Page 2 of Brotan

"What the hell is going on out here?" Her voice slices through the noise, her accent betraying East Coast roots.

She doesn't wait for an answer. Instead, she marches straight to me, showing no fear, no hesitation. Just pure, focused determination.

"Can you hear me?" she asks, crouching to my level. Her hazel eyes, flecked with gold in the harsh emergency room lights, meet mine directly. She pulls a small light from her coat pocket and shines it in my eyes. "Can you hear me?" she repeats.

I manage a nod, fascinated despite the pain. Humans don't look me in the eye like this. They don't willingly get this close unless they're trying to kill me.

"We need to get you inside and assess your injuries. Where are you hurt worst?" Her hands move with practiced ease, finding my pulse, then pressing gently at my abdomen. She sees my leg and lifts the torn fabric on my thigh. "Shit," she whispers. "How are you even alive?"

"I'm not staying here, Doc," I mutter, trying to push myself back up but failing miserably. "Just need to get past these assholes."

The corner of her mouth twitches into an almost smile that hits me harder than any punch tonight. "You're in no condition to go anywhere. You're bleeding from at least three major wounds I can see. No telling what I can't see yet."

"My crew can patch me up," I gesture vaguely toward the street beyond the crowd, the movement sending fresh pain radiating through my body.

She nods, then looks over my shoulder. "The same crew who did this to you?" I don't have time to answer before she yells over my shoulder. "Get me a wheelchair. Now."

No one moves. The crowd stares, and the hospital staff remain frozen in the doorway.

"Are you kidding me?" she snaps. "This man is bleeding out in our parking lot. Someone Move!"

Something instinctual responds to her command, to the fire in her eyes.

"He's not a man," a strangled voice answers from the crowd.

"Let him die," comes another.

Doc glares at the circle of humans, then over my shoulder again. "Do I have to do everything myself?" The words come out bitter and cold, disgust radiating from each syllable.

"Dr. Johnson." A gray-haired man in a lab coat enters the circle, dressed in pressed whites and exuding polished authority. "You know the policy."

Her back straightens until I swear I hear her spine crack with tension. Heat radiates off her in waves. "Policy? He's a living, breathing being, Dr. Ramsey."

"It's for the safety of our other patients," Dr. Ramsey says, his tone indifferent. "We're not equipped to handle... his kind."

The way he says "his kind" drags claws down my spine. But this tiny human doctor seems ready to tear out throats with her bare teeth, and all for someone she doesn't even know.

"We took the same oath, all of us," she says, voice tight as a garrote wire. "Or have you forgotten that part about 'do no harm'?"

Dr. Ramsey's expression hardens to concrete. "I'm not the one who did this to him."

"No. You're just the one willing to watch him die." Her face goes bloodless with rage before her stare locks back onto me. Something flashes in her eyes—determination tinged with the shadow of an old pain. "Not again. Not on my watch." She mutters the words so quietly that I barely catch them before she turns to the staff. "Stay put," she commands before storming past the gathered staff. They scatter like cockroaches.

A minute later, she returns, shoving a wheelchair through the crowd like a battering ram. The onlookers whisper, but part of her recognizes a predator when they see one, even if it wears a white coat instead of leather.

Something about her refuses to fit into any box I understand. Human women fear me, hate me, or want to use me. They don't risk their careers defending me. They don't look at me like I'm worth saving.

"I'm not going inside," I say flatly, pushing back against whatever the hell this is. "I just need to get clear of this place."

"And I'm not letting you bleed to death in the street," she counters, eyes flashing. “Can you get in, or should I pick you up?”

Nobody talks to me this way. Nobody dares. I fight a grin.

"I got it," I growl, bracing against the wave of agony as I haul myself into the chair. Metal groans under my weight but holds, unlike my resolve, which cracks a little more each time she looks at me.

"You still can't take him inside, Maya. Let security handle this." The other doctor's voice carries the assumed authority.

The doctor, Maya, ignores him completely, wheeling me around with the determination of someone who's never learned when to quit. She pushes toward the entrance, then veers sharply before hitting the doors.

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