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“He’ll pay,” Hunter growls, promising murder.
If I were less light-headed, I’d be a lot more worried about the guys surrounding me like I belong to them.
Knowing how soon that’ll change, I close my eyes and listen to the calming thump of Finn’s heart.
The thumping sound that lulled me to sleep bleeds into a beep. My face scrunches up as I’m pulled from a deep, deep dream.
“Lilah?” asks the honey-voiced prince.
I blink open heavy eyes to find Orion hovering over me, his golden hair glowing like a halo in the low light of a hospital room.
“What happened?” I start to sit, wincing when an IV wire pulls against my hand. I’m in a hospital gown instead of a ball gown, and I pray that nurses made the switch. I wriggle, lifting my blanket higher because it’s freaking weird wearing a paper towel in front of Orion.
“The bullet passed through your arm,” he says. “We called in the best plastic surgeon to stitch you up, so there won’t even be a scar. The doctors…”
“What?” My heart lurches. The way he pales, I expect to look down and find a stump. My arm barely stings.
Why is he acting like I died?
“You had a lot of old injuries.” Orion grips the bed rail until his knuckles whiten, looking anywhere but my eyes. “The doctors put you on a nutrient drip. They said you need it to heal. You already slept for twenty-four hours.”
I hate the idea of him—or any of the Wyverns—seeing my bruises and scars. And still, Orion hasn’t relaxed. He’s coiled. Tense in a way that has my heartbeat shuddering like a swamped engine.
“What else?” I ask.
“They said it could affect your hormones. Maybe bring on your heat.”
I suck in a breath.
No.
No, no, no.
“I sent the alphas away. You haven’t perfumed.”
“Why would you let them do that?” I’d rather be a shriveled husk, pitted, scarred, and weak than ever awaken.
“You saved me,” Orion’s voice catches.
“It was just a reflex.” I was facing the shooter. I saw him draw his weapon, pointed straight at Orion. There wasn’t time to think, but even if I had, I would’ve done the same.
“I owe you my life.”
“No.” I draw the blanket higher, wishing I could claw underneath and stay hidden in the dark forever. But the time to hide is over. I’m out. I’m exposed. And I have to start attacking. “We’re even. I’m the one who came into your pack.”
“Not because you wanted to,” he insists.
My mouth drops.
Orion’s defending me? “Did you hit your head?”
He laughs, high and sparkling. “The guys are outside. Are you okay if I call them in? They’ve been waiting to check on you.”
“If you’re okay with it.” Lifting the blanket over my nose, I give myself a sniff. All I smell is the plasticy, dry scent of hospital linens. No perfume, thank fuck.
When Orion hops up, I scan the room. With a couch near the big window and warm furnishings, the suite is nothing like TV, where someone slips into a coma and has to share their space with three psych patients and a team of neurotic doctors.
The accountant in me starts calculating how much it costs. The fresh flowers on my side table. The bag of IV fluid. Will the Wyverns ask me to pay it back? Or does it go on my OCC tab like all my other expenses?
