Despair: Lost Voice

(Kennedy's POV)

I just couldn't take my eyes off of hers. She lay statue-still on the cot, wide, round, bewildered eyes fixed on me. The word still lingered in my mind—mate.

I didn't mean to inch closer, didn't mean to let my defenses drop. Yet my body did, of its own accord, at the insistence of something so utterly beyond my control. I was beside her in one heartbeat, tucking my arms around her shaking form.

“You're my mate," I snarled softly and low into her, yanking her up against me. She fit so completely within the circle of my arms that my wolf growled in satisfaction.

She didn't push away, but she didn't react either. Her hands remained loose at her sides, her head still cocked up to mine, the expression on her face shocked and disbelieving.

I didn't care. I didn't let it bother me that she didn't get it, didn't care my actions made no sense - not even to me. All I knew was the way my chest burned, the way my heart raced like it never had before.

She was mine.

But why? How?

I gentled my hold on her, falling back far enough to meet her gaze. It was beautiful-dark pools that seemed to hold a world of sorrow in their depths.

"What are you doing to me?" I whispered more to myself than her. My wolf, usually silent and brooding, was frantic in my mind, howling and pacing.

But when I looked in her face for some kind of answer from her, she looked utterly lost.

She tried to speak then, her lips parted, her brow furrowed as though the struggle to form words was difficult, but nothing came out.

Her hands flew to her throat and for an instant, panic flashed in her eyes. She tried again and again, her lips moving soundlessly.

Something was wrong.

"Stop," I said, my voice sharper than I meant, my hands reaching out and clenching on her shoulders. "Don't push it.”

Her chest heaved as she clawed at her throat, and her fear vibrated palpably around her. It twisted something deep inside me, and I cursed under my breath. "Here." I snagged a glass of water off the bedside table, holding it out to her. "Drink."

She took it in shaking hands, raising it to her lips. But as she tried to swallow, water spewed out, spilling over her chin. A racking cough seized her body; the sound coming from her dry, strained throat.

I jerked the glass from her grasp and set it aside, letting my hands hang helpless in the air. "Damn it," I growled, though my frustration was building inside of me.

Her panic rose another notch. Wide wild eyes darted around the room, and back to me again. Tears brimmed in their depths, spilling over as she shook her head in desperation.

"No," I said firmly, cupping her face between my hands. "Look at me." Her gaze met mine, and I softened my tone. "Don't panic. We'll figure this out."

She didn't say anything, but at least her breathing steadied a little under my touch.

"Stay here," I said, letting go of her regretfully. "I'm getting Jerry."

He was already in the hallway when I burst out into it, doubtless because of the ruckus-and he raised an eyebrow as I seized his arm and dragged him inside.

"What now?" he exploded. "You can't seriously expect me to fix her whole life in one night, Ken—"

"She can't talk," I cut in tightly.

Jerry's face sobered and his eyes blinked. "Can't talk? What do you mean?"

"She's trying," I said, nodding towards her. "Nothing comes out."

Jerry crept closer to her now, all the lightness gone. "Okay, baby, let's see," he whispered as he scanned her in.

Her hands remained clasped tight over her throat, head jerking when he touched her. I had to force myself not to push him away as my wolf growled at anyone being near her.

A moment later, Jerry straightened, his face grim. "Her throat's swollen, probably from an impact during the fight. Could be why she can't speak. The vocal cords might be inflamed or even damaged."

"How long will it last?”

Jerry didn't answer directly. He looked sideways at me. "I don't know exactly. It may well mend of its own accord if you look after it. Or… He did not finish the sentence.

"Or what?"

“Or it may not.”

A blow from him, and upon her I swung. She sat there, clutching at her throat, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Then she looked up at me, and in that second, I saw it-anger, fear, and despair, all churning in those dark depths.

I knelt beside her, fighting off the tight feeling in my chest. "Listen to me," I said softly, trying to keep my tone calmed and in control while inside my heart was running a marathon. "You're going to be okay. You hear me? You're safe now, and we'll figure it out."

One single tear escaped and trickled down her cheek; she blinked at me. She just looked so frail, so lost.

Anger followed. She shook her head violently, pushing my hand away. Her mouth moved again in a mute incantation of words, but I had no idea what she was saying. She struck her chest and from the look on her face scrunched up in frustration, she pointed to her throat.

"Don't," I snapped, grabbing her wrists and pulling them away before she could do some real damage. "Don't do that."

She gasped sharply, and then she was still.

I saw it first in her eyes-the pain.

Her hands clawed at her throat; her face twisted into a gasp. A noise ripped from her, but it wasn't a scream. It was raw and guttural and broken, like a whisper ripped apart before it could form.

"Jerry!" I screamed, the panic rising high in my voice.

She hacked violently, her body shaking while the hands raked at her throat. Blood started to leak from the corner of her mouth, and my stomach twisted.

"Girl," I said softer now, laying my hands on her shoulders. "Stop. You're making it worse."

She didn't hear me. Fear overtook her, her gasps dissolving into ragged sobs, as she doubled over.

"Do something!" I snarled at Jerry, already crossing to her with a vial clutched in my hand.

"I need her calm first!" he returned.

I pulled her close to my chest, and she shook against me. "Breathe," I breathed in her hair, my voice shaking despite myself. "Just breathe."

Her hands clawed at my chest in an overwhelming panic, and I wrapped my arms around her tighter. "I've got you," I muttered. "You're not alone."

Slowly, she stopped fighting, breathing in uneven gasps. Jerry knelt beside us and began to apply a soothing salve to her throat.

She's exhausted," he whispered. "The wound itself isn't fatal, but the strain isn't helping. She needs to rest, Ken. And so do you."

I didn't say anything; every inch of my attention was for the broken girl in my arms.

Mine.

The word had come again, but different this time. Not possessive, but protecting-a pledge. She was mine, and I'd put this right.

I had to.