Page 15 of The Broken Wolf's Redemption

He was fighting to stay conscious. He wasn’t one of those people who couldn’t feel pain. He just had a high tolerance for it. He didn’t hate it. Pain could be useful. Right now, he felt nothing. Not because—thank the fucking stars—he’d been paralyzed when the bike went skidding out from under him, dragging him for what seemed like miles before it came to a twisted stop, plastering half his skin and blood on the road in the process.

The state of shock was the only thing that was going to save him from his wolf popping out right here to try and protect him. He still had enough energy for the shift, but it was channeled into his natural human reaction. He was shaking hard enough, he knew what it was.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” the little old lady wailed. She was so distressed, it was hard for him to be mad at her. She was also adorably wrinkled.

That was probably the shock speaking. Why the hell couldn’t he feel his leg? He tried to look down and could see just enough as he raised his head, still in his helmet, that the woman was right. It didn’t look good, and it did appear to be twisted under the heavy frame.

“No ambulance,” he choked. “No.”

The last thing he heard before everything grayed out and faded to black was that high-pitched little old lady accent that seemed to come from all directions and very far away at the same time.

He had to stay conscious. He had to stay awake. If anyone got a hold of him, they could do anything to him, give him anything. If he wasn’t in full control of himself, there was no telling what his wolf would do. Giving some doctor or first responder the scare of their lives might be the least of his worries.

He tried to open his eyes, but there was nothing. Just heaviness, a low-grade burn, and then black.

***

Rome opened one heavy, grainy lid. As soon as his eye focused, he saw white and he knew he was in a hospital—at least it looked like a hospital, and not some fucking secret government laboratory. There was a list of things that shifters feared, and doctors were right the hell up there. The risk of discovery was greatest when given medications, when in pain, when being kept in a confined space. It was all a recipe for a complete and total loss of control over the wolf. Unless a person was too hurt to summon the energy to shift, the wolf was there, ready to take over, ready to shield and endure and protect.

His mouth was so dry. He still couldn’t feel much pain, and when he forced his eyes to focus on the back of his hand, he realized why.

There was an IV in there. It might just be giving saline, but at one time, they’d pumped something into him. Morphine? His head was definitely all wrong. Yeah, it was probably morphine. He had no idea how long he could last. He needed to get out of here before the hospital staff was dealing with an injured, frightened, angry wolf.

There were several machines around him, all beeping. He started detaching himself from the wires and clips and then pulled out the IV. He didn’t feel the pinch, so whatever they had him on had to be strong. It was a miracle he was even coherent enough to do that much.

He swung back the sheets and grimaced when he saw his legs. He was still in his clothing, but one pantleg had been cut away. The leg was bandaged, probably as a way to keep things clean and to staunch the bleeding until something else was done. Surgery? Setting it? Was it broken? How badly was it crushed?

He wanted to look for himself, but was afraid that alone could tear the wolf out of his skin. He was already on the edge, his teeth grinding together with every movement he made. The bandage could stay. It would hide the injury from him, but it might also make it appear that he was free to go.

He made it down the hallway, hobbling awkwardly, his left arm also hardly any use at all to counterbalance himself. The fact he could even do this, proved that as awful as the leg injury looked, it mustn’t have been that bad. Unless his shifter body had kickstarted the healing process—another reason to get the fuck out of here ASAP. At the hallway’s juncture, he noticed a bank of elevators. They freaked him out, but it was a necessary evil. He could get down to the main floor and walk out the front doors far easier than tackling the stairs. He had no idea how high up he even was.

The fact that every step wasn’t agony only worried him more and more. His head wasn’t right. Was he even going in the right direction?

When he thrust himself into the elevator and tried to stab the L, the whole thing went blurry. The chrome pad suddenly looked like a silver scaled shark body, slithering up from the deep to claim him. He pulled back, cursing, but then reminded himself that sharks didn’t have scales. Did they? Whatever he was seeing was just a byproduct of the shit pumped into him. It also freaked him out because if he was seeing that kind of thing, who knew what else would be beyond his control in a short measure of time.

The elevator reached the main floor without any further incidents. No sharks and no other wild animals, including him. He held it together. Barely.

A young couple stepping on gave him a funny look and he knew just how badly he must appear.

He walked on anyway, trying to appear confident, even though he was dragging his leg and his arm hung uselessly and the room was spinning with renewed violence.

He spotted sunlight at the far end of the hall and went towards it. It wasn’t a light in the tunnel moment. It was the most welcome sight in the building. Doors that led outside. It didn’t matter what exit, it just mattered that he’d reached it.

Phone. Wallet.

His hand flew to the back of his pants, but both were gone.

He stumbled to the parking lot, spotted a middle-aged man in a suit, and ambled towards him. The guy had one of those soft looks, both in body and in spirit.

He didn’t draw back when Rome, dirty, bloody, beaten up, approached. “Do you need help getting into there?” The man already had an arm offered.

“No,” Rome panted. His breathing was getting rapid for no reason. Anxiety? Shove it down. He had to shove it way the hell down. Stay in control. Breathe. “No, thank you. I was in an accident. I can’t go in there because I lost my wallet and phone with my insurance information. I have an extra copy at home, but I need my wife to bring it. She doesn’t even know that I’m here. I was brought in unconscious and woke up without anything. Would you lend me your phone to make a quick call?”

“Of course. I’m sorry, man, that’s rotten luck.” The guy gave him a once over. He had a receding hairline and a bit of a paunch. His suit was exceptionally cheaply made. Was brown ever a color that anyone found pleasing?

He passed over a phone and Rome could have wept. It was a lifeline. Thank fuck for the kindness of strangers. Though given the messed-up state he was in, he could be outrun by a toddler right now, so Mr. Cheap Suit probably thought he was safe from having his phone stolen. If he could get someone to come immediately, he could get into the car, and they could take him somewhere. Let him get that shit out of his system. He’d be safe. He’d heal on his own, eventually. Maybe he could even find a healer here, a shifter healer who could set him right to ensure that the bones didn’t knit together incorrectly.

Who?

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