You're a werewolf?

CHAPTER ONE  

ALEXIS'S POV  

“Get him on the table now! Move!”  

I heard multiple voices shouting from the doors of the small emergency clinic. 

Just then the doors flung open and two men half-dragged, half-carried an unconscious body between them, trailing blood across the floor.  

“Doctor Wayne!” one of the nurses yelled. “We need you!”  

I was already moving. “What happened?”  

“We found him near the industrial area,” one of the men panted. “He was barely breathing when we did. But we didn’t know where else to take him.”  

I looked at the patient and my stomach tightened. The injuries on his body were brutal. There were deep gashes across his chest and side, one of his arms had twisted at an unnatural angle, and blood had already begun soaking through what was left of his shirt.  

Dr. Harris, the senior on duty, took one look and stepped back. “Jesus Christ. This is beyond us, call for transfer immediately!”  

“There’s no time,” I said, already pulling on surgical gloves. “He’s crashing.”  

“Alexis, look at him—”  

“I am looking.” I pushed past him and started cutting the ruined shirt away. “Get me IV access, two lines. And put some pressure on that chest wound. Now!”  

The room erupted into hurried movement, monitors were quickly hooked up to him and someone called out numbers that made everyone go quiet for a second.  

His blood pressure was crashing and his heart rate was irregular.  

I worked quickly, packing the worst of the wounds, and barking orders when the others hesitated. 

The bleeding should have been worse, far worse. Yet every time I pressed gauze against one of the deeper cuts, the flow slowed faster than it should have.  

“That doesn’t make sense,” I muttered under my breath.  

Then the monitor beeped loudly and his heart rate took a nosedive.  

“V-fib!” someone shouted.  

“Defibrillator!” I snapped. “Clear!”  

We placed the shock machine on his chest and hit it, the shock went through him. Yet nothing.  

“Again!”  

Still nothing.  

I climbed onto the table without thinking and started compressions, counting under my breath, refusing to look at the flat line on the screen.  

“Come on,” I hissed. “You’re not dying in my clinic.”  

Another shock was initiated. And I did more compressions. My arms were hurting and sweat ran down my back.  

Then there was a weak beep, and another. And finally his heart returned back into a rhythm.  

But I didn’t stop until the numbers stabilized enough for me to be calm.  

“Get him fluids and keep pressure on those wounds,” I ordered, climbing down. 

My hands were shaking, but I forced them still. “And someone clean this floor before we all slip.”  

For the next twenty minutes I stayed right there, checking every injury, every response. 

The more I looked, the less any of it made sense. The deeper gashes were already starting to close at the edges. They were not fully closing, but they were closing slowly in a way that no normal human body should have been doing it.  

I drew blood and sent it for immediate analysis. When the results came back, I stared at the paper for a long moment.  

Nothing about this man’s blood was normal.  

I was still reading when his eyes flew open.  

He sat up so fast the monitor leads tore free. One hand shot out and grabbed my wrist.  

“Where am I?” He asked in a commanding voice. “Who brought me here?”  

I didn’t pull away. “You’re in a clinic. And if you keep gripping me like that, you’re going to reopen everything I just closed.”  

His eyes narrowed at me, assessing me from head to toe.  

“Release me,” I said evenly.  

He held on a second longer, then let go. “You’re the one who treated me.”  

“I am. And you’re welcome.”  

He looked down at his chest, then back at me. “How long have I been here?”  

“Long enough that you almost died twice, so lie back down.”  

“I don’t take orders from—”  

“You do right now,” I cut in. “Because if you keep moving too much, you’ll undo everything as I just said. So sit still.”  

An expression that was either surprise or irritation flashed across his face. But he stayed seated, still staring at me intensely.

I reached for the largest wound again to check the packing. But the moment I lifted the gauze, I froze.  

The cut that had been open and bleeding less than an hour ago was almost closed. Only a thin red line remained.  

I looked up at him slowly.  “What are you?”  

He didn’t answer right away.  

“I asked you a question.”  

His gaze locked on mine. “You’re not afraid.”  

“I’m a doctor. Fear doesn’t stop this sort of bleeding. Answer me.”  

He was quiet for another beat, then finally spoke. “I’m a werewolf.”  

I pulled my hand away quickly in surprise.

I had heard the stories, I mean everyone had. But hearing it from a man whose blood refused to follow human rules was different.  

“I was attacked while crossing through human territory,” he continued. “They left me for dead. If anyone finds out I was treated here, both of us will have problems.”  

I studied him closely. The arrogance was still there, but under it was precision and pain he was trying to hide.  

“Your healing rate is abnormal even for what I’ve read about your kind,” I said. “Your blood composition is completely off human baselines. Do your kind always recover this fast from trauma like this?”  

He stared at me. “You’re asking medical questions.”  

“I’m a doctor. That’s what we do.”  

“Most humans would be running by now.”  

“I’m not most humans.” I checked his pulse again, more out of habit than need. “Your heart rate is still irregular. Whatever attacked you did more internal damage than the outside shows. You need rest and monitoring.”  

“I can’t stay.”  

“You almost died on this table. You’re not walking out of here yet.”  

He swung his legs over the side of the bed anyway. “I’ve already overstayed my welcome here.”  

I stepped in front of him. “Sit down.”  

His eyes narrowed. “You’re ordering an Alpha.”  

“I don't care what position you hold. I’m ordering a patient who will collapse the second he tries to stand up. There’s a difference, so sit down.”  

For a moment neither of us said a word. Then an expression of reluctant respect crossed his face.  

“You should forget you ever met me,” he said. “For your own safety.”  

“I don’t forget patients who nearly die under my hands.”  

He opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of boots and shouting cut through the clinic.  

“Search every room! He’s here somewhere!”  

There were multiple voices, along with the sound of cocking guns, all moving quickly.   

The man’s entire body went rigid.  

I didn’t think twice. I grabbed his arm, ignored the warning look he gave me, and pulled him toward the supply closet at the back of the emergency bay.  

“In,” I whispered. “Now.”  

He hesitated only a second before stepping inside. I shut the door just as the first of the men stormed into the room.