Page 7 of The Healer

“It will scar, but you didn’t lose your eyesight. That’s a good thing, right?” His ‘patient’ smile remained in place.

Having to experience his bedside manner gripped her tongue, and she snapped, “Don’t make me read my damn chart.”

He huffed. “You’re going to do it anyway. Besides, I’m on my best behavior.” Taping the bandage in place, he lifted her gaze to meet his with a fingertip at her chin. “The laceration cut to the zygomatic bone. Thankfully, you were unconscious when we scrubbed it.”

She winced, having done that to burn and accident victims, hoping to save the patient pain at a later stage. An infection could occur if pieces of rock, sand, glass, and other matter remained in the wound.

“Did you task Kelly?” Of all the nurses, Kelly was the most thorough at scrubbing wounds.

Dr. Fernandez chuckled. “Only the best for you.”

Ilona sighed as he scanned her arms and legs before tucking the blankets around her. “I’ll survive.”

Against the influx of swarming emotions, she clenched her jaw. She had wanted to live, to suck the marrow from life, so to speak. Now survival was her only option.

Dr. Fernandez wrapped his darker fingers around hers. “As a doctor and a daughter, there was nothing you could have done, Ilona. Wrong place, wrong time.”

Not what she wanted or needed to hear. “Thank you, Dr. Fernandez.”

“Max.” He tapped her nose with his finger. “You’re one of us now.”

After he left her, Ilona stared at the door for a while. Was she one of them? A doctor, someone who could save lives and had the blessing of the medical board to do so? What was the point of eleven years spent studying, practicing, only to fail when those skills mattered the most?

No, she wasn’t a doctor, and certainly not one capable of handling the most precious gifts life could offer…children. Curling into a ball, she allowed the tears to saturate her pillow because her future, her injuries—none of that mattered against Dad’s impending death.

Twisting to smother a scream in the pillow, she lay there until the need for oxygen drove her to breathe. One thought circled, formed, dissolved then formed again, forcing her to decide. Dad’s living will was her responsibility. She couldn’t let Gran carry the burden.

Not now, though. Flipping the blankets back, Ilona slid off the bed, wheeling her drip stand beside her. The night nurses hurried about their tasks, smiling at her as she inched past. A few of Amity’s staff greeted her, and she bit her inner cheek, wanting to scream she wasn’t worthy of being called a doctor. Had Dad survived, he would have saved her and Mom.

The ICU doors opened as Ilona neared. She didn’t give them a chance to close on her, increasing her pace no matter how stiff her legs were. In the far corner surrounded by machines was her dad. They had thrown the works at him—bedside monitors, ventilators, endotracheal tube, and an indwelling urinary catheter—to name a few. Her steps faltered, and the drip stand screeched as she dragged it behind her.

“Dad?” Releasing the stand, she gripped the side of the bed, assessing his visible injuries.

A contusion darkened his temple, nose, and eyes, with swelling contorting his familiar features. His wrist and leg were in orthopedic braces.

“It’s me, Ilona. Gran says you signed a stupid living will. Why the fuck would you do this to me?” She pinched her lips to smother the rage boiling up her throat, pushing her to spew her sorrow, anger at the world and God for this unfairness.

Drawing in a deep breath, she laced her fingers through his. Crimson scratches marred his pale skin. The ventilator made rhythmic breathing sounds, and his heartbeat beeped. All looked good, except for the brain scans.

The ICU doors opened with a swish. The squeak of sneakers followed. “Dr. Fernandez ran the tests multiple times, Dr. Devereaux.” Nurse Maddie checked Dad’s blood pressure cuff, then fidgeted as if she didn’t know what to do with her hands. She worked Trauma and not ICU. “Time to head back?”

Ilona nodded. This wasn’t her dad. This was a vessel, a husk of the great man she had known. Dad was already with Mom, and even if there had been a hope, he’d signed a living will. “I understand now, Dad, I do.”

She kissed his fingers, ignoring her tears splashing onto his knuckles. Then with a final glance, she trudged out of the ICU trailing her drip stand.

She would kill her dad in the morning.

Chapter Three

HONOR AMONG BEASTS

Rhys,thenewandimproved alpha of the Knights Ridge pack, trudged through the forest, choosing his steps with care. He wasn’t in his bear form despite him nagging to change. The sweet scent of pine called forth a need to roam free, to hunt, to breathe in unpolluted air. His thoughts spun like a dervish. Within this month, the alliance with the vamps, finding out Alrik had failed the pack twice, and on top of it, meeting the woman of his dreams.

Callista Devereaux.

Glorious molten hair, green eyes, and an attitude to match.

His bear grumbled, still furious at him for not taking her and saving her from a vamp. Rhys released a long sigh. He’d explained, over and over, that she wasn’t their mate. She was Gabriel’s. Blood didn’t lie. Hers called to Rhys’s bear. Yet her and Gabriel’s bond had formed on a telepathic level. They’d conversed, expressions crossing their faces even as words remained unspoken.

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