Chapter 9: I can’t lose her

CONTENT WARNING: MENTION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT

(Logan)

The minutes tick by, and the need to stay calm is a constant struggle.

I take out my own phone and Google her name. There’s a wealth of photographs to scroll through, and media articles too.

I scroll through the photos first. Good goddess, she is absolutely stunning. Luscious hair the color of rich caramel, with honey-gold streaks here and there. She has facial features that are both delicate and classic - high cheekbones, straight nose, soft full lips, a peaches-and-cream complexion on silky smooth skin. But it’s her eyes, a clear cerulean blue, that are captivating.

I think back at the first time I laid eyes on her, just an hour or so ago. Her face was so bruised and swollen she was completely unrecognizable. It’s a wonder the two doctors did. Pure hatred for who did that to her boils like lava through my veins.

I scroll some more. She’s consistently listed as one of the most beautiful women in the world, no matter who seems to be compiling the list. She’s one of those Secret Angel models, and good goddess, she is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in nothing but scraps of white lace. A wave of jealousy rolls through me as I think of how many men have seen her like that.

I push down the jealousy and start reading some of the articles.

There’s very few that focuses just on her. In most of the articles she’s mentioned together with other model names, typically announcements of who was awarded this contract or another; who’s the new face of this cosmetic brand or that new perfume.

Then there’s one that catches my eye. It was an interview she did several years back when she was very young. She had just been announced as the newest addition to the Secret Angels, and the interviewer wanted to know what her parents are saying about her still being underage yet modelling underwear publicly.

“I don’t have parents, but I’m sure if I did, they would be supportive of the fact that I’m comfortable in my own skin and have the right to choose my own path in life. For me, modelling is a means to an end, as I have other passions that I would like to pursue but which comes with a great financial burden.”

I like how she answered that, especially at 17.

The article goes on about how she grew up in an orphanage and in foster homes, then emancipated at 16. She’s obviously fiercely independent.

She worked as an ice cream vendor at a baseball venue while finishing high school and was spotted by a talent scout when she moved through the stands during a televised game, selling her ice creams. The cameraman had obviously spotted the beauty and focused on her during a break in play, and the rest is history.

The article ends with a last quote from her.

“Modelling is a professional career just like any other, requiring dedication, hard work, and professionalism. I’m the kind of person who strives to be the best in everything I do. I could settle for just perfume and cosmetic contracts and still earn enough to make my dreams come true, but if the pinnacle of modelling is to become a Secret Angel, then it’s in my nature to strive for it. And I did.”

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I smiled at that. So, she’s driven and hard working. Two more traits I admire as I have those too.

The time on my phone says it’s just past midnight. I get up to get water from the cooler in the corner but the doors to the operating theatre swing open. Dr Fairfield emerges and comes straight to me. He looks exhausted.

“How is she, doctor?” I ask and can’t keep the anxiety from my voice.

He sighs. “She’s alive, but I’m honestly not sure for how much longer.” He replies and my heart squeezes painfully. He looks at me sympathetically. “If she had her wolf she would have healed by now. But I remember her telling me she has never shifted before and now I believe her fully. And I’m sorry, but there’s something else you need to know.”

I feel like crying, and raging, but I nod to let the doctor continue.

“Alpha, she has been brutally assaulted - sexually. I’m so sorry. She has wolfsbane in her system. Obviously they wanted to subdue her nonexistent wolf so that she couldn’t fight back. And whoever did this to her bashed her to within an inch of her life and expected her to drown in that river, with all evidence washed away.”

The shock and disbelief turn into fury in my veins. My mind fogs over with the need to kill, to avenge my beautiful mate. I can’t lose her just when I’ve found her. Someone must pay for this!

Before I shift in a haze of bloodlust, the good doctor grabs me by the shoulders.

“Alpha, stop! There’s one thing you can do to help right now. That could possibly save her life. But you must remain calm!” he shouts at me. Somehow, his words break through the red mist enveloping my mind. I calm down.

“What?” I almost bark at him.

“You can mark her. You’re her mate. If you mark her, your wolf could potentially reach out to hers, make it come out. Help her heal.”

I take a deep breath.

“That’s not how a marking is supposed to happen!”

He sighs but looks me in the eyes.

“I know. It’s regrettable. But I don’t think you have a choice. There’s medically nothing more I can do for her. Her injuries are too severe. But her supernatural side might be able to help, if you can reach it.”

The despair clutching at my heart causes real physical pain. But I make my decision. I can’t lose her.

“Take me to her,” I say, tears running down my face. I don’t care who sees me like this, I only care about doing what I have to, to save her life. So she can save mine.

He takes me to a room next to the operating theatre - the recovery room, it’s called. She lies still under a white sheet on a narrow hospital bed, hooked up to all kinds of monitors and pipes and drips. Pale and almost unrecognizably bruised.

I approach slowly and turn to the door when the doc tells me he’ll be right outside. I nod, turn back to her, and take her hand in mine. Still so cold. I kiss the back of her hand.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I wish I could do this with your full consent. I wish I could do this under different circumstances, like I have always dreamed I would one day. I wish this could be a beautiful memory that we share until the end of our days. But if I don’t do this, there may not be a long life ahead for you, and no memories for us to make together. I’m so sorry.”

I feel the tears pour over my cheeks as I lift her hand. I kiss the soft skin on the inside of her wrist and lick the spot I intended to mark. My knees nearly buckle at the sweet taste of her skin. My canines extend, and I sink my teeth into her flesh.

My world tilts.

I have to hold onto the bed to stay upright, as a wave of pure love explodes into my brain. It’s a pleasure so intense that I sink to my knees, the feeling overwhelming. Then it’s as if we exchange the very essence of who we are: our feelings, our personalities, our wishes and dreams and fears... it all comes crashing in.

When the storm subsides, I retract my canines and lick the wound I just made on her writs. It heals almost instantly, and I watch as, in its place, a mark grows in gold and green, like a tattoo, of two wolves entwined in an intricate spiral. It is beautiful.

I’m on my knees in front of the bed when I realize the heart monitor was beeping a great deal faster than before. I looked at Jaime’s face, where the bruises are subsiding right before my eyes. Slowly, there’s a bit of warmth returning to the hand I’m still holding in mine, and her skin tone is losing its deathly white color.

Thank the goddess, it looks like it worked!

Dr Fairfield comes rushing in. He heads straight for Jaime and check her over once more, adjusting a machine here and there. Then he turns to me and slaps me on the shoulder.

“You did it. Congratulations, you are going to meet her after all.”