Page 48 of Impossible

My god.

I keep scanning the grounds as we cross the distance to the med hall, looking out for alphas, school-affiliated or otherwise. I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe in plain sight with an omega again. Not after the attack.

Thankfully nobody apprehends us, even with Indie’s spike only barely tamed, trailing citrus spice behind us. I shoulder open doors and hurry inside.

Like a second blessing, Alicia is the nurse on night watch. I’m glad Indie will have a familiar face. And one without a nose capable of picking up my pathetically altered, horny scent.

“We have a knee injury,” I grunt as I barrel into the room, hoping to distract from the fact that I am not only carrying a young, spiking omega like a damsel in distress, but also that I have a raging, tent-like boner displayed for everybody and their uncle to see.

You couldn’t have ziptied the thing down, Indie is just that enticing.

Alicia gestures us through, straight past the exam rooms to the hospital wing, and I set Indie on the first gurney inside the door. Third blessing of the night, Alicia doesn’t stare at my massive hard-on, nor glare at me in any way indicating that she might have seen it. She also doesn’t pause at the sight of Indie, covered in dirt, clothes torn and face flushed with the spike. Is it obvious to everybody else that her lips are swollen and just-kissed, or is that just me?

Alicia is straight to business, cutting away Indie’s jeans to free her balloon-like knee.

Stepping back and looking at Indie’s tiny frame in the big hospital bed, I have a weird moment of double vision.

I see Indie first—cheeks flushed, all angles, vibrant and alive, looking at me like I’m her compass.

Then I see Indie as the rest of the world sees her. Gaunt. Cheeks hollow, sallow skin, hair stringy and dull. A lost child, with a knee as big as a basketball and tattered, over-laundered clothes.

I blink a few times, trying to reconcile the two images, but the Indie that the rest of the world sees is gone when she turns her wide eyes to me again. I only see my Indie. My blue jay. And that’s terrifying, because I know this girl could very easily die in the next few months if she doesn’t get better, and all I see is the spark inside of her that somehow keeps her going, against all odds.

I have to help her get better.

“Well, this is just no good,” Alicia’s voice is soft and motherly, a nurturing presence in the sterile hospital ward of the school. “We need to take you into town to use the hospital MRI. It could just be an ACL tear, but I don’t like the look of it. Let me call up Dr. Gray to be sure, he’ll have to come sign off to take you off-campus at night.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, tonight?” I repeat. “Now?”

“Well, yes. The foot isn’t getting the circulation it needs—it could be for, well, other reasons,” Alicia averts her gaze from Indie, “but regardless, we need to make sure the swelling doesn’t prevent blood flow to her extremities. I’ll be right back, let me just call Dr. Gray.”

She bustles off, and Indie turns to me. “You’re coming with, right?”

My stomach sinks. My boner—which had just gone half-mast, due to a combination of extreme willpower and the bitter antiseptic smell of the ward tempering Indie’s scent—springs back into action.

“Of course, blue jay,” I answer without thinking.

Hollis will be pissed. He doesn’t care if she’s our fated fucking mate, the fact that I let Risk run off into the woods and did nothing to go after him, to make sure he was ok? Unforgivable.

I could turn it into a fight. If I wanted to.

I wouldn’t have to run off after him if I had the bond, asshole.

I don’t often fight with Hollis. We’re fairly evenly matched. I was meant to be a pack alpha, once upon a time. Me, Joshua, and two others. Our families had it all planned, when we landed at the Complex. Plans change.

I’m usually grateful that we found Hollis, fine with my placement in our pack. But now?

My stump aches, and I rub it gingerly as Indie begins to shiver in the big bed.

I don’t think before pulling my jacket off.

“Here,” I hold it out to her. She accepts it without a word, and I don’t miss the little sniff she takes of the black cotton before pulling it over her stack of shirts and jackets she’s already wearing. Even with all the layers, it hangs on her like she’s wearing a tent.

“Is Risk going to be ok?” she asks, like she’s reading my mind.

I nod. “He’ll be fine. He’s a grown alpha, he can take care of himself.”Probably.

“I’m worried for him,” she sighs.

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