Page 4 of Princess Redeemed
“Oh, my God,” I say out loud.“It’s all so simple.I didn’t cut out those hearts because I’mnotRogan’s mate.I never was.”
And my father…
Heknew.
He knew the whole time.So why did he entertain the idea that Rogan may be right?
I scoff.Of course.Because he had to keepmebelieving we were mates.
It’s so clear now.I left the bunker and went to find my father, but Rogan didn’t follow me.
He didn’t follow me because my pheromones had worn off.
But they’re in fucking full force now.
I touch my abdomen.
If anything my father injected me with brings harm to this baby, I’ll commit regicide in a minute flat.Maybe they’ll call me a king slayer.
I draw in a breath.
They’re only hormones.Pheromones.Right?Substances that are similar to what my body makes on its own.
I need an ultrasound.I need to see that my baby’s okay.
But I’m not going back to that ER.Not where the mind-controlled nurse works—the one who injected me with this shit.And Jennifer, the demon phlebotomist who can read minds and claims that demons simply want to peacefully coexist.
Man, has she been separated from her people for too long.
Demons don’t want to coexist peacefully, at least not while my stepfather is in charge.He’s evil personified, and he’s not happy unless he’s making everyone around him miserable.I should know.He made me miserable from the moment he married my mother.
I grab my duffel and head out, flagging down a cab and heading to my place of employment—Ridgeview Hospital—where I’m currently on an extended leave of absence from my job as a physician’s assistant in the ER.Night shift, of course.Daylight has arrived now, which means my supervisor, Margot the Bitch, won’t be there.Good thing.I can’t stomach a run-in with her right now.
What I need is blood.It’s been a while since I last fed.Rogan’s alpha wolf blood, and damn, it’s the most potent elixir around.Dark chocolate and lusty red wine with a berry finish—there’s nothing like it.
A heavy sigh escapes my throat.How can I live without his blood?It’s become as necessary to me as air.A visit to my hospital’s blood bank sounds like dog chow when you’re craving pizza.
But it will have to do.I’m drinking for two now, and I need to stay strong.
“Thanks.”I throw some bills at the cabbie and drag my duffel bag through the main entrance of the hospital.
The bag is too large to fit in my locker, so I stash it in a supply closet, grab my hospital ID, and head to the blood bank.
The corridors are bustling.Not what I’m used to on the night shift, but I’ll use some mind control if I must to get the sustenance I need.The hospital stores whole blood in a refrigerated unit housed in the pathology department.The ER, where I work, has its own blood bank, but I can’t risk going there in the middle of the day.They’ll be way too busy.
I breeze through pathology, flashing my hospital ID, and the scent of blood leads me to the storage unit.I look around.No one seems to care that I’m there, so I slide my ID through the card reader, unlocking the door.
I touch the handle?—
“Excuse me, but what do you think you’re doing?”
3
I turn.
A blond woman in a lab coat eyes me.
Yeah, I probably should have worn something besides leather pants and a spandex tank.What was I thinking?Normally I wear scrubs to work.
