2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Liam
T he moment she walks through the door of Sally's Diner, my wolf's savage howl reverberates through my mind: mate . Shock and disbelief course through my veins as I struggle to comprehend the reality before me. After countless years of waiting, of teetering on the brink of turning feral, she's finally here.
My mate.
My salvation.
She's breathtaking, with long, chestnut waves cascading past her shoulders and striking emerald eyes that pierce my soul. Beneath her beauty, she’s too pale. Too frail. My heart clenches as my medical training kicks in, cataloging the telltale signs of long-term illness.
She sways and begins to crumple. I'm out of my seat before conscious thought registers, my wolf propelling me forward with a speed that blurs the world around me. I reach her just in time to catch her limp form, cradling her against my chest as a wave of panic engulfs me.
Her head lolls on my arm. I expect her eyelids to flutter. For her to wake, but she’s unresponsive.
She's not waking up.
Distantly, I'm aware of the commotion around me—my parents' worried voices, my sister Riley's frantic questions, Sally's panicked gasps. I can't focus on them, not now. All that matters is the woman in my arms, the mate I've yearned for, prayed for, for so long.
“Liam, is she... is she who I think she is to you?” Riley's tremulous whisper shatters the cacophony of panic lancing around me.
I can only nod. My throat constricts, the metallic tang of fear coating my tongue as I fight to keep my wolf's anguish at bay. The confirmation drains the color in Riley's cheeks. She turns instinctively into our mother's embrace, Mom’s arms encircling her trembling form as she shoots me a look of sheer devastation over Riley's shoulder. Dad's expression mirrors hers, his mouth pressed into a tight line.
“I need to get her to the clinic. Now.”
There's no room for argument, no time to waste. Every second my mate is unconscious isn't a good sign.
I scoop up my mate's fragile form with a gentleness that belies the desperation coursing through my veins. Her head lolls against my shoulder, a few stray tendrils of her chestnut tresses caressing my cheek. She’s soft. So soft and feminine.
Despite the pallor of her skin, the worrying limpness of her body, she's the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on. The beacon of hope in the darkness that has consumed me.
I carefully maneuver her into the backseat of Riley's truck, and hop in on the other side so I can cradle her head on my lap. Her scent rises around me, the delicate sweetness of rose petals. Soft and feminine like her.
As Riley navigates the familiar roads of Willowbrook, I find myself lost in memories of my time at the wolf clinic. I'd spent years there, tending to the scrapes and bruises of our youngest pack members, their bodies not yet capable of the rapid healing that would come with age. As Willowbrook’s curse took hold, and more and more of our kind found themselves without mates, without hope, the birth rate naturally plummeted. With it went my purpose.
I'd sought employment in the human world as a doctor helping humans. With my mate's fragile form cradled against me, I’m glad I know how to start treating her.
If I can.
I shove down the thought as helplessness rises. It won’t do myself, or my mate, any favors.
The drive to the clinic is interminable, each second stretching into an eternity as I monitor her breathing, her pulse, searching for any sign of change, of improvement, but she remains still, her skin cool and clammy beneath my touch, which is more than worrying.
As we pull up, I'm already formulating a plan, cataloguing tests I'll need to run, the samples I'll need to take. I have to find out what's wrong with her. Have to find a way to fix it.
With a gentleness that belies the urgency thrumming through my veins, I gather her into my arms, cradling her as I sprint toward the clinic doors. I step back into the familiar confines of the clinic, a rush of relief washing over me at the sight of Faye, the middle-aged nurse who has kept this place in pristine condition. Her eyes widen as I charge through the doors, my mate's limp form cradled protectively against my chest, but to her credit, she doesn't hesitate. Sally must have radioed ahead.
“I need the exam table readied,” I bark, my voice a low growl as I fight to maintain control over my wolf clawing just beneath the surface.
Faye leaps into action, her movements efficient and practiced as she whips off the sheet covering the exam table. I lay the female down with the utmost care, my heart clenching at how frail she appears against the sterile backdrop.
“Her bag.” I turn to see Riley clutching a well-worn satchel. “There might be medication or something that can help figure out what's wrong.”
A flicker of gratitude sparks within me at her quick thinking, and I give her a sharp nod before upending the bag's contents onto the nearby counter. An assortment of mundane items clatters across the surface. A hairbrush, a compact, a few crumpled receipts… until my gaze lands on a familiar orange cylinder.
Prescription medication.
My fingers close around the plastic bottle, and I read the label for the medication for aplastic anemia, a rare blood disorder that occurs when the body's bone marrow fails to produce enough new blood cells. But that's not possible. She can't be my mate if she doesn't have shifter blood coursing through her veins and shifters don't get human diseases like this, which means...
My heart stutters in my chest as the realization hits me. They've been treating her for the wrong illness this entire time.
Suddenly frantic, I rifle through the remaining contents of her bag until my fingers close around a soft leather wallet. I flip it open and scan the ID until her name leaps out at me: Taylor Lewis.
“Taylor,” I murmur, her name rolling off my tongue as though I’ve always spoken it. I shift my attention to the nurse who has already begun prepping the necessary supplies. “I need to draw her blood. Can you please gather the gear I’ll need?”
“Of course,” she says and charges away.
Within moments Faye returns with everything I need and I make quick work of tying a tourniquet around Taylor's slender arm and sliding the needle into the pale blue of her vein. As the vials begin to fill, I can't resist the urge to smooth my thumb along the delicate skin of her wrist, seeking out the reassuring thrum of her pulse.
Thank the Goddess it’s faint, but steady. Once the samples are collected, I waste no time in analyzing them, my years of medical training allowing me to process the results with an efficiency born of pure desperation. Just as I suspected, the truth is laid bare before me: Taylor doesn't have aplastic anemia, although there is something else there.
Lupine aplastic anemia. LAA–a disorder unique to shifters. No wonder the human medications have been failing her; they were never designed to treat an ailment linked to our kind.
I can’t blame the human doctors though. They wouldn't have known what to do. My heart breaks because at this stage of the disease, she would have been told to get her affairs in order. She’s lucky she’s here. No, not luck. Fate brought her here.
Now that I see the truth, now that I understand the true nature of her affliction, I can begin to properly treat her, to save her from her cruel fate.
“She needs a transfusion,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else as I begin rolling up the sleeve of my shirt. “My blood will heal her, make her whole again.”
Riley and Faye's eyes are on me as I prep the necessary equipment, but I pay them no mind. All that matters in this moment is the woman lying before me, her life quite literally in my hands. As her mate, we are a perfect genetic match–a bond forged by the Goddess herself, unbreakable and eternal.
It is my blood she needs. My blood that will heal her.
I settle back into the chair next to her bed. With deft, practiced motions, I slide the needle into the crook of my own arm, guiding the thick crimson liquid through the tubing and into the catheter I've carefully inserted into Taylor's vein. My blood will jumpstart her body's ability to heal itself and usher her back from the brink on which she's been teetering.
It doesn’t take long for her pale skin to regain the barest hint of color giving way to a warmer flush. The first tendril of hope blossoms in my chest. She will still need time to recover, but the truth is that I have her now.
And neither of us will ever be the same again.