Page 8 of Mated
The Doc walks over; her red and gray hair is visible beneath her surgery cap. “The good news is she is stable. Bad news—she istoostable.”
Her eyes lock on me. Owing as she is one of the fox-kin, she can scent what I am better than even Ruin. As the only other shifter present, I’m the buffer between the team and her packless body. “We are transferring her to outpatient. If she continues to heal this fast, within hours she will be ready to be released.”
I scrub my face.
Fuck.
“Do you have any idea what species she is?” she asks.
I shake my head. “You know as much as we do, Doc.”
“With all the meds keeping her sedated, I can’t scent her breed and a blood panel is useless for the same reason,” the Doc mutters. She looks up, meeting my gaze head on. “Do you have proper holding materials? A cell? Due to the nature of her attack—”
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, fast.
Her brows raise. “I’m sorry, sir. But she was attacked.Bitten.” The way she says it is the way every pure-blood shifter does. Like it’s a fucking disease. “She cannot be trusted on her own during this month’s shift. I highly advise—”
“And again,” I let a trickle of my Alpha Command fill my voice, “that won’t be necessary.”
She blinks slowly, the motion languid. “Of course. So sorry, sir.”
I nod. “What room is she in?” It’s an effort to gulp down the beast now hovering just behind my eyes, but I force it back.
With a fucking sharp stick.
She points, her expression still dazed. I push past her and start toward the human woman’s room.
We may not be able to discern if she is dangerous by blood type or scent, but some good old-fashioned intel hasn’t let me down yet.
Chapter 4
Nisha
I come awake slowly, skin too hot and every limb aching.
Yeah. No more fighting shifters.
“Holy fuck,” I moan.
“If you feel like you looked earlier, I agree.”
My head whips over, and my jaw drops.
The guy is massive andfuck mehot. His dark, thick hair is shaven on the sides and left long on the top. Smoky silver eyes and full lips compliment a tan that can only be flawlessly natural. He leans against the glass window behind him, arms crossed over a lean, but muscular chest with one boot propped on the wall.
He practically exudes charisma and sex.
His tattooed biceps strain the obscenely tight cotton over his torso. Every dip and hollow of his thighs are visible in his poured on jeans. I sigh.
And the motherfucker has god’s-gift-to-women tattooed across his forehead like a neon sign.
“Where am I?” I ask.
He raises a brow and slides over a bit. The nurse at the desk behind him has her eyes locked to her computer monitor. I gulp.
Ah. Hospital.
“Okay. New question.” I look at him. “What the fuck happened?”
