Chapter 14
SKYLAR
I dreamof strong arms lifting me. I dream of words spoken in deep timbres, encouraging me to hold on.
I float through the air, delicious scents enveloping me as I struggle to stay asleep.
My body aches, but if I don’t wake up, if I can just stay in this half state of consciousness, I’ll be okay.
But slowly, I stir.
My fingers twitch as I run them over a smooth, soft material.
I’m not in the damp, smelly blankets anymore.
I’m wrapped in comfort.
Everything is clean, and the faintest scent of cleaning supplies fills my nostrils.
Beep. Beep.
I open my eyes, and it takes me a moment to register where I am.
I shift in the reclined hospital bed, groaning as a pang in my side flares.
“Skylar?” a gentle feminine voice asks as a hand runs through my hair. “Honey?”
I turn my head to see Tammy, her eyes wet with unshed tears.
I made it out.
I’m alive.
“Hi,” I croak out, struggling to move closer to her.
“Oh, don’t move, honey, it’s okay,” she says softly. “Just rest. You’re safe.”
“Mmhmm,” I mumble, closing my eyes. I exhale as Tammy strokes my hair, speaking in a hushed tone.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she continues. “You can go back to sleep. You need to rest.”
“No,” I murmur, keeping my eyes closed. “Tell me if she’s okay.”
John said he knew where April was, so if they found me, surely they found her?
Maybe she’s in the hospital somewhere.
But Tammy’s hand stills, and I get my answer.
“Oh,” I whisper.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” Tammy continues. “Your job is to heal and get better for me.”
Tears fill my eyes.
I had hoped…
I drift back to sleep before I can say anything else, succumbing to fatigue.
I wake up again,only this time, there’s someone else in the room.
Someone that smells entirely too delicious—a mixture of dark chocolate, cognac, and leather.
And whatever meds they gave me have made me loopy, because the second I see the Alpha sitting in a chair scowling, I grin at him.
Vincent is here.
“I thought you hated me,” I slur as he stands. He’s dressed in a black hoodie, dark jeans, and a fitted brown leather jacket.
He looks just as handsome as I remembered, but his dark blonde hair is in disarray, and his scruff is longer than before.
He’s got a rugged scoundrel look to him, so different from polished Landon and mysterious, broody River.
He stops short of my hospital bed and frowns. “Why would I hate you?” he asks in his deep voice. The bass sends chills down my spine.
“Last time we talked, you told me to go to hell,” I mumble. “And you looked like you smelled cat piss anytime you looked at me.”
His eyes widen. “What drugs did they give you?” he murmurs.
I stick my tongue out at him.
He clears his throat. “How are you feeling?” he asks awkwardly. “Do you need anything?”
I sigh and lean back against the pillows. “What a question,” I chuckle. “What don’t I need?”
Honestly, he could just stay there forever, letting me inhale his scent, and I think I would be just fine.
“I’m going to let the doctor know you’re awake,” he says suddenly, turning around, but a question tumbles out of my mouth.
“Is he dead?” I ask quietly.
Vincent turns back to me, and his eyes grow cold. “No, he’s not,” he says carefully. “He’s been arrested.”
I blink and nod.
That’s good.
John can’t hurt anyone else. And if he knows where April is…
“I wanted to kill him,” he continues, and my eyes widen. “I wanted to gut him for what he did to you. And if I knew I could get away with it, I would have.”
I stare at him, stunned. His scent, rich and inviting, morphs into something deeper.
I feel it in my soul.
Vincent would have killed for me.
It shouldn’t make me want him. It should terrify me.
Alarm bells go off in my mind, a warning that this isn’t normal.
But instead, his confession makes me feel safe.
“I…” I try to find the words, but the medications make my brain too sluggish. “Why?” I finally choke out.
His gaze falls from my face down to the blankets piled on me. He runs a long, thick finger along the top of my blankets. I realize that the standard-issue hospital blankets have been covered by plush, soft ones. Vincent’s finger pauses where my socked foot sticks out from under the blankets before running it up my arch. It flexes involuntarily.
I stare at him, shocked that he’s touching me. The last time we spoke, I was convinced he couldn’t stand me.
“I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake,” he murmurs, and I watch, mouth open, as he walks away from me.
He shuts the door behind himself before I can say anything else.
I blink, dazed, and not just from whatever is pumping through my system.
What the hell just happened?
I listen to the steady beep of my heart monitor. I move to sit up higher and look around my room.
It’s spacious. There’s a bathroom in the left corner, and to the right of me, near where Tammy was earlier, is a small table.
I didn’t notice it before, but my eyes widen in shock as I glance at it. Flowers, chocolates, and other gifts are spread out across the table.
And it’s not just grocery store chocolate. It’s a specialty brand I’ve treated myself to in the past.
The flowers are exquisite; lilacs and white roses sitting in a marble vase.
Next to the vase is a candle I recognize—one that I’ve smelled at a department store and walked away from when I saw the price.
It’s much too thoughtful. There are cards as well, a Siamese cat plush, and other trinkets.
And one lavender GET WELL SOON balloon.
The doctor walks in shortly after Vincent leaves, not followed by anyone else.
I pretend to not be disappointed.
“Good afternoon, Miss Bloom,” she says, her dark eyes kind. “How are you feeling?”
She has a clipboard in her hand, and she jots down notes as she watches me. “Much better than I was,” I reply. “Thank you for asking.”
The doctor nods. “You suffered blood loss, dehydration, and severe suppressant withdrawal,” she says, frowning slightly. “You weren’t in great shape when you came here. You were out for a while.”
“How long?” I ask, my stomach flipping nervously.
“Around three days,” she says. “And in that time, you had several blood transfusions.”
“Three days,” I repeat slowly. “That long?”
“Yes. You have a lot of people that care for you,” she adds, nodding towards the table. “Your room was almost never empty. Your pack was here most of the time.”
Pack?
“My what?” I mumble, tilting my head.
The doctor catches herself. “Oh. I thought…never mind. You’re just lucky, Miss Bloom. To have that many people come to visit.”
My pack.
Did she think that Vincent was part of my pack?—
“And we’ve run all your bloodwork for any diseases. All results are negative.”
I grimace and glance at the bandages that cover the inside of my arm. Shame colors my face, and the doctor must notice.
“It could have been a lot worse with those needles,” she adds gently.
I nod, biting my lip.
“We’re going to monitor you for a few more days, and if everything appears fine, I can send you home,” she continues. “But you will likely experience a violent Heat. I can prescribe you certain materials to use, or if you do engage in activity, make sure that your partners know what to expect.”
Oh.
“What do you mean by…violent?” I ask.
“Painful arousal, moments of delirium, and excessive slick,” she says. “Make sure you’re in a safe environment, and your partners are aware of what could happen.”
My eyes widen. “Delirium?” I repeat.
The doctor nods, her expression softening. “I’ll send you home with some more information and a special brand of suppressants. There are certain mattress covers that also work well for these situations, made especially for excessive slick.”
“Bedlite,” I murmur. “I have it.”
“You’ll be fine, then,” she adds. “Also, if you’d like, I can send in our trauma counselor to speak with you. Or I can make you a referral for another time.”
I think over her offer. I’m not ready to talk to anyone just yet.
But I know, deep down, I will have to eventually.
But I can’t go there. Not when I can still smell that fake-pheromone cologne belonging to a crazed Beta.
“I’ll take the referral,” I say. “Thank you.”
She nods. “The nurse will be back in a few hours to check on you, Miss Bloom. After what you’ve been through, I’d say you’re a hell of a survivor.”
I should be proud. I try to return her small smile, but I can’t.
The words don’t resonate with me.
I feel like I’m still trapped there in that room, rotting away on the putrid mattress.