He’s got the phone in his teeth, and he turns toward the opening of the alley in a second.
Change of plans, he tells the wolf, before they’re loping out of the alley and onto the sidewalk.
Like a divine message, there’s an ambulance sitting at the light, and it has the Were World Health Symbol embedded in its truck number on the side.
Someone was looking out for him, or he would have no idea where to find the Were Community Hospital in Clearwater—because it’s not exactly like he could ask for directions.
He moves to the light, sitting beside a woman whose tiny Chihuahua is peeking out of her shoulder bag. He stares it down, baring a single long fang, and the little dog turns tail back into the bag.
Tsuki would be proud.
The woman doesn’t notice him, though, and when the light changes, he follows her across the street to sit near where the EMT is just closing the back doors.
When the ambulance takes off, there are no lights or sirens, and it does so at a decently sedate pace. Rowan breaks into a jog.
A racing wolf would soon garner more notice than Rowan would be comfortable with, so he’s happy for the slower pace. It’s easy to keep up at first, but as the roads clear, the vehicle speeds up, and it’s not long before it disappears ahead of him.
As luck would have it, there are now blue hospital signs high on the posts, and if he can just keep under the radar of animal control or the stray Instagrammer interested in the hundred-and-seventy-five-pound wild animal on the streets of the city, he should be good until he gets to the hospital.
The closer he gets to his destination, Rowan seems to catch more and more attention—some children point, and more than a few car horns honk. He clenches the phone between his teeth, careful not to break it, and hopes any drool won’t fry the electronics.
He spares a thought for how he got here again—just a fleeting one—and it feels right in a way that nothing has for a long time.
As right as it had been when he’d spotted LRH backstage at that small Nashville concert and had known that these were his mates—known that these men were going to be his for as long as he had breath, and probably beyond.
Taking the circuitous route to his destination means the ambulance has long ago unloaded its cargo in the open garage bay by the time Rowan arrives. He stops dead in front of the front doors, realizing suddenly that as perfect as being a wolf—beingthewolf—feels, the hospital security is not going to just let a giant wolf waltz in the front doors and politely point the way to his injured alpha.
Come on, shift back; we have to get inside.
The wolf helpfully flashes him a vision of his naked ass and other dangling bits on display if he does change them back, and Rowan groans. That’s not good either.
WWGD—What would Gideon do?
He spots a young woman sitting on a bench inside the bus shelter; she’s pretending to read a book with a werewolf on the front under a full moon. She’s staring distractedly into space, but her eyes catch on him, and her mouth drops open a bit while she blinks, blinks, and blinks, as if she can’t believe her eyes.
Maybe she would help him?
Moving toward her, she startles, and a look of fear crosses her face. That’s not what they want at all.
Rowan drops to his belly and crawls toward her, shucking his dignity for the chance that she would call Finn back and, hopefully, be his ticket to getting inside.
“Whoa, there. You are a big fucking dog. Thought for a moment I’d lost my grip on reality…okay, Winnie-girl…touch some grass,” she mutters to herself.
He cries pitifully and rolls over on his back to show her that he’s no threat, with his belly exposed. It rankles the wolf a little, but when she coos and puts her bag and book down on the bench to approach him, he gives another pitiful whimper to show her he needs help.
“Oh, you’re just a big baby. Where’s your person? Why are you out here all by yourself?”
She approaches slowly, and Rowan is so careful to stay perfectly still until she’s finally close enough to put her hand in front of his face.
He’s not sure what she wants until it kicks in that she’s waiting for him to smell her like dogs do…even though he can already smell her gentle lemon-fresh scent from ten feet away.
So he sniffs her and gives her hand a tiny lick for good measure, as a show of goodwill. Her giggle is high and light, her joy transforming her sad brown eyes and giving them a mischievous glint.
“You really are a big baby. Okay. What to do with you? You’re not wearing a collar?” she asks.
Not here–or at least, not right now.
That’s something he’s not going to think about with his doggy dick exposed and the situation urgent.
