(Cole’s POV)It’s been several days since I woke from my three week coma. Dr. Moore keeps telling me to slow down, that I’m moving too fast for the injuries that I sustained. Despite the constant pain the many broken bones creates I’ve been refusing half my medication. It makes me tired and right now I simply want to leave. I’m struggling to understand why I have such a need to leave, to run from this place but it’s there. I can’t make sense of a lot of things right now. I have no memory of my past and the explanations that my brother and doctor are giving me are hesitant and don’t paint a full picture. I woke up to the two of them arguing yesterday. Andre kept asking why he couldn’t tell me what little he knew about what happened and Dr. Moore kept insisting that it was better for me to simply know the alias being given to me until I reached the safety of the Crimson Dawn pack. He feels that triggering my memory without the proper support in place would be devastating to my mental h

I stop at the bottom of the three steps that lead into the huge multi car garage, looking around briefly. I have to take several deep, slow breaths as containing my anger has made for a challenging day. I’m running late and I’m hoping that this rage room isn’t an appointment based thing. ‘Parker is driving, we’re in his Expedition. I’m in the back seat. You know how nervous I am with vehicles.’ He links with me. I start immediately to the end of the garage when I see the fourth bay door opening. He starts the car as I approach. I grab the handle on the back passenger side when I get there, cautious to ensure there’s enough room that I’m not going to hit Patrick’s truck sitting beside it. “When did you get this? It looks and even smells new.” “Dad bought it for me when I turned eighteen. I know it’s just a car but it means a lot to me so I keep it clean.” “I guess I know where to find you when I can’t find you.” I manage to chuckle as he starts pulling out of the garage. How he d

(Cole’s POV)I’ve been wandering the streets for several days and I’m sorely regretting my decision to run. My entire body aches in ways that I didn’t anticipate when I left the bottle of Vicodin in my hospital room. Dr. Moore never did explain the extent of my injuries, only that they were numerous and quite severe. Being on the street with little in the way of food and shelter has made my decision a living hell. My only saving grace is the mild weather of May. My movements are slow as I steadily work my way southwest. I have no understanding as to why I’m drawn in that direction but my instincts are my only guide. Just like in the hospital, my nightmares are a great source of anxiety. Each one waking me from my sleep, producing the adrenaline I need to get up and start walking again. I’ve been lucky enough that several people have taken pity on me and have given me small chunks of money, just enough to get a small sandwich when I pass by a fast food restaurant. Oddly, I seem to ha

After about an hour in the restaurant I’ve managed to eat enough to calm my churning stomach. Between my arm aching from my struggles to cut the meat and my head pounding, I managed to eat without triggering the nausea that I get afterwards. Everything gets packed into foam containers before Deven pays the bill, a process unfamiliar to me. We exit the restaurant and he points me in the direction he wishes to go. I can’t help but silently hope that we’re not walking to this hotel he claims he manages. “I feel like I might be taking a risk but, are you a werewolf?” Deven inquires with great hesitation. I can’t help but stop in my tracks. “You’re telling me they’re real?” He turns and watches me intently. “You’re serious?” He’s breathless with one eyebrow raised. I simply nod. “When I woke up in the hospital I was told that I was a werewolf. That my injuries would have killed me if I were human but I’ve been having a hard time believing it.” I try to explain simply what I was to

“This is the highest level of Vicodin that I carry outside the medical wing. I wasn’t certain if I had any 7.5s left. You lucked out that I have two. Hold out your left.” I stretch the arm out cautiously. The severely swollen joint doesn’t escape his gaze. He pours the two pills into my hand before starting on the bottle of water. I’m lost as to why it’s dripping wet until he places it into my right hand. I’m shocked to find that it’s cold, as if it’s been in the fridge but I know he doesn’t have one of those in the back. I toss the two pills into my mouth ignoring the voice that tells me that I have no idea if they are what he claims, chasing them down with the water. He picks another item up off the floor near my feet and quickly unstraps it. Holding it in front of me so I can examine it briefly. It’s long and black with three wide straps going across the top. It’s thickly padded inside with a piece of cloth that spans the top. “Slide your arm inside. I’ll help you with the stra