Chapter 13
ADAM
On the outside, I was calm and in control.
On the inside, my wolf was shrieking. It felt like my entire world was shaking right out from under my feet.
I gripped Fletcher’s hand and crooned to him, kneeling on the cement as the Omega gasped in shallow breaths.
He was covered in blood. Gashes and bite marks marred his flesh and red stained his clothing and the pavement around him. His eyes were glassy, dazed and filled with pain as he blinked up at the sky.
When I’d heard Fletcher scream—heard my name shrieked in terror—my entire soul had gone cold.
I knew.
I knew those monsters were back for blood, just like Fletcher had warned me they would be.
Throwing caution to the wind, I had raced upstairs, grabbed my pistol, and ran outside.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to go far.
Seeing the pack of mongrels tearing into Fletcher filled me with an unspeakable fury. It bubbled over, boiling hot, and as if I was on autopilot, I aimed the weapon and fired without a second thought.
The gun jerked in my grip and that bullet tore into the brute of a mutt, wounding the leader badly enough that the pack scattered with growls and whimpers. They ran off down the street, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.
But Fletcher was hurt. Badly.
I stayed with him until the EMS arrived, my heart in knots. He looked so weak, so small, so pale. It felt like this was my fault, even though, deep down, I knew it wasn’t.
As the EMTs loaded Fletcher onto a stretcher and into the ambulance, I stood up to follow.
A sandy-haired man dressed in blue and white paused, looking up at me. “Are you his Alpha?” he asked.
For some strange reason, I nodded. “I am,” I said softly. “I need to stay with him. He needs me.”
Fletcher was out of it, half-conscious, moaning softly through bloodied lips.
He was so damn pale.
It scared me.
I rode in the back of the ambulance, holding Fletcher’s hand the whole way.
When we got to the hospital and Fletcher was wheeled away, I paced in the waiting room, feeling terribly alone.
There was no one I could call for support. My parents couldn’t find out. Even my friend Gale had close ties with my father in the Silverthorn pack. Letting him in on this little secret would be showing off the cracks in my armor. Right now, I couldn’t afford to show weakness.
After sitting alone for what felt like hours, the nurses finally called me back.
“He’s stable,” they said gently. “We need to keep him for a couple of days to make sure his body starts healing correctly.”
I nodded along. What else could I say? They knew best, after all. Even with enhanced shifter healing, with wounds that severe, it would take awhile for Fletcher’s body to knit itself back together again. To be whole again.
“Can I see him?” I asked, swallowing hard.
“He’s resting,” the nurse said, sympathy soft in her eyes.
I frowned. “I know, but I… I just need to be with him. Please.” I hated the tremor in my voice, but inside, my wolf cried painfully, pressing up against the edges of our shared consciousness. Needing connection with our mate.
Our mate.
“All right, come with me,” she said kindly.
She led me down the hall to Fletcher’s room.
He was sleeping, surrounded by softly beeping machines and dwarfed by the starched white sheets on the hospital bed.
My heart beating hard, I sat down in the plastic chair next to the bed.
I wondered—would the gang have jumped him if he’d smelled of me? If he’d carried an Alpha’s protection? Had the war waging in my heart been the reason that this had happened? Had I just admitted my feelings sooner, would Fletcher be safe in my arms back home?
Fighting back emotion, I leaned over and scent-marked Fletcher’s wrists, rubbing mine gently against his.
There.
A little too late, but it would have to do.
I closed my eyes, holding Fletcher’s limp hand, and let the steady beeping of the machines lull me into a fragile sense of security.