Page 4 of Wolf Chosen

Then he smiles, and everything else fades into insignificance.

Fine lines fan out from the corners of his eyes, crinkling with warmth that reaches straight into my soul and squeezes. I press a hand to the spot, half-expecting to find the source of the strange heat, but there's nothing there. Just the wild cadence of my pulse thrumming beneath my fingertips.

“Hi Taylor, how are you feeling?” His voice is rich and deep, like aged whiskey rolling over my senses.

I frown, confusion furrowing my brow as I struggle to piece together the fragments of memory. “How... how do you know my name?”

There's a fleeting moment of surprise in those hazel depths before understanding smoothes the creases from his forehead. “I'm Doctor Liam Miller. I had to check your purse for medications since you were unconscious and I needed to know how to treat you,” he explains, that brilliant smile returning to sweep the air from my chest. “You're in my clinic.”

His clinic? But that can't be right... The last thing I remember is the quaint little diner, the scent of burgers and fries overwhelming my senses until everything went black.

As my gaze drifts around the room, realization begins to set in. This is no diner–these are the sterile confines of a hospital room, the faint tang of antiseptic stinging my nostrils as I take in the crisp white sheets and the array of medical equipment surrounding me.

I try to sit up, to get my bearings, but the movement tugs at something in the crook of my elbow and I freeze. A tube. A tube filled with blood that flows from his arm into mine.

Panic claws at my throat as the implications begin to set in. What is this? What's happening? Who is this man, and why is he... Oh God, is he poisoning me?

The questions tumble through my mind in a dizzying spiral, each more frantic than the last, but before I can give voice to my fear, to my confusion, he's on his feet and leaning toward me with a fluid grace that belies his size.

He's tall–so much taller than I'd initially realized–with the kind of broad-shouldered build that could so easily overpower me. Yet, as he leans over the bed, taking my hand in his larger one, I feel anything but threatened.

“It's all right,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a soothing caress. “I'm a doctor at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in downtown Chicago. I'm here visiting family, and when you collapsed, I had to act quickly.” His gaze holds mine, open and earnest, as if willing me to understand. “We're only in a small town, and this was the only way I could give you the transfusion you needed.”

A transfusion? But... why would I need...?

The questions continue to swirl, but there's a strange sense of calm that washes over me as I study his face. He's telling the truth–I can see it in those expressive eyes, in the worry that creases his brow.

“Now that you’re awake, I think you’ve received what you need.” Carefully, he removes the IV from the crook of his arm before doing the same for me, applying a bandage to each wound with a careful gentleness.

His touch ignites a trail of liquid fire over my skin, a warmth that blossoms outward from the point of contact until it's suffusing every inch of my being. It should be alarming, this strange reaction, and yet it feels... right. Natural. As if something deep within me recognizes him on a primal level.

As if he's someone I've been meant to find all along.

My subconscious kicks in with a warning. He shouldn’t have given me his blood directly. We could have different blood types, but I guess he’s a doctor. He wouldn’t have done anything to me that shouldn’t be done.

“You should be feeling better now,” he murmurs, those eyes studying me with an intensity that borders on reverence. “But you'll need to rest after being unconscious for so long.”

Unconscious? Panic spikes through me once more as the implications set in. “How long was I out?”

“About an hour.”

An hour. The longest stretch of oblivion this cursed disease has stolen from me. Disappointment weighs heavy in my chest as I think of the hiking trails I'd planned to conquer, the breathtaking vistas I'd hoped to etch into my memory before... before the end.

It seems I'll have to cut this adventure short, turn my wheels back toward home and the bleak, inevitable future that awaits me there. A future without passion or purpose, without anything to look forward to except the cold inevitability of leaving this world far sooner than I'd ever imagined.

A lump forms in my throat as I think of the life I'd dreamed of living, the love I'd hoped to find one day. That's not meant for me, not anymore. Not when my days are numbered.

I shouldn’t even be finding anyone attractive. Now that I do, I certainly wouldn’t act on it. It wouldn't be fair to start something I can never finish, to lead someone on only to leave them shattered in my wake. I force the morbid thoughts aside, shoving them back into the darkest recesses of my mind.

Liam's smile dims ever so slightly, and I can't help but question if he senses the melancholy that's crept into my thoughts. But that's impossible... isn't it?

The sudden commotion at the door pulls me from my reverie, and I turn to find two uniformed men entering the room–one wearing a sheriff's badge, the other clearly his deputy. Confusion furrows my brow as I take in their stern expressions, their assessing gazes.

“I take it Sally's already told the whole town,” Liam remarks dryly, a hint of exasperation coloring his tone.

The sheriff's gaze lands on me, and I feel pinned beneath the weight of his scrutiny even when his mouth lifts in a smile clearly meant to set me at ease. “You know how Sally works.”

I don't, not really. In fact, I'm quite certain there's a whole lot of subtext I'm missing out on here. Why would the town need to know about my fainting spell? And why would that warrant a visit from the sheriff?

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