Chapter 2 Kellan
Kellan
There's blood on my hands.
I stare down at them, at the dark red staining my palms and crusting under my fingernails, my brain refusing to process it.
The world feels muffled, like I'm underwater and everything's happening on the surface above me.
Camera flashes burst in my peripheral vision with bright, disorienting explosions of light, a headache already threatening to ruin the rest of my morning.
The sounds around me are distorted, voices overlapping in a cacophony that doesn't make sense.
But none of that really matters except for the unconscious Beta in my arms, his head lolling against my chest. I can feel the wet warmth of his blood seeping through my shirt, his solid weight the only thing that feels tangible in this surreal moment.
I adjust my grip carefully, terrified of hurting him more than he already is, and that's when I catch it again. That scent.
It's fading now, growing weaker with every passing second, but it was there.
Whiskey and vanilla. Intriguing and soft but not too soft, not overwhelming either.
Just present. Real. It cut through the copper smell of blood and the acrid scent of my own fear, and for a moment, just a moment, I felt something click into place that I don't understand.
"Kellan! What the hell are you doing?" Tom's annoyed voice cuts through the fog, and I blink up to see my manager pushing through the growing crowd.
His expression is somewhere between concern and irritation, weighted heavily toward the latter.
"The ambulance is here, you need to let them take him. "
"I saw him fall," I hear myself say, and my voice sounds strange. "He just fell." I still can’t wrap my mind around the image of him losing his grip on the ladder, the Alphas causing him to fall rushing off the moment he hit the ground.
Ambulance sirens wail nearby, painfully loud now that they've arrived on scene.
Officers are trying to establish a perimeter, pushing back the curious onlookers who've materialized from nowhere like they can smell tragedy in the air.
This was supposed to be a quiet arrival, get to the venue early, set up for the meet and greet, avoid the crowds.
Instead, I'm kneeling on blood-stained concrete with a stranger's life literally in my hands.
And yet… he doesn’t feel like a stranger. He feels like someone important, my instincts telling me to cradle him a bit more carefully.
I stare down at him again, taking in his rugged features, the sharp line of his jaw, and the beautiful long eyelashes that accentuated his dark brown eyes when they were open.
Even beneath the blood coating his shirt, I can see the muscles lined beneath his dark skin, years worth of training giving him a body most Alphas would die for.
I shake my head, ignoring the fact that I was just cataloguing his features, an approaching officer stealing my attention. He's older, maybe mid-fifties, with the kind of weathered face that suggests he's seen everything this small town can throw at him. "Sir, can you tell me what happened here?"
I open my mouth to answer, but more camera flashes distract me, bursting across my vision.
I’m used to all the paparazzi fuckery but it feels wrong here.
Like I should be shielding this stranger.
Where are they all coming from anyway? The charity gala isn't until tonight, but apparently word travels fast in a small town.
Whispers ripple through the crowd and I grind my teeth at the sudden onslaught of overlapping voices noticing just who is holding this stranger.
"Is that Kellan from Lunar Ransom?"
"Oh my god, what happened?"
"Did you see all that blood?"
"He saved that guy, didn't he?"
Paramedics push through with a stretcher and equipment, a woman crouching next to me with her medical bag already open. "Sir, we need to take him now. Can you tell us what injuries you're aware of?"
I look down at the Beta a third time, taking in the few extra details.
There's a smear of blood on his temple where his head hit the ladder, and the long gash across his neck and chest is still bleeding sluggishly despite my attempts to apply pressure.
His shirt is ruined, torn and soaked through, and I can see the pale edge of bone through the wound in places that make my stomach turn.
"His head hit the ladder," I manage. "And there's this gash, from his neck down. I don't know what else. He fell from pretty high up."
I glance up at the roof, at the distance he dropped, and feel my stomach turn over again. That's at least fifteen feet, maybe more, and he hit concrete. The fact that he's still breathing feels like a miracle.
"We've got him," the paramedic says gently, hands reaching for the Beta, carefully maneuvering him onto the stretcher.
I almost don't want to let go, which is an irrational thought but this desperate need to keep holding him, to keep him safe and make sure nothing else bad happens to him is sitting just beneath the surface.
But I force my arms to release him, watching as they secure him with the straps and begin assessing his injuries.
Tom is suddenly at my elbow, his hand firm on my shoulder.
"Officer, perhaps we could continue this conversation inside?
Away from the cameras? I'm sure you understand this is already becoming a media circus.
" I should have known that Tom’s first priority would be my image and not making sure the Beta was okay.
The officer glances around at the growing crowd and nods, gesturing to the venue. "Inside would be fine. But I need to get a statement while it's fresh."
"Of course." Tom helps me to my feet before steering me toward the building's entrance. I stumble along beside him, my legs feeling disconnected. I twist around to watch until the paramedics lift the Beta into the vehicle, another officer moving to the spot I was just kneeling at.
I think I’m going to be fucking sick.
A burst of warm air hits my face as we enter the cramped backstage room, designed for local theater productions rather than rock bands.
Our gear is scattered around: guitar cases, Rex's bass propped against the wall, my cymbals still in their cases.
Jordan and Liam are sprawled across the couch, both of them lost in their own worlds before glancing up to see my disheveled self.
"Kellan?" Liam's eyes widen as he takes in the blood covering my clothes, the Alpha setting his guitar down carefully. "Holy shit, man, what happened? You good?"
I look down at myself properly for the first time. My shirt is completely soaked with blood and my jeans have smears across the thighs where I was kneeling. My hands look like I've committed a murder. Fuck. Definitely going to be sick.
"I'm fine," I say automatically, but my voice cracks. "There was an accident. A guy fell from the roof."
Jordan sets his phone down and stands up, taking a step toward me. "Are you hurt? That's a lot of blood."
"Not mine. It's not my blood."
A paramedic slips through the door behind the officer, a younger guy who seems more worried about me than I do.
His gaze walks over me several times before darting to where Tom is holding me up.
His brows furrow a little before he gestures to one of the seats by the couch.
“Help him sit and then step back. He's in shock.
I need to assess him before any questioning happens. "
"He's fine," Tom argues, letting out an annoyed huff. He drops me into the seat, standing way too close for comfort. "Just shaken up. We have a schedule to maintain, a meet and greet in less than an hour that people have paid good money for."
"Step back, sir." The paramedic's voice is firmer now. There’s no fear in his eyes as he speaks to my manager, and thank fuck for that. We need more people in this world to talk to Tom like that. "I need to check for injuries and help him manage the shock response."
Tom grumbles something but moves away to stand with Rex and the others.
They're all watching me, and I hate it. I hate being the center of attention like this, hate the way they're looking at me like I might break. It’s so much easier when I’m on stage, lost in the music and the rhythm, hidden by my instruments.
Something shifts in front of me, the small Beta crouching in front of me.
"Hey, Kellan, right? I'm Marcus." His voice is oddly soothing but I can’t focus on anything more than my hands. I open my palms, my heart sinking into my stomach. There’s so much fucking blood.
"I need you to take some deep breaths for me, okay?
In through your nose, out through your mouth. "
I try, but my breathing is coming too fast. My chest feels tight, like there's a band wrapped around my ribs. The room is too warm, too small, and too full of people. I usually find solace around my bandmates, but right now, the myriad of scents feels like it’s suffocating me. Still, I try, finding a bit of relief.
"That's it," Marcus coaches, his hand on my shoulder. "Just like that. In for four, hold for four, out for four. Match my breathing."
I watch his chest rise and fall, trying to sync my own breathing to his rhythm. It takes a few attempts, but gradually the tightness eases. My hands are still shaking, trembling so badly I have to clench them into fists, but at least I can breathe.
"Good," Marcus says, pulling out a penlight to check my pupils. "You're doing good. Any pain anywhere? Did you get hurt in the fall?"
"I didn't fall. He did." The Beta's face flashes in my mind, the way he looked up at me with those dark eyes, the small smile that didn't make sense, the trust in his expression... "I just saw him fall and ran over to help."