You pull an IV from your hand, yank the ECG off your finger, and lurch out of bed.
beeeeeeeeeeeeee
"Sir! Please sit down. You're not well."
"Doctor!" A small platoon of nurses appear in the doorway. "Is everything okay?"
"Yes. Please. Give us space."
You ignore them and stagger forward. You're dizzy, sore, and sick. But that doesn't matter because —- as you step away from the reek of chemicals clinging to the bedsheets —- you smell him.
Sergi. He's close. Very close.
The emergency response team leaves as you look around.
You're in a ward. A sea of lime green curtains. You yank the closest one back revealing an empty bed. Undeterred, you limp to the next curtain.
"Sir!"
You pull it back. Another empty bed. Behind the next curtain is another, and then another again. You suck in a deep breath and turn to the other side of the room. This time, you let your nose guide you to the correct curtain.
Sure enough, when you pull it back, you find him.
Next
Sergi.
For a few seconds, all you can do is stare. The right side of his face is a mess of gauze and blood, his neck is in a brace, and his shoulders and chest are covered in an obscene amount of bandages.
His left arm is lying on the bed sheets. Battered, bruised, but otherwise okay. His right is gone.
"Oh fuck."
The man with grey eyes is at your side, watching you uncertainly. "Are you okay? I really think you should go back to bed."
"Is he okay?" you manage.
"He's still breathing. Whatever sliced off his arm must have been hot, because the flesh is burnt. That's lucky. It stopped him bleeding out. You also have a similar burn on your back. Were you in a car accident?"
"His face," you push.
"Yes. The head wound is trickier. He lost the eye and may have brain damage. We won't know until he wakes."
You lean against the foot of Sergi's bed and breathe.
In your mind's eye you see the bridge, the blood... and Blackwell. He'd looked so calm as he stood in the whipping wind, observing as his minions attacked the Alpha's van...
The Alpha...
That undead piece of shit killed the Alpha. He attacked you, he crippled Sergi, and the kids...
"Take the acquisitions to Thank Q."
He took the kids. That undead piece of shit took the kids.
The rage is bubbling behind your ribs. Your nails are curling into claws. Your teeth are heavy and crude in your mouth.
You're going to kill him. You're going to rip his head off and smash it to pieces. You're going to piss on his fucking grave.
KILLKILLKILLKILLKILLKILL
Next
It's the first time you've howled since you woke up, and the response is immediate.
Gideon Mercer!
where?where?where?where?
thankgodthankgodthankgod
showusshowushowusshowus
It's your pack, and a few voices you don't recognise. The other pack. They're scattered across the city, working together, searching. Now that you're listening, you hear their howls like a constant low murmur, almost lost beneath the urgent, angry demands of the moon.
killkillkillkillkill
You take a few deep breaths, control your anger, and compose a more complex howl. You show them where you are, you show them the ugly, overlapping scents of the hospital, and the eyes of humans watching you. You also show Sergi. Breathing. Alive.
You don't howl about his injuries. You don't even know how to begin to communicate that.
They'll see soon enough.
In return, you're given dozens of images of wolves around the city turning towards you.
we'recomingwe'recomingwe'recoming
The doctor is looking at you differently now, a small pleat between his brows. The nurse is still glaring at you, holding a notepad like a shield.
You don't care. You slump down in a small chair beside Sergi's bed and focus on your breathing.
You feel...