CHAPTER 4

My right side is suddenly stabbed by a scorching pain. I gasp and open my eyes. A rough bed, white walls, and white linens. Those are the first things I take notice of.

The same doctor with red hair and chocolate eyes is hunched over me.

He looks down at me expressionlessly for a few seconds before removing his hand from my ribcage and backing away. The question "Still tender?"

I am silent throughout.

My name is Dr. Trevor.

When I quickly glance at the door, it is shut. I'm no longer trapped by the sheet that was holding me to the bed because it has been ripped back. Only the needle in the back of my hand would be a problem, and then I could get away.

They've left. No need to worry about police presence till you feel better.

It is later than it was earlier, as evidenced by the weak light that formed dark shadows around him. If the cop smelt like hotdogs and onions, it must have been the morning or perhaps noon. Which implies that I must have dozed off or passed off.

My cracked, dry lips are licked. the question "What time is it?"

"Six. Time for dinner. At the desk next to my bed, he nods. I quickly scan it. A platter with a dome wrapped in white plastic is dripping with something savoury and luscious.

I want a name, please. He grabs a silver clipboard and waves it at me from under my bed. He continues with a teasing smile curving his lips, "I won't use it if you don't want, but it can become a bit confused because we've got three Jane Does at the hospital this weekend.

I hardly even understand his humour.

Even if my stomach feels like it is only now waking up, I don't have time to eat. It wouldn't be my first priority even if I was starving.

I'm alive when I should be dead, so if I want to stay that way, I'll need to act quickly. And if Darius isn't already here, he certainly will be shortly.

The medical professional croaks. You're a miracle, I say.

I give him a quick glance before turning my focus to the ceiling.

I'll stand out in my blue hospital gown as I try to flee, but maybe I can slip into the staff changing room or borrow another patient's clothes since I doubt my dress and heels made it through the collision. I won't even bother changing my clothing if I have to.

"Not many people would survive a car accident like the one you did with so little damage," He pauses for a moment as though waiting for a reply before moving on. You were extricated from the water by the fire department. It appears that you may have been thrown from the automobile before it reached the water based on the damaged window and your free floating position.

My entire body hurts, but not in the manner I would imagine it hurting if my car crashed into a river with me inside or outside of it. The tube in the back of my hand, which leads to a bag partially filled with a transparent liquid, catches my attention. Morphine. perhaps a different medicine.

Despite my desire to remain silent until the doctor leaves, I must learn the full nature of my injuries and how long I have been in this location.

What other wounds exist? My voice is hoarse as I inquire.

"You cut your head pretty badly," I said. I turn to look at him.

His right temple is touched by raising his hand. "Necessary sutures. Eight altogether. There were several minor cuts on your torso and face, but none were deep enough to require stitches. Most likely from the shattered glass. He places his hand on his right shoulder. "Shoulder dislocation. damaged ribs. broken wrist. one on the left. But it's getting better. bruises that have largely disappeared.

That sounds reasonable. , "And my legs?"

He makes a head motion. "No one was hurt there."

Good. This means that I can run because nothing is stopping me.

"And a headache. He inquires, "How is your vision?

His white coat's front-tucked miniature torch and the stethoscope dangling from his neck catch my attention. He should have checked those items himself, not just asked me, surely. Is he not?

It's alright.

"No dilated pupils, blurriness, or"

"No. Absolutely nothing."

"In that case, you're luckier than I initially believed. Not everyone bounces back from a concussion that bad. particularly during a week.

I remain completely still. "A week?"

My heart is racing so quickly that I groan when it causes a new, severe pain in my ribs.

He bows. "A week. How long have you been unconscious?

I turn back to look at the ceiling as my anxiety grows. It's not good. At all. It's already a marvel that Darius hasn't located me and hauled me back. He was fond of telling me back when I thought I could escape that a wolf needs more than a week to pursue prey.

the taxi driver, too. Darius stepped in front of the car and caused him to stop after he had just driven me two kilometers.

Faeces and blood.

I forcefully spit.

Maybe he wouldn't have put the chain and shackles beside his bed so he could always keep a close eye on me if I hadn't fled. Maybe he would have carried it out nonetheless.

The doctor goes on to say, "Your friend wasn't as fortunate, he—"

I cut in with, "He wasn't my friend," and my voice is icy.

Silence.

"Well, he didn't make it, whatever he was. He was trapped by the car in the riverbed and perished before anyone could rescue him.

A shifter might drown. No one knew.

From all I've seen Darius and the others do, you'd think they were indestructible enough to survive a stabbing, drowning, or club to the skull and emerge with only a headache. That is, until one of his group did something that caused Darius to rip their throats out. Never did anyone stand up from that.

While reading the Sunday papers in bed, I would often suffer papercuts, and in the winter, the cold would cause my lips to crack. Sometimes I'd have a bruise from stumbling my toe on the coffee table for the rest of the day, but Darius never did. His skin was flawless, scar-free, and unblemished.Always. He would tell me with a smirk that there were advantages to being born a shifter, and after he changed me, I would understand those advantages.

That, of course, never happened.

If Darius hadn't been converted like Felix and had been born a shifter, would he still be alive today? I'm not sure.

But Amanda, they're still guys, if only occasionally. Men all pass away.

The doctor's news is met with silence from me. What more can be said?

Do you want me to call somebody in particular? The problem was that we had no name.

"No." My eyes avert. "No one is there." Dad is there, but he won't care because I don't have any money to pay for alcohol.

Felix passed away.

Felix only enjoyed my suffering more than his pleasure. My blood would soak through his white linens no matter how loud I yelled or begged him to stop. The hurt just kept coming as long as he was having fun.

Or until I fell asleep, which didn't happen as frequently as I had planned.

Due to the lack of better members of Darius's pack, Felix wasn't the best, but he also wasn't the worst. I received food only from him. Not every time I went with him, but occasionally, he would untie me from the bed, seat me up, and serve me a meal of sliced steak, eggs, and fries.

He once even dropped a steak knife next to my hand. only time. He never gave me steak or anything else again after that.

After all he did to me, I shouldn't care that he's dead—that I killed him. If I didn't do what I was meant to with a smile and a groan, everything I had learnt the hard way would only hurt worse.

I despised each and every one of them. You couldn't tell by looking into my eyes, though. No one could have imagined that I was counting down the minutes until I could wash the stench of sex and stale sweat off my body in the shower despite my perfect smiles and convincing moans.

No shifter deserves my tears, therefore I will them not to fall as tears prickle in my eyes. Not one, not a single one of them.

Glad Felix has passed away. I only regret that I wasn't awake to witness it.

The doctor tells the patient, "I'll be back to check on you later. Try to rest."

He opens the door and I hear him firmly close it behind him as his footsteps move away from me.

My eyes start to open the second he walks away, and I force myself to sit down. My world becomes fuzzy with anguish, and before I can scream out in response to the piercing pain in my chest, I choke it back.

I remain motionless for a few seconds, focusing just on breathing through the discomfort as I wait for it to pass. When it does, I look to the side and notice a thin white remote that must operate the tiny black screen on the wall across from me. I grab it because a remote denotes a television, and a television denotes news about potential city events.

I find it hard to believe that news of a Porsche being driven off a bridge and into a river would not have been reported.

An old black-and-white film can be found on the first channel. An athletic contest comes next. Baseball. However, on the third try, I succeed. The nightly news.

Perfect.

I hold my breath as I wait for a picture of my face to appear on TV along with my name and the hospital the paramedics took me to, my palm clamped tightly around the remote.

"In related news. The Lancaster Bridge incident that left one person dead last Friday night is still being investigated by the police. Back to..."

The remainder of the female reporter's comments are lost on me.

Is that it? All you have to say is that?

As I wait for additional information regarding the crash, I relax my grip on the remote control. However, nothing exists. Just muggings, break-ins, and other typical awful things that occur in big cities, followed by the weather, and it's over. So, in case I missed a more in-depth report while I was out cold, I click to the next station, then the next.

After an hour, all that is reported on any channel or in any news report is a horrific fatal vehicle crash on the bridge. Not even how many people died is mentioned.

Is that the reason Darius hasn't yet found me? Does he believe I'm dead?

I fear and drop the control when the door flies open. It clatters to the ground after bouncing off my bed. A nurse in her thirties with a wide face, dark hair pushed back tightly from her face, and tired eyes enters the room. "Waking up now?"

I nod.

She looks down at the platter next to my bed. "You haven't eaten anything," I said.

The statement "I'm not hungry."

I raise a hand and make a gesture towards my ribs when she purses her lips. "My ribs ache, so..." I let my voice lapse so she might fill in the blanks with her own ideas.

Her mouth and eyes are no longer constricted, and compassion fills her eyes. Oh, having shattered ribs is not fun. I'll put a note in your file about this, and then we'll see if the doctor can increase your painkiller dosage so you can eat. As it stands, you are merely skin and bones.

Two daily peanut butter and jelly sandwiches will accomplish that.

I nod. If it's okay, I'd just like to get some sleep. Possibly tomorrow it won't ache as much, allowing me to eat.

She crosses over to me and smiles since I'm showing that I'm not a difficult patient at a time when her shift is probably coming to an end. She picks up the remote control off the floor, switches the TV off, and puts it back on the side table. She tucks the covers so tightly around me with merciless efficiency that I don't have a chance of doing so without causing further harm to my already-bruised ribs.

After finishing that, she takes the tray and moves towards the door.

I can only begin to unwind as I look up at the ceiling after she has left.

They believe I am dead.

I took a long, sigh of relief.

A shifter has one partner, Darius once told me. only one.Ever. There is no way to reject the bond or leave. No shifter will ever relinquish what is theirs. And certainly not an aggressive alpha who would bind me to the wall of his bedroom to prevent me from fleeing.

That tie can only be severed via death. Can Darius's wolf tell? Or is he going to see the news, think what I just thought, and cuddle up and die with his possessive wolf side?

I have no idea, but a girl may dream.