Secret Girl (continued)

“How is she?” I asked.

“Good,” he said. “Better than expected.”

He led the way back to her room. I looked down on her pale and gaunt form. Monitors beeped around her, at least ensuring she was stable. This certainly didn’t strike me as “good,” but she did suffer a significant bullet wound to the abdomen. I took in the long white scars that riddled her arms. I gritted my teeth.

A nurse stood at the other side of her bed, injecting medications through her IV. She looked up at us after adding notes to her chart.

“Alpha,” she nodded. “I’ll let the doctor know you are here.” She walked out quickly.

Trevor spoke quickly and quietly while no one else was in the room. “I think there was some time last night where her wolf was fully present. Her heart rate stabilized and things evened out.”

Moments later, Dr. Whitledge came in, shutting the door behind him.

“Alpha Oliver, how are you doing today?” he greeted.

I didn’t take my eyes off of Lya. “I’ve been better,” I said.

“So a human mate,” he said, looking down at his charts. “That’s unusual, especially for someone of your status.”

I nodded. “It would appear that way.”

He looked at me quizzically. “Maybe it just runs in the family,” he said. “A good move to bring her here, though, as it would appear she does have at least some werewolf blood. Her body would have rejected just plain old human blood. It is interesting that silver bullets were used on a human. Or that a human was even being shot at in the middle of the prairie,” he pointed out, studying me. “She also would appear to have silver burns on her left wrist, but those appear much older.” He knew, but he would not disrespect his Alpha by demanding answers. “We do not have confirmation on the excessive scarring on her arms, but I would appreciate it if you shared your knowledge as understanding how and why she harmed herself will affect the amounts and types of rehabilitative care we need to provide.” Each word he spoke was firm and calculated.

I growled. “What is your question?”

His voice was low. Walls in the hospital were thin. “May I have an audience with the Alpha at his office at the earliest convenience?”

I gave a curt nod. Unfortunately, he brought up a good point - you can’t give false information to receive optimum medical care.

He sighed. “Well, on to what we do know.” He flipped through his charts. “Surgery went well enough, but with no vastly accelerated healing, we would like to keep her here for a few more days to ensure no onset of infection and to make sure no follow up surgeries are required. She does have a fractured collarbone from a bullet wound that went all the way through and we removed a bullet from the top of her thigh, as well. We are not nearly as worried about those as we are the kidney and spleen repair. Do you know her age?”

“Twenty-four,” Trevor chimed in. “She will turn 25 in June.”

He nodded, writing that on her chart. “We did discover she is allergic to iodine while prepping for surgery. Does she have any other pre-existing conditions?”

I looked to Trevor, immensely grateful that he had known her for so long at this moment. Even if it did make Adair rumble with jealousy.

He shook his head. “Unless you consider a dependence on chocolate and Moscato a medical condition,” he chuckled.

Dr. Whitledge smiled. “Important information for Mr. Dallaire, but not pertinent to healing bullet wounds.” He closed the chart and looked at us. “Unless there are any other questions you have for me, Alpha, will over lunch work?”

I nodded again, taking it all in. “Thank you,” I said quietly.

Dr. Whitledge strode out of the room, leaving the three of us. I brushed my fingers against the back of her hand, the sparks traveling up my arm. She stirred slightly.

“Will you stay here?” I asked Trevor, “In case she wakes up?”

“Of course,” he said.

“I imagine she’d rather see someone she knows first.” Adair whined as we left.