Owen got on the radio while I did a mental inventory. Cardiac event, elderly patient, high stress situation from the storm evacuation. Classic presentation. We’d need the defibrillator prepped, oxygen ready, IV access established immediately.
The exhaustion I’d been fighting for the past twelve hours sharpened into focus. This was what I was good at. Not thejokes, not the flirting, not the performance I put on to keep people from seeing too much. This. Saving lives when seconds mattered.
Beau appeared in the doorway to the equipment bay. “You good?”
“Always.” I checked my watch. “Storm’s mostly clear, roads should be passable. How’s Sable?”
Something flickered in his expression. “She’s getting ready to leave. She hasn’t slept yet.”
“None of us have.” I shouldered my bag. “Keep an eye on her. Her suppressants are failing.”
“I know.”
Of course he knew. We all knew. Every alpha in a hundred-yard radius knew, because Sable’s scent had been getting stronger all night. Cedar smoke and autumn rain and something underneath that made my scent-sensitivity go haywire. I could feel her exhaustion like it was my own, could read the stress and determination and stubborn refusal to acknowledge that her biology was fighting her.
Being scent-sensitive was exhausting on a good day. During a crisis, with seventy alphas in close quarters and one omega whose suppressants were failing, it was like being underwater with weights tied to my ankles.
But I couldn’t think about that now. I had a patient who needed me.
“Six minutes,” I told Beau, and headed for the ambulance.
The drive to Riverside Shelter was slower than I wanted, debris still scattered across roads, but we made it in seven minutes. Not bad, considering.
The shelter was chaos in the controlled way that happens when disaster response is working but stretched thin. Red Cross volunteers managing supplies, families clustered on cots, children crying from exhaustion and disruption. I spottedmy patient immediately, an older alpha sitting upright and clutching his chest while a volunteer tried to keep him calm.
I dropped my bag beside him and went into assessment mode.
“Sir, I’m Silas Vance, paramedic. I’m going to take care of you. Can you tell me your name?”
“Robert. Robert Thompson.” His voice was strained, breathing shallow. “My chest hurts. Feels like someone’s sitting on it.”
Classic. Textbook MI presentation.
“Okay, Robert. I need you to stay as calm as possible. We’re going to get you sorted out.” I pulled out my stethoscope while Owen set up the portable monitor. “Anyone with you? Family?”
“Wife. She’s over there.” He gestured vaguely. “Don’t tell her it’s bad. She worries.”
“I’m going to be honest with you, Robert. Your symptoms suggest you might be having a heart attack. We need to move fast, but we know what we’re doing. You’re in good hands.”
His scent spiked with fear, and I felt it like a physical blow. Terror and pain and the desperate hope that I could fix this. My scent-sensitivity meant I knew exactly how scared he was, could read every emotion coming off him in waves.
I shoved it down and focused.
“Owen, get me a twelve-lead. Robert, I’m going to put some stickers on your chest. Might be a little cold.”
I worked quickly, hands steady despite the exhaustion. Placed the electrodes, watched the monitor light up with readings that confirmed what I already knew. ST elevation in leads two, three, and AVF. Inferior wall MI. He needed transport yesterday.
“Robert, I need to start an IV. Small pinch.” I slid the catheter in smoothly, years of practice making it second nature. “You’re doing great. Just keep breathing for me.”
I could feel Owen watching me, probably noticing that all my usual chatter was gone. I didn’t crack jokes during real emergencies. Couldn’t afford the distraction. People thought Iwas shallow because I flirted and made everything seem easy, but when it mattered, I was all business.
This mattered.
“Oxygen on, aspirin administered, nitro under the tongue,” I said, working through protocols with mechanical precision. “Owen, call ahead to County General. STEMI alert. We’re loading and going in two minutes.”
Robert’s wife appeared, an omega in her sixties with fear written across her face. I felt her panic before she even spoke, the scent of distress making my sensitivity flare.
“Is he going to be okay?”
