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Rachel
“This is great, Roger, thanks.”
“No problem.”
After retrieving the tablet boasting my patient’s labs, I head toward the lounge to grab what is now my fifth—or possibly sixth—cup of coffee since my shift started eleven hours ago. Nearly halfway through, and I’m already basically made of caffeine.
Though, that is definitely not a bad thing since I don’t see myself leaving anytime soon. Not if Bronywyn’s quick departure is any indication, anyway. I promised her that I would stand guard over him until she returns, so shift or not, I won’t be leaving this hospital until Detective Walker Alan—or as my records show, Matthew Ericson—leaves.
“Still here?” Nancy, the head night nurse comments as I enter the lounge. I set the tablet down and head straight for the freshly brewed—thank you, Nancy—coffee steaming in the pot.
“I am. Another twelve hours, at least. Possibly longer.”
She quickly piles her dark hair back on top of her head then crosses her arms. “Possibly longer?” Eyebrow arches, she studies me in the exact same way my mother does whenever I explain to her why I have yet to settle down and marry. Apparently, as an only child, it’s my job to give her grandkids.
Which I want to do…someday.
I finish pouring the coffee then turn toward her and roll my neck.Damn, I need a massage.“I have a patient that came in; trying to make sure he’s out of the weeds before I head home.”
Nancy chuckles, softly. “I tell you, they just don’t make ‘em like you often enough. If you feel like grabbing some sleep, let me know, and I can keep an eye on your patient.”
“And this is why you’re my favorite.” I wink and retrieve the tablet.
“Rachel?”
I turn back toward her. “Huh?”
She raises my mug of coffee. “Forgetting something?”
“And this is why you’re my favorite,” I repeat, as I retrieve my mug, leaving Nancy chuckling behind me.
As I walk, I scan Detective Allan’s lab results, searching for any kind of abnormality that would explain why the vampire blood didn’t work. Typically, it’s a cure-all for any kind of supernaturals. But for some reason, despite being a supernatural—a psychic at that—he’s the exception to the rule.
Interesting.I raise my coffee mug and take a sip, instantly regretting it the moment the heat sears my tongue. “Dammit, dammit, dammit,” I murmur as I push into his room. Who doesn’t love numb tongue? Especially in the middle of a twenty-four-hour shift?
I set the traitorous coffee mug down on his side table, plop down in the seat beside him, and continue scanning the information. “What is wrong with you?” I whisper to myself. I lean forward to retrieve my mug and cautiously take another sip—thankfully, this time, without singeing my taste buds—while I flip to the next screen.
Nothing in any of his labs jumps out at me as strictly abnormal. Which makes it even more strange that he has to be here, at all. We already know vampire blood doesn’t work on humans. Apparently, you need at least some level of magic in the blood for the power to work, but since this guy is a super, from a medical standpoint, he should already be back on his feet.
Shaking my head, I shut the tablet off and set it and my mug aside. “Why aren’t you better?”
He doesn’t answer. I lean forward to get a closer look at him. While I can’t make out much beneath the swelling and bruising, I know from my research that he’s a handsome man, though right now he looks nothing like any of the photos I found online. Whoever the hell did this managed to damn near kill him. And despite being a supernatural, he is lacking their healing abilities. Without them, it will be months before he’s fully back on his feet.
Pushing up, I move around his bed to check his vitals. I’m reaching down to check his IV line when a blood-chilling scream rips through the otherwise quiet evening. I reach back for the pistol tucked away in the back of my pants. The silver bullets loaded in the chamber were given to me by Bronywyn a few years ago, on the off chance I ran into anyone on the streets.
Though, since I’m technically not allowed to be armed within the hospital, I don’t pull it out—yet. Creeping toward the door, I take slow, steady steps until I reach the tiny sliver and peek out into the hall.
Four large men wearing all black and boasting massive silver daggers attached at their waists surround the nurses’ station. The largest one is holding Nancy by her throat as she grasps at his wrist. “Where is he?” he demands.
My hands tighten around the door as fear-driven adrenaline surges through my body. I reach into my pocket and fumble for my phone. The damn thing slips from my fingers and clatters to the ground.
Shit, shit, shit.I pick it up and clutch it to my chest before peeking back through the gap in the door to find all four men glancing down the hall.
“Where is who?” she cries out, pulling their attention back to her.
“Walker Alan.”
“I don’t, don’t know wh-wh-what you’re t-t-talking about,” she manages.
