Chapter 14
Ruadan
I would’ve preferred for Uly to stay at my house and rest while I went to the hospital to do some undercover work, but he’d insisted on coming.
“What if the police catch word that she’s there and try to interrupt your interrogation?
I’ll just wait in the lobby, and if I catch sight of them, I’ll stall them. ”
There was no telling how he would achieve that, but I couldn’t resist the idea of keeping him close by.
The memory of his injury was still fresh, and when it came to Uly, I was apparently reduced to being an overprotective alpha in all ways.
And what better way to keep him safe than to keep with me at all times.
Was I going overboard? Yes, but I could always be worse.
I could’ve handcuffed him to my bed, so if you really thought about it, I was being incredibly reasonable under the circumstances.
“I’m trying really hard not to find this creepy,” Uly murmured, looking down at my now much-shorter height as we approached the main entrance to the hospital. “You’re all tiny and adorable, but… you still smell like you. You’re really doing a number on my head.”
I cocked my head, my curiosity getting the better of me. “And just what do I smell like?” I asked, my voice now a melodic tinkle. I was used to hearing myself with different voices, but I could tell it unsettled Uly more than he was letting on.
He blushed a little, avoiding my eyes in a way that had me even more curious. “Um, maybe we could talk about that later?” he asked.
“You can count on it,” I vowed.
The hospital’s automatic doors glided open with a whoosh, and we stepped into the large atrium, sunlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I nodded my chin toward a metal bench along the wall.
“Sit right there, and don’t move,” I said in what I hoped was a commanding voice, but Uly’s snort told me I’d missed the mark.
“Yes, ma’am,” he sassed, offering me a cheeky wink before he sashayed over to the bench and plunked his cute little butt on it. Ohhh, I would be punishing him for that one later. He pulled out a book and cracked it open, playing the role of someone killing time while they waited.
Spying wasn’t just about having the right disguise. It was also about adopting behavior that wouldn’t be suspicious to anyone. It was acting like I belonged there, all while making sure I wasn’t seen at the same time as my twin. It was a delicate thing, something I’d spent millennia perfecting.
The charge nurse at the desk on the seventh floor was on the phone when I stepped onto the unit, and she offered me a distracted wave.
I was just Nurse Debbie, after all. I belonged here.
No one asked me why I was back early from my lunch break, and no one stopped me as I checked in with my patient in room 714.
I found Rebecca McKay propped up in bed, staring vaguely past the TV mounted on the wall, muted but displaying some life network home renovation show.
She didn’t react at all to my entering the room, and I made a point of fussing over the monitor, pretending to check vitals while I peeked at her from the corner of my eye.
She looked rough. It wasn’t just the casts she wore over her broken shoulder or shattered hands, or the bandages, though there were many, some tinted pink with the blood seeping through, but there were deep bags carved under her eyes, hollowing her out and aging her years practically overnight.
This was not the same woman we’d faced off against outside the bank.
There were no bragging taunts, no overconfidence, and she was staring off in a haunted daze, the kind of look I’d seen on soldiers after war, suffering from PTSD.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, ever the friendly nurse checking in on my patient.
Becky blinked slowly and turned her head to look at me, clawing her way out of her stupor.
She opened her mouth to speak, but the sound that came out of her was barely more than a distressed wail, sudden tears spilling down her cheeks.
The sound was chilling, setting my teeth on edge and freezing the breath in my lungs, her terror palpable.
And if I didn’t hurry to calm her, she would no doubt bring more staff, checking to see what the ruckus was.
“Shh, you’re okay,” I soothed, and I sat on the edge of the bed and set a hand on her forearm, one of the few places without an injury. I whispered, “You’re safe, no one can hurt you here.”
That seemed to get through to her, and she tried to grip my hand, the cast unbending. But at least she settled a little, leaning stiffly back against the pillows. “It’s just a nightmare,” she rasped, her throat ragged from screaming. “Just a nightmare…”
It was probably safer if she believed it had all been a dream, but I found myself saying, “Do you want to tell me about it?”
And she did.
Ten minutes later, I stepped out of her room, lost in thought about what her supposed nightmare could mean, and when the elevator dinged at the end of the hall, I almost didn’t react when the real Nurse Debbie stepped out. “Shite,” I cursed, ducking through the closest doorway.
The patient in the room was thankfully sleeping, and I slipped into my backup plan, the skin of a janitor. I had no excuse for why I was coming out of a patient room, but luckily no one asked, and I hid my racing heart behind a calm exterior, taking the elevator back down to the lobby.
Uly was right where I’d left him, and as soon as I stepped off the elevator, his eyes found mine.
It didn’t matter that I was now a 50-year-old man with thinning gray hair and a lank form.
I had a feeling no matter my shape, this man would see me more clearly than anyone had before.
He was on his feet straight away and fell into step with me on the way out the door, and as soon as we were on the sidewalk, he laced his fingers through mine and gave them a squeeze, lending me his comfort.
We didn’t speak until we were back in my car, pulling away from the curb. I could see the questions in his eyes, but he waited until I was ready to share—trusted that I would.
Finally, once my nerves had settled, the sound of her broken wail still echoing in my ears, I let my own form take over once more.
That alone had Uly relaxing back into his seat.
“She said she’s been having nightmares,” I told him, “something about a dark room that stank like smoke and this feeling of dread that drowned her. She said it was like being trapped underwater for hours and unable to take a breath, until she was praying for death.”
Uly frowned, absent-mindedly rubbing a hand across his ribs where I knew his injuries had begun to itch. “Well, that’s dark.” He sighed, looking out the window at the passing businesses. “A dark, smoky room? That’s pretty vague. Any idea what it could be?” he asked.
I shrugged, stopping at a red light, the engine idling. “Maybe it’s nothing at all. Sometimes a dream is just a dream. I mean, I had a dream about dancing poodles last night, but that doesn’t make it true.”
“That’s too bad,” he said, eyebrow arching with tantalizing mischief as he peeked across the car at me. “I had a pretty sexy dream about you last night, and I was really hoping it might come true.”
I knew what he was doing, trying to lighten the mood, and I allowed myself to play along. I growled and leaned across the console to nip at the side of his neck. “I said sometimes they’re just dreams, didn’t I? That one sounds like pure prophecy.”
His laugh was exactly the right medicine to chase away the lingering chill after that hospital visit, though I wasn’t quite ready to let this lead go.
I might’ve suggested her dream could be meaningless, nothing more than a vision conjured by a traumatized brain, but there were a few dark, smoky rooms filled with dread in Valleywood that I wanted to check out.
Joe’s Pool Hall and Tavern didn’t look anything like the taverns I used to frequent back home in Ireland.
Firstly, there was nothing European about it, but that was just the beginning.
The floors were scuffed and sticky from spilled drinks, peanut shells crunching underfoot.
The music leaned more toward heavy metal, cranked out from the antique jukebox in the corner, instead of the lyrical reels I preferred, and there were more leather vests and studded cuffs than a BDSM club.
Of the visible flesh, most of it was tattooed with snakes, guns, and flames, and I was willing to bet it’d been years since any of the clientele had seen a barber.
My disguise had to fit the scene, unfortunately, though it was a battle not to shudder at the feel of it.
I was a good 50 pounds heavier than usual, none of it muscle, my jeans chaffing my thick thighs as I clomped across the bar in my steel-toed shit-kickers.
I hoped no one looked too closely at my tattoos, or they might notice they were a tad more whimsical than your standard biker, like Snoopy and Hello Kitty and a script of Uly’s name across the back of my hand.
Good thing I’d made myself large enough that no one would dare say a word about it.
I wasn’t sure what I expected to find here, but I’d felt so helpless after Uly got hurt, desperation drove me to act.
Even though I already knew the chances of walking in and finding a demon parading around were slimmer than slim, even a broken clock was right twice a day.
Maybe I would get lucky. I hiked my pants up and bellied up to the bar, ordering a beer.
The bartender avoided direct eye contact, as I was sure he’d learned the hard way to keep quiet and serve the drinks.
When he slid a dirty glass mug in front of me, I had to force myself to take a sip of the warm, flat ale.
How did they drink this swill? I would’ve thought even bikers had standards.