Page 122 of The Alpha King's Curse: Part One

Jackson was larger than life. When he was angry with her, when he made love to her, when he looked at her, he always evoked such extreme emotions in her. Now he looked harmless. He looked so vulnerable that she felt a hint of protectiveness towards him. It was funny how her fear of Jackson had disappeared now that he was so helpless. The need to stay by his side to take care of him was as strong as it was confusing.

And she felt driven to touch him constantly as if she was trying to reassure herself that he was still alive.

She shouldn’t have felt any of those things, especially now that she knew what he was.

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” she whispered, pushing a lock of his sweat-drenched hair out of his face.

A doctor stopped by every few hours to check on him while Diedre had given him several shots of something similar to what she had been given on her first night. The woman looked very upset after every shot but wasn’t telling her much. Faith had been in every hour, too, with the ice packs to put around his body. None of it was helping.

From their reaction, it was evident that werewolves didn’t get sick. They didn’t seem like they knew what they were doing!

She’d had to constantly change the sheets because his fever wasn’t breaking so they were getting drenched quickly. The doctor had said his temperature wasn’t too much of a worry, but she knew they should have taken him to a hospital. His fever had been too high for too long.

She looked up from Jackson to Dylan, who had decided to fix the door. The first night there had been a constant flow of traffic into the room that no one had bothered with it. Dylan had been working quietly for a while, but she had constantly felt his scrutiny as she had sponged Jackson down repeatedly. Maybe he wanted to make sure she wasn't killing him while he was unconscious.

“I think we should take him to the hospital,” she repeated for the hundredth time. “He still looks infected, and he still has a fever.”

Dylan rolled his eyes before he hammered another nail into the frame he was replacing around the doorway. How many nails did the damn door need? Jackson was more important; surely he could see that? She was so exhausted from staying up with him that she was starting to see double, but she couldn’t close her eyes for fear that Jackson would start getting worse. Something inside her just wouldn’t let her rest.

She'd put that down to the fact that he was the only one in the packhouse she could trust to protect her. Dylan had already stated his desire to kill her, and the others were not addressing her at all when they came to check on Jackson.

“Jax is too stubborn to die,” Dylan said. “We’ll wait it out.”

“He could start having seizures! The fever could damage his brain! If that doctor doesn’t think anything can be done, then let's take him somewhere else.”

“The doctor said you’re doing a good enough job,” Dylan shrugged. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

She felt like arguing her point again, but Dylan was an asshole. Her head was a lot clearer now, but she could still hear his words after the attack ringing through her head. He’d been victim-shaming her. He’d blamed her for almost getting raped. If that didn’t confirm that he was a dick and not worth her time, then she didn’t know what did.

She rolled her eyes at him and returned her attention to Jackson. The cloth on his forehead was already steaming, and sweat poured down his body. She removed it from his forehead. Faith was bringing more ice packs, but she had to sponge him down again while she waited.

When she'd filled a washing bowl with fresh water, she took it back only to find Dylan standing over Jackson with a worried frown on his face. He moved the moment she settled back beside him. He appeared to be a typical man’s man—he had been hiding his emotions the whole time. It was a little surprising. She’d assumed he had no feelings at all.

She started to sponge Jackson down as diligently as she had all the other times. Though she exposed most of his body, there were no sexual thoughts as she tried to cool him down. By the time she finished, his dressing was soaked. The doctor had left her several sterile kits so she could dress the wound when necessary.

Over the years, she’d had to play the nurse in her house several times when Brit got sick or her father came home drunk and cut up. She had been lucky that she never even caught so much as a cold, so it had always been down to her to take care of everyone. She could clean a wound and dress it in her sleep.

When she carefully peeled the dressing off, she reeled back on the bed.

Worse. So much worse. The teeth marks were discoloured and weeping, while the area inside the wound looked like it was being eaten from the inside.

Why was it getting worse?

Panic settled over her. If someone didn’t do something now, he was going to die. And just that thought made her feel nauseous.

"Go and get Diedre."

She hadn't noticed that Dylan came back to stand beside the bed. He couldn't hide the worry on his face this time.

She got off the bed and rushed out of the room barefoot. There were two men on either side of the entrance when she got downstairs as if they were guarding the door, but for the first time since she arrived, she wasn’t thinking of escaping.

She rushed down the hallway towards Diedre’s infirmary.

“Diedre!” she called out.

The woman came out of the room and took one look at her before the same panic she felt reflected on her face. Diedre popped back into her office and grabbed a bag.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” she said as they started to head back.

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