even as it was meant to comfort someone else.
The dad was not a shifter. But the mom, on the other hand, did all those things. She placed her back to the wall, she scanned everyone and everything. And when she cried—tiny little drops leaking steadily out of her eyes—she whimpered slightly and cleared her throat. “Hello, Mrs. Randolph. I’m Dr. Cecilia Lu. I’m so sorry we had to meet under these circumstances.”
“Call me Abby—” Her voice cut off as she cleared her throat again. Trying to help, the father grabbed Brittany’s untouched pitcher of water and poured her a glass. Hank’s nose twitched. It was hard to isolate scents in this place. Between the antiseptic smells, the various scents of terrified people, and of course the hybrid defensive stink, catching the stray waft of tainted water would usually be beyond him. But he was hyperalert in here, his animal side also watching for danger, and that scent was a big one.
“Don’t drink that!” he snapped just as the mother pressed the cup to her lips.
She gaped and drew back, her eyes wide as she stared at him.
