Page 32 of In Their Arms

“It was a bit touch and go for almost two days,” the doctor continues, jotting something down on the chart at the foot of my bed.

Two days?That makes no sense. I blink, disoriented, struggling to grasp onto the last memory I had. But I can’t think of anything. I’m in so much pain and have no idea why. “Where am I?”

The doctor looks up, offering me a tight smile. “You’re at Brick Ridge Hospital, just at the edge of the city.”

Brick Ridge.That’s an hour away from home. I try to sit up, but the pain in my shoulder slams into me, making my vision blur.

A low, pained whimper slips from my lips and the doctor’s face softens. “Easy,” he says, adjusting my pillow before pressing a button that makes the bed recline slightly. “You’re still healing. You were severely dehydrated and bleeding pretty badly, but we’ve got you patched up. You’ll be sore for a while, but you’re going to be okay.”

“How…” My voice breaks, my throat tightening, panic starting to settle in. I try to swallow, but my mouth feels like sandpaper. “How did I—?”

The doctor tilts their head, flipping through their notes. “Honestly? It was a miracle.” He meets my gaze, studying me. “You had enough strength to walk in here and ask for help.”

“I did?”

He nods. “Yeah, you were in rough shape, but you made it through the front doors. We were able to get you stabilized quickly.”

That’s when the panic really sets in. I don’t remember any of that—getting here, walking into the hospital. Hell, I don’t even remember why my shoulder hurts so damn much. The last thing I remember is the needle sliding into my skin, the numbness dragging me under, the weight of exhaustion swallowing me whole.

Everything after that is gone. My chest tightens, the room closing in, my body trying to piece together a timeline that doesn’t make sense. I should be home with my pack, not in a hospital an hour away from home. I swallow against the panic clawing up my throat. “Why…” My breath shakes. “Why would I be here?”

The doctor pulls up a chair beside my bed, crossing one leg over the other, clipboard balanced on his knee. “I was hoping you could help me with that answer.”

I’m still trying to piece everything together, still fighting past the fog in my head, the lingering disorientation of waking up in a hospital an hour away from home with no memory of how I got here. I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. That I wouldn’t just be patched up and sent on my way.

The doctor exhales, flipping a page on their notes before their eyes flick back to mine. “A bite removal operation is something that would have been heavily monitored. It requires a full psych evaluation before and after, a detailed medical review, and at least a 72-hour hospital hold before the patient is released.” His gaze shifts pointedly to the bandage on my neck. “Your wound was too fresh. And while it was expertly done, none of the hospitals in this city or the surrounding areas had one scheduled.”

The nausea that had been sitting in the back of my throat since I woke up threatens to spill over. My body locks up, muscles clenching against the panic that’s clawing its way up my spine. I knew what I was doing when I went to that doctor. I knew the risks. I just hadn’t truly considered what came after. The doctor studies me carefully, watching every little reaction, searching for something. “Let’s start with your name, shall we?”

I hesitate. There’s a part of me that wants to lie, that wants to give them some fake name, some excuse to make this go away faster. But that wouldn’t change anything. They already know something’s off.

“Look,” the doctor continues when I don’t answer. “I don’t want you to get hurt, but you’ve endured something that is both illegal and highly dangerous. Whoever did this to you was extremely skilled, but that doesn’t mean you’re out of the woods yet.”

I force myself to swallow. “My name is Luca.”

The doctor nods, humming under his breath, satisfied for now. “That’s great, Luca. I’m glad you’re healing well. And I think congratulations are in order.”

I blink, my stomach twisting violently at his tone. “What?”

“You’re pregnant.”

It takes a second for the words to process, to push through the static in my brain, and then they hit like a fucking freight train.Pregnant?No, that’s not—that’s not possible. My hands shake as I clutch the blanket, a gasp tearing from my throat. “That’s not—I was on birth control.”

“While we were assessing what we could, I noticed that you had the shot. But it must have failed. Because the test results are clear.”

“Are you sure?” My voice breaks, my fingers clenching the sheets, my stomach twisting so violently I think I might be sick. My entire world tilts, a horrible realization creeping in at the edges.

The doctor’s brows knit together, my reaction clearly not what he expected. “Yes, I’m sure. You’re about one to two weeks or so? You’ll start showing in another week or two and we’ll be able to determine the sex at that point. Honestly, I’m surprised the child even made it with all the drugs that were in your system.”

One to two weeks. I do the math fast, my stomach roiling as I go over the dates, the nights, the fucking horror of it all. That timing puts me right back at Blake’s house just before my first heat which overlaps with something else. The last time Hudson fucked me.

It could be any of the Keller’s or Maceo’s. Or… it could be Hudson’s.

A pained sound rips from my throat before I can stop it, something small and helpless, something I don’t even recognize as mine. My body sways, my vision swimming, the heart monitor spiking wildly beside me.

“Easy,” the doctor murmurs, watching me carefully now, something edging into concern. “Everything will be okay—just as soon as you tell me what happened to your neck.”

The words barely register because I’m still stuck on the fact that I’m pregnant. And I have no idea who the father is. I’m silent for several moments, trying to find the right words that won’t throw suspicion my way. But every explanation ends up with the doctor knowing that I wasn’t coerced into this surgical procedure. “I… I don’t remember,” I whisper, barely managing to get the words out. “I just… I need to see Grayson. He’ll know what to do. He’ll explain everything.”

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