“Why drug her? Hook her up to a breathing tube?”
“She… resisted. We did it for her own safety.”
Fallon swung herself forward, using the crutches with threatening ease. “We’ve been trying to wake her up, and you took it upon yourself to send her back into that black hell?”
“I told him to do it.” Someone new—great. Anson Salas was joining the party. Leo patted my hand, angling his body slightly, while the Alpha of Carmag glowered at Fallon, then at the pinched man who I swore had turned a shade paler than he’d been.
“My specific order was to make sure she didn’t harm herself.”
“She was… unaware and out of control,” the man blustered. “A risk to everyone.”
“What are you—barbaric?” Fallon challenged. “She’s a faille. She burned herself out trying to save wolves.”
His chest puffed out. “She burned the sheets. She’s a danger, a hazard—”
“Get those restraints off her,” Fallon ordered. “Now.”
The man curled his upper lip, pure wolf in his disdain, but not aggressive enough to defy an alpha openly, even one who technically had no power in the Carmag. No, this healer would find reasons to shove breathing tubes down my throat and pump me full of drugs whenever he could.
Leo’s grip on my hand tightened while he glanced at Fallon. She nodded and glared at Anson Salas. “You offered protection—by tying her to a bed and pouring ice water all over her?”
A muscle ticked near Anson’s left eye. “Gunther’s one of our best healers.”
“You’re defending him?”
Anson’s canines flashed while Fallon leaned into his irritation, alpha-to-alpha, certainly unfriendly and unwilling to be pacified. I filed the man’s name away—Gunther—along with the understanding that Carmag was no different from Sentinel Falls. Not every wolf was comfortable around failles. The nature of wolves might be social within their pack, but to outsiders, or those they deemed a threat, they were viciously unforgiving.
Valeria seemed torn between loyalties.
But Leo—Leo was here. Alive. And Fallon. Healing.
Anson was the one I worried about, if he was still an ally despite our lies and the subsequent disasters.
Fallon snapped, “Your healer lacks in judgement.”
A sharp nod from Anson, and Valeria removed the gauze and leather restraints from my ankles, waist, wrists amid murmured apologies. Leo helped me sit up, a hand on my shoulder as he coached me through breathing.
Fallon readjusted her weight on the crutches. “She can’t stay in a wet bed, wearing wet clothes.”
Anson stepped forward. Light caught in his auburn hair as he scooped me into his arms. His strength brushed protectively, although I didn’t trust it, even when his warmth comforted after the ice. No doubt, he was an attractive man, with an alpha’s power. Dangerous in his own right, a wolf beneath the veneer. I gritted my teeth. Wanted to walk on my own, but my legs would never make it to wherever we were going.
Not far, as it turned out. Anson strode down the hall and into a lavish space more like a luxury hotel suite than a sterile hospital room—the Alpha Suite, according to the gold inscription mounted above the door. Plush furniture surrounded a plush bed. Wide windows covered one wall, but heavy, navy-blue draperies concealed the view. Fresh flowers filled a crystal vase. The polished wooden table sat against the window, flanked by chairs. A wall-mounted television displayed rotating nature photographs with the sound muted.
Not everyone followed us, thank the gods. Gunther disappeared, along with the other medics who’d come running when the shouting began. Leo and Fallon stayed close. Valeria hurried forward with a clean gown that tied in the back, helping me change in the attached bathroom, and within minutes I was curled beneath fresh warm sheets, pulling up a blanket and trying to hide how badly I trembled.
Leo helped Fallon to a chair before Anson thought to do it. He frowned and looked away.
“Noa,” Leo said as he took my hand, pressed his fingers to the pulse in my wrist, just below the ruined wolf sigil. The cuts had healed. On my arm, the runes were scarred; the lines were faintly pink. The vampires had done a good job of obliterating the designs.
“How long?” My voice was croaky from disuse.
“You’ve been sleeping—”
Not sleeping—lost in the dark. The writhing grays. Burned out. A ruined faille. “How long?”
“Two weeks.”
“And Azul?”
