Page 22 of Free Me

Different sensations competed with each other, as did the irritating voices, and as light and dark shapes began to form real faces, Linus tried to remember what had happened.

Where am I? Am I hungover? The party…someone…Miko.

Miko!

“Mifighr.” He couldn’t make real words with his mouth so dry. Something cold touched his lips. Cold and moist. Ice. He sucked greedily, somewhat aware of at least four people surrounding him and his own reclined position. Vague medicinal smells, but nothing familiar, not even his own scent. Not the toasted coconut scent he remembered last, so close and sweet and comforting.

Miko.

Someone was squeezing his left hand and he tried squeezing back. “He’s coming around,” Papa said. “He squeezed my hand. Linus, baby? Dad and I are here. So’s Demir.”

Why Demir? I want Miko.

More word salad fell from his lips.

“It’s all right, Linus,” a strange voice said. “I’m Dr. Westin. You’ve been unconscious for almost a week. You were intubated for a time, so you might not be able to speak right away. Take your time.”

A week? Why a week? Is Miko okay?

He tried to think back but everything was so fuzzy. The last thing he remembered was winning the championship game. Celebrating with his friends. A party. Dancing. Miko and that delightful scent he’d never paid attention to before. It was so important but why?

“Wu’hpn?”

“What happened?” Papa interpreted correctly. “A week ago, you were in a car accident. Do you remember that?”

He shook his head no once, but that made his temples throb. “Nuh. Miko?” Finally, a whole word.

“Miko was in the car too, son.” Dad’s deep, comforting voice somewhere behind Papa. “You both left an after-game party in a taxi. The driver ran a red light and you were struck by another vehicle.”

Car. Struck. No, no, no, Miko!

He garbled out something that was supposed to be “Is Miko okay,” but even he knew it was a mess. He flailed, and Papa’s grip on his hand remained strong. Someone else pressed on his right shoulder, keeping him down. Demir? His senses were so fucked up and his vision was still a little foggy, like a steamy mirror after a shower. He really needed someone to wipe off his eyeballs and unclog his nose so he could figure out what the fuck was happening!

“It’s okay, Miko is okay, scrapes and bruises,” Demir said. “You got the worst of it. You hit your head really hard and have a concussion, and, um, it’s been pretty rough. We’re all just relieved that you’re finally awake.”

Someone applied more ice to his lips, and Linus sucked on the moisture. His vision seemed to clear more. Sounds strengthened. The images of his parents sharpened, and he got a look at their tear-streaked faces. Goddess, but Dad never cried. Linus must look like complete shit if he was crying in front of other people. Even Demir’s eyes were glittering. This Dr. Westin character was tall, fair-haired, definitely alpha, and the only person in the room not oozing emotional overload.

“Feel weird,” Linus said.

“You’ve been on heavy antibiotics, as well as sedation and painkillers,” Dr. Westin said. “It’ll be some time before the medications are fully out of your system. We’ll begin the weening process once you’re up and mobile again.”

That kind of made sense. His head definitely hurt, and as awareness stole in, the dull throb in his lower right side turned into a sharper throb. He shifted his hips, aware of his numb ass, and a shock of white-hot pain jolted from his toes to his scalp, and he yelped. “Fuck, what was that? Huh?”

“Try not to move just yet,” Demir said. “Your body has gone through a huge shock, Linus. The crash was very serious. You were hurt badly.”

“Where?” He hands moved just fine. He wiggled the toes of his left foot. No problem, felt like ten. He couldn’t seem to do it with his right foot, though. Alarmed, he tried to bend the knee and got another of those agonizing flashes. “Shit. Wazzat?”

Papa covered his mouth with his free hand, his dark eyes leaking fat tears that sent a cold wash of terror through Linus’s entire body. Behind him, Dad was scarily pale, his gaze fixed on the end of the bed. From his half-reclined position, it took effort and concentration for Linus to bend his neck forward. To be able to look down past his chest and torso to his legs. His…leg? No, legs, the right one was just bent weirdly.

His left leg stuck straight out, the shapes of his thigh, shin and foot visible beneath the tan blanket. His right was oddly shaped, like it was bent at the knee and propped up with a pillow but that wasn’t right. He couldn’t feel his toes or see past where his knee bent too soon. No, that wasn’t right, either. What the fuck was he seeing?!

“Where’s…my leg?” Acid scorched the back of Linus’s throat, bile sharp on his thick tongue. “What…Daddy?”

“It’s okay, baby boy.” Dad scooted around Papa and placed his big, strong hand over Linus’s heart. Pressed their foreheads together. Linus closed his eyes and tried to absorb his sire’s strength, to understand what was happening, to feel anything except pain and confusion. “I’m so sorry I can’t fix this for you.”

“What’d they do to me?” Linus despised the wail in his voice, but his emotions were beyond anything he could comprehend or control. Something was wrong, something was missing, and every instinct in his body screeched at him to fight. To fight for what was taken. He shoved at Dad’s chest. “What?!”

“Your leg was badly crushed in the accident, Linus,” Dr. Westin said. “You also suffered a severe concussion, which made surgery on your leg dangerous. When you developed a life-threatening infection, we had to amputate your right leg below the knee in order to save your life.”

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