CHAPTER 3 — RESCUED BY STRANGERS

AVELIN POV

The clinic smelled of antiseptic and rain-soaked earth, and underneath both: blood. So much blood that three hours later, I could still taste copper on my tongue even though I'd scrubbed my hands raw.

I leaned against the cold tile wall, watching my father work. He moved with the efficiency of a man who spent twenty years in military field hospitals. His hands were steady as he cut away the stranger's blood-soaked tuxedo.

The man looked worse than I'd thought. One eye was swollen shut, a deep cut ran across his cheek, and bruises covered his jaw. Even unconscious, he seemed vulnerable and in pain, which made my Omega instincts wake up and take notice.

Something about him felt dangerous yet fragile. I should've been terrified. Father raised me to be careful, to protect myself, to never trust strangers, especially not bleeding Alpha strangers who appeared out of nowhere with stab wounds and no memory.

But when those steel-blue eyes had opened and locked onto mine with desperate recognition, like I was the only solid thing in his collapsing world? I'd felt needed. And I hadn't felt needed since Mother died.

"Avelin, I need you here. Now," Father said.

He guided my hands to press cloth against the stranger's abdomen. The blood felt warm and thick, soaking through the fabric almost instantly.

"Don't let up, no matter what."

I nodded, my throat tightening. The stranger's skin was cold under my palms, his breathing shallow and uneven.

Dr. Len burst through the door, white hair messy, gripping her old medical bag tightly. She was the village's only doctor, semi-retired but still sharp as a scalpel. Her eyes widened when she saw the patient.

"Oh God. What happened to him?"

"Stabbed, beaten, and possibly internal bleeding," Father answered. "We found him at the forest edge. No identification, no phone, no papers."

Dr. Len's expression remained flat as she examined the wounds. "This wasn't a random attack."

"No," Father agreed. "It wasn't."

They worked together in tense silence. I kept pressure on the abdomen wound, my arms starting to shake from the effort. The stranger's blood stained my hands, seeping under my fingernails, but I didn't dare let go.

After what felt like hours, they finally stepped back. The stranger looked more mummy than man, wrapped in bandages, hooked to an IV, the heart monitor beeping steadily.

Dr. Len stripped off her gloves and met Father's eyes. "These injuries were meant to be fatal. The fact that he survived is remarkable."

"A miracle, or he's tougher than whoever tried to kill him," Father said quietly.

I froze. Tried to kill him. The words made it real. Someone had done this deliberately.

"We should contact the police," Dr. Len suggested.

My chest tightened. What if the people who did this had connections? What if calling the police just told his attackers exactly where to find him?

"Not yet. The roads are washed out by the rain. No one's getting through until morning at the earliest." Father's voice dropped lower. "But I want you to keep this quiet. If someone tried this hard to kill him, they'll want to confirm he's dead. We don't advertise that we have him."

"What about your son?" Dr. Len glanced at me. "Avelin's already invested. I can see it on his face."

"I know." Father sighed. "But right now, saving this man's life is the priority. We'll deal with the rest when he wakes up."

If he wakes up, I thought, but didn't say.

Dr. Len packed up her equipment and checked the stranger's vitals one last time.

"I'll be back at dawn. Call me if his condition changes at all. And Enrie?"

She paused at the door.

"That watch on his wrist is worth more than I made in five years. Patek Philippe. Limited edition. I dated a jeweler once, she taught me to spot these things.

Dr. Len's voice dropped. “Men who wear watches like that don't end up stabbed in coastal villages by accident, Enrie. This is organized and professional. And if someone spent this much effort trying to kill him, they'll spend twice as much making sure he's dead."

When he wakes up, we need to be very careful about how we handle this."

Father's jaw tightened. "I know."

After she left, Father went to his office to file a report with the village chief, leaving the door cracked so he could hear if I called out.

I couldn't leave the chair by the bed. The stranger lay there breathing steadily, not strong, but holding on.

My eyes traced the curve of his jaw, the strong column of his throat, the way his dark lashes rested against his skin. Whoever he was, he'd been running from something terrible. Or someone.

The thought sent a chill through me.

I hadn't felt needed like this since Mother died.

She'd drowned saving a tourist's child from a riptide when I was twelve. Pulled the kid to shore, went back under, never came up. They gave her a posthumous bravery medal, my father a folded flag and me a lifetime of knowing that being needed could get you killed.

Father changed after that. Became more cautious, more protective. He taught me to assess risks, to think twice, to never rush in without a plan. "Your mother had the biggest heart in Cliffhaven," he'd say. "And it killed her."

And yet here I was, diving headfirst into danger for a stranger whose very presence put us all at risk.

Maybe I was more my mother's son than Father wanted to admit.

We should call the police, I thought. But what if they had people watching? Men who wore watches like that moved in circles I couldn't imagine, circles where violence and money and power mixed in dangerous ways.

I pressed my palms against my eyes. This was too much. I was twenty-two years old. I ran an inn with my father and helped tourists find hiking trails. I wasn't equipped to make life-and-death decisions about hiding attempted murder victims.

But you already made the choice, a voice whispered in my head. The moment you promised him safety.

I was just reaching to check his IV line when a car engine rumbled outside.

The sound was distant, probably just old Chen heading to the docks for his early catch. But the stranger reacted as if someone had struck him.

His heart rate jumped violently, triggering the monitor to beep frantically. He gripped the sheets until his knuckles turned white. His breathing turned ragged and panicked. Even unconscious, his muscles went rigid with tension.

"Hey," I jerked forward, placing my hand over his clenched fist. "You're okay."

His fingers uncurled from the sheets and reached for my palm. Held on with surprising strength, like I was an anchor in a storm. The heart monitor slowed its frantic pace. His breathing settled.

Father had taught me about Alpha-Omega bonds when I was sixteen. How true mates recognized each other on instinct. How a bond, once formed, could never truly break, the soul remembered even when the mind forgot.

I'd never believed him. I thought it was romantic nonsense. Village superstition dressed up as biology.

But when this stranger's fingers had closed around my wrist with desperate need, when he'd looked at me like I was the only solid thing in his collapsing world?

Something in my chest had clicked. Like a lock finding its key.

His head thrashed slightly on the pillow. He made a low sound, not pain but in fear.

Without thinking, I placed my other hand on his cheek. "Shhh. It's alright."

The change happened fast.

I stared down at our joined hands. The stranger's face relaxed, tension draining away. His thumb brushed my wrist, an unconscious movement, but it felt too intimate.

What happened to you out there? I thought. What are you so afraid of?

The car engine faded into the distance. He kept his grip as if he needed it to stay grounded.

I knew I should pull away. Maintain professional distance. But I couldn't.

Something about him called to me in a way I didn't understand. Like an invisible thread had tied itself between us the moment I'd found him bleeding in the rain.

"You're safe now," I whispered, squeezing gently. "Whoever hurt you, they won't find you here. I promise."

His breathing deepened, settling into the rhythm of genuine rest rather than unconscious escape.

Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. I lost track of time.

Then his eyes fluttered open.

It was brief, just a heartbeat of consciousness breaking through the sedation and pain. But in that fragile moment, his gaze found mine with startling clarity.

Those steel-blue eyes, clouded but aware, locked onto my face. Something shifted in their depths. Not precisely recognition, but knowing. Like his soul remembered, even if his mind couldn't.

I stopped breathing.

His lips parted. For a heartbeat, I thought he was trying to say something medical, water, pain or help. But what came out, rough and wandering and certain, was. You…

Not a question. A recognition. Like he'd been searching for me and finally, finally found me. My breath caught.

"I'm here," I whispered, leaning closer. My free hand moved instinctively to his face, fingers brushing his cheek. "You're safe."

He looked at me with a mix of confusion and relief that actually hurt to see. His grip tightened. His thumb pressed against my pulse, almost like he was trying to count my heartbeats.

"Don't..." His voice was barely a breath, rough and broken. "Don't leave."

Three words. That's all it took to undo me completely

"I won't," I promised. "I'm right here."

I saw something flicker across his face, gratitude, maybe, or something deeper. Then his eyes drifted closed again, consciousness slipping away like sand through fingers.

Even in his sleep, he didn't let go.

I stayed there, heart racing, still feeling the weight of his stare. The way he looked at me, like he knew me. Like he'd been looking for me this whole time.

Father's warning echoed: This man is dangerous. Not because of who he is, but because of what's following him.

But as I watched the stranger's chest rise and fall, our hands still joined, I knew it was already too late.

I was already in too deep.

And the terrifying part?

I didn't want to climb out.