Page 81 of Fate Awakened

“That's the meds. We can certainly adjust them back now that you’re awake and alert,” the doctor says.

“I’m hungry,” I announce, interrupting his assessment. “Can I eat?” My eyes slide to Cain, who turns back to the doctor.

“In just a minute,” the doctor responds before anyone can move. “Why don’t you tell me what you remember.”

“Well, I went drinking with Liv and Keith to celebrate landing an interview for this really amazing company out in Boston,” I begin to say, but stop short as the door opens and Dante walks in.

Dante.

I freeze as the memories flood back.

Hudson, Ghost, Big Tony. Dante. Cain. Werewolves. Gun.

I gasp, finding it suddenly difficult to pull air into my lungs. My hands clench the sheets as panic sets in, my eyes flashing from one startled person to the next.

The alarm on the monitor next to me begins blaring a warning tone

“Get out!” I shout to everyone, no longer able to contain the fear that’s crept in. They move immediately, heading for the exit. All but the doctor.

Dr. Radolf adds something to my IV, and for a moment, I wonder if I should be pulling out all of these lines, running, hiding, fighting for my life. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to count while attempting to take large gulps of air.

Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen.

I. Can’t. Breathe.

And the world fades to black.

***

It's quiet when I wake. My body feels relaxed, and my muscles are less sore than they had been. The panic and fear I felt earlier had dissipated entirely. Stretching like a cat waking from a long nap, I open my eyes, taking in the room around me. I realize I have no idea how much time has passed because the room looks exactly as it did before. It even still smells of vanilla and fabric softener.

My mind wanders back to the events over the last two days, and I wait for the panic to set in.

Nothing.

Knowing I should be distressed but having my body be completely calm is an odd feeling. Werewolves exist. I was sleeping with one. I was shot.

No panic.

I take a moment to assess my chest and stomach, looking for the wound but not finding one. Peculiar.

No panic.

I reach for my head, the subtle pulsing there the only sign something may be wrong, and find gauze wrapping my head, noting a tender section just above my left ear.

I had a head injury? Did he shoot me in the head?

Still, I don’t feel the anxiety creeping in.

Maybe I should ask what he gave me because I like the control I feel.

I sit up, adjusting the bedding around me to allow me room to bend and straighten my arms and legs, rolling my wrists and ankles and flexing my fingers and toes. Once everything feels back to normal, I try to stand before realizing there’s a catheter in my bladder.

Great, I’m stuck until someone can remove it.

“Anyone there?” I say, my voice softer than I intended. I clear my throat and try again.

“Hello?” I say louder this time.

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