Blackstone Ranger Guardian: Blackstone Rangers Book 5 Page 6

  A growl escaped his lips as he slowly pivoted toward the doctor. “What’s wrong with her? Why isn’t she healing?” He took a menacing step forward. “What did you do?”

  Damon immediately put himself between him and the staff. “Krieger, stand down.”

  “Look at her! She’s—”

  “Stop!” The Demon was there now, waiting at the edges of Damon’s consciousness. “And listen to what he tried to tell you.”

  Dr. Jenkins cleared his throat. “As I was trying to say, Ms. Forrester’s shifter healing isn’t kicking in as fast as we’d hoped.”

  “Why?” Krieger growled.

  “There may be several reasons, but I won’t know for sure until she wakes up. I was surprised myself when they brought her in. I thought she was a human and performed the necessary surgery on her.”

  “Will she be okay?” Damon asked.

  “She’s still under observation,” Dr. Jenkins said. “But I think she will recover. Slowly. Like any human patient.”

  Krieger turned back to his mate. The rise and fall of her chest reassured him somewhat, but that didn’t answer any questions.

  “Is this the—Oh my God!”

  An older redheaded woman had strolled in carefully, but when her gaze landed on Dutchy, she let out a sharp cry and rushed to her side. “Dutchy … my darling girl.” Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to Dutchy’s pale forehead and clutched her limp hand. “Thank you for calling me, Damon. Angela’s on her way here, too, she’s just closing up her shop.”

  “Of course, Rosie,” Damon said somberly.

  “You said she’d been in an accident?” She turned to Dr. Jenkins. “How is she? What happened?”

  So, this was Rosie. Dutchy’s aunt. He could see some resemblance, especially with the hair and the eyes. She was wearing one of those vintage-style dresses and from the name plate still pinned to her chest, it was obvious she had rushed here from work.

  “… and now we can only wait,” Dr. Jenkins concluded.

  “She’ll pull through. My girl is strong.” Curious pale blue eyes flickered to Krieger. “And you are?”

  Krieger swallowed, unable to speak. Those blue eyes … they looked so much like Dutchy’s that his stomach hurt.

  “This is Krieger,” Damon began as he walked up to Rosie and placed a hand on her shoulder. “He and Anders found Dutchy after she’d been hit by that car. That’s another long story Anders can tell you about, but … turns out Krieger is Dutchy’s mate.” Damon had obviously been careful in selecting his words so they didn’t come out as a lie.

  Rosie gasped, and she covered her mouth. “Oh.” Circling around the bed, she came up to him and embraced him. “Thank goodness. You came to her at the right time.”

  He stood in the old woman’s embrace awkwardly, unsure of what to do. When she let go, she raised a brow at him. “You’ve never been to my pie shop, have you?”

  “N-no, ma’am.”

  A weak smile formed on her face. “We’ll have to remedy that, won’t we? When she wakes up.”

  Not if. When. “Yes.”

  Dr. Jenkins cleared his throat. “We should leave her to rest.”

  Neither Krieger nor his bear liked that idea, so he grabbed the nearest chair and dragged it next to Dutchy’s bed. “I’ll stay here.”

  Dr. Jenkins frowned. “There’s no need for that. We have nurses here who’ll watch over her. You can’t do anything more for her than they can.”

  Ignoring the doctor, he sat down, bracing his elbows on his knees.

  “Sir, I insist—”

  “I said, I’ll stay here.”

  “Dr. Jenkins,” Rosie said in a soothing voice. “It’s all right. Maybe … maybe it will be good for her. He’s her mate, after all.”

  Dr. Jenkins harrumphed. “Fine. In any case, I’ll need you to fill out some paperwork for her.”

  “Of course, Doctor.”

  Krieger stopped paying them any mind, not even when they said goodbye or when Damon came up to him and told him to take all the time he needed. No, his gaze was fixed on his mate, as if doing so would magically heal her and she would open those beautiful eyes.

  What happened to you, Dutchy?

  Chapter Six

  Dutchy drifted in and out of the darkness, like flotsam pulled up and down by stormy ocean waves.

  “… why isn’t she healing faster …”

  Beep … beep … beep

  “… my poor girl …”

  Drip … drip … drip

  “… haven’t left her side … go take a break …”

  Each time she reached for the surface, the current only pulled her back. Part of her wanted to be lost, to be dragged down to the bottom of the sea where she wouldn’t have to feel anything anymore.

  But another part of her urged her to fight.

  And when her eyes opened, it was as if her soul had been hauled back into her body.

  The first thing she felt was the burning pain down her throat. Her first instinct was to pull at the intrusion pushing in her mouth, but when she tried to raise her hands, found them restrained. Panic welled in her as she attempted to cry out.

  “She’s awake!” A familiar feminine voice shouted. “Call the nurse!”

  Hands held her down. Something plastic and snake-like was removed from her windpipe. Her body relaxed as air filled her lungs again.

  Slowly, her lids opened. Two familiar faces leaned over her, both weary, but smiling.

  “You’re awake,” Aunt Angela said, her voice trembling.

  A warm hand smoothed over her forehead, the scent of pastry and sugar drifting down to her nostrils. “I knew you’d pull through, dear girl,” Aunt Rosie added.

  Dutchy opened her mouth to speak, but her mouth and throat were dry and scratchy. “Wa … ter …”

  Angela sprang into action and grabbed a cup from the table, pressing it to her lips as Rosie propped up her head. “Slowly, Dutchy,” she cooed. “I know, I know … but you don’t want to choke.”

  The cool water soothed her dry mouth and throat, and though she protested when Angela took the cup away, she nonetheless felt grateful for the small bit of relief. Easing back down on the bed, she stared at the ceiling. Where am I? What happened? She shut her eyes tight. The restraints on her wrists were gone, but something tight wrapped around her left arm that made it hard to move.

  “You’re in the hospital,” Rosie said, as if hearing her thoughts. “There was an accident.”

  Accident? The days and weeks during the past couple of months melded together, she couldn’t pinpoint how she could have—

  The memories flooded back. Of that day in the park. Of hope flourishing in her as she attempted to spark her creative soul. And the crushing disappointment at another blank page. Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes, spilling over as a sob tore at her throat.

  “It’s all right, dear girl.” Callused fingers brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Everything’s going to be fine. We’re here.”

  She didn’t want to be here. She just wanted it all to go away. To be left alone. Her fox trilled sadly, its body limp and tired.

  “Dutchy?” Angela’s voice pierced through her skull. “Darling? Are you having trouble opening your eyes?”

  “Maybe she’s just tired,” Rosie offered. “She needs rest.”

  “But I don’t understand. She’s been here for three days. How could she not be completely healed by now?”

  Three days?

  “Maybe it’s—oh, you’re back. She just woke up.”

  A soft growl made her skin tingle. “Woke up? Why didn’t anyone—” Heavy footsteps stomped closer. “Dutchy?”

  Her eyes flew open at the third presence in the room. It took a few second for her synapses to make the connection.

  No!

  Her fox reared up defensively.

  John Krieger blew out a breath as he came up beside the bed. “You’re awake.”

  He reached out, and the moment his hand touched her shoulder,
her animal hissed as its claws raked at her insides, pushing to get out.

  “No!” She jerked up and would have jumped off the bed if Rosie hadn’t caught her in her arms and held her down. “No!” The vixen barked and yowled at him, baring sharp teeth. It wanted out. It wanted blood. And because her body was too weak for the shift, it tried to forcefully claw its way out.

  Krieger stared at her, his dark brows knitting together. “Dutchy, it’s me—”

  “Get … away.” Panic rose in her as Krieger reached for her again, and her fox snapped its teeth at him. She clung to her aunt tighter and her gaze strayed toward the door. “Out!”

  “Dutchy, what’s going on?” Rosie asked as she buried her face in her shoulder. “He’s your—”

  “Please,” she sobbed. “Make him leave.”

  “Dutchy, please,” Krieger began. “I—”

  “You should go,” Rosie said. “Angela …”

  “Just until she calms down,” Angela said in a soothing voice. “Please, Krieger. Just for a little while until the doctor can see to her.”

  Seconds ticked by as silence filled the room. But once she heard the heavy footsteps get farther away and the door close, her body relaxed. As Rosie helped her back down on the bed, she could see the confusion on her aunt’s face, but she wasn’t ready to face her questions yet, so she closed her eyes, pretending to fall asleep until eventually she did drift off.

  When she awoke again, the fluorescent light above her burned brighter. Turning her gaze toward the window, she saw only darkness.

  “You’ve been asleep for hours.”

  Her body tensed, but when she recognized the feminine voice, her muscles relaxed. Rosie stood up from the chair next to her bed and brought a cup with a straw up to her lips. The ice-cold water was a balm to her parched mouth and throat, and this time, Rosie allowed her to drink as much as she wanted.

  “Better?” A hand smoothed over her temple.

  “Yes,” she managed to rasp.

  “The doctor would like to come and see you,” she said. “If you can manage to stay awake. Otherwise, you can go back to sleep.”

  She shook her head. The motion made her wince. Pain began to seep into her body, concentrated on her left shoulder, arm, down the right side of her torso, and her ribs. Had she felt this hurt before?

  “Are you in pain? The nurses warned me the meds might be wearing off.”

  Meds? Did shifters even need medicine for pain?

  Rosie reached to her other side and pressed on a button by her hand. “There. They’ll be here soon.”

  Only a minute passed before a nurse in scrubs walked in. She babbled as she talked, not really waiting for Dutchy to reply as she plunged a syringe into the IV line.

  “… there you go,” she said as Dutchy’s body relaxed. “Oh, the doctor’s here.”

  Dutchy glanced up at the new person in the room—a tall, older man who wore a white coat. “Ms. Forrester? I’m Dr. Jenkins.”

  “H-hello, Doctor,” she rasped.

  “It’s all right, no need to overexert yourself. If you don’t mind, I’ll need to perform a quick examination.” He picked up the clipboard at the foot of her bed and placed his stethoscope in his ears.

  She nodded and he began to check her pulse, breathing, and her throat and eyes. A nurse came in to check her blood pressure, and when everything was done, he scribbled on the clipboard. “Vitals are good … tell me, do you remember what happened to you?”

  “A little.” After the park, she’d shifted and ran off. She couldn’t remember where her fox brought her or how long they’d been roaming, but they darted across the highway when something large and blue came from nowhere. “I was hit by a car.”

  Dr. Jenkins put away his stethoscope. “Yes. It was a good thing that the emergency services were already on the way and they got you here in time for surgery for your internal injuries.”

  “S-surgery?” Her gut twisted.

  “You also have bruised ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a fractured forearm, not to mention cuts and contusions all over, but thankfully, no head injuries.”

  “But, I’m a shifter, didn’t they tell you? I should be able to heal on my own.” Sure, surgery could help in some cases when shifters got really hurt, but usually it wasn’t necessary. “How long ago was the accident?”

  “Three days ago.”

  “Three days?” She glanced over at Rosie, who nodded. “How? Why am I not healing?”

  “The science of shifter medicine isn’t exact because there’s just too many factors and too many types of shifters.” Dr. Jenkins’s expression turned grave. “There have been some cases where if a shifter has a traumatic experience, it can change them fundamentally. Some experience a fracture of sorts, a disconnection from their animals. Their animals may act out, making them difficult to control, akin to going feral. While others experience loss of their healing capabilities or even other senses. Tell me, did anything happen to you recently? And are you feeling any other physical abnormalities, symptoms, or illnesses?”

  Shame burned through her. She didn’t want to admit what had been happening to her vision, at least not in front of Rosie. “I … can we do this another time, Doctor? I’m getting tired.”

  “Of course. I have some more rounds to make before I have to go home, but if you need me at all, just tell the nurses, and they’ll call me.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  As soon as Dr. Jenkins left, Rosie turned to her, hands on her hips. “Don’t you even think about pretending to sleep.”

  Dutchy already had the blanket halfway up her chest. “I wasn’t. I really am tired.”

  “Duchess Marie Forrester, what aren’t you telling him?” Rosie’s gaze narrowed on her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing,” she said defensively. “Please, Aunt Rosie—”

  She moved closer to the bed. “What are you hiding, darling?”

  “I said it’s nothing. And I’m just fine.”

  “No, you’re not.” Rosie rubbed her temple. “You haven’t been fine, not for a very long time.”

  “I’m—”

  “Shush!” Her aunt put a hand up. “Don’t deny it. Angela and I haven’t seen or heard from you in months, but we always thought it was because you were busy with clients. But then Temperance tells me you’re not even returning her calls—which is not just bad for business, but rude, because your friends and I sang your praises. And now this …” She glanced at the door. “He’s still out there. Waiting to see you. He says he’s your mate. Is that true?”

  Blood drained from her face, and her fox howled in displeasure.

  Rosie must have sensed it, because she practically jumped away. “Dutchy?” Rosie’s brows drew together. “What’s the matter? Please tell me. So I can help you.”

  “Oh, Aunt Rosie.” She burst into tears when her aunt gathered her in her arms. “I … I can’t … I can’t be around him.”

  “Why not? Is he lying? Is he not your mate?”

  Her vixen hissed and barked, its claws ripping her up at the mere thought of him or mention of his name. It had been doing that ever since he walked away from her, as if her fox trained her not to think of him. And when he had showed up by her bedside and touched her, it had gone crazy, wanting to attack him. “You felt it, right? Felt how my fox reacted to him when he was in here?”

  “But why?” Rosie asked. “You’ve never even met—oh.” She frowned. “He didn’t mention you two knew each other before.”

  She sniffed and wiped her nose with her gown. “Y-you’ve talked to him?”

  “A little bit. He doesn’t really say much. But, as I told you, he hasn’t left your side, except to eat or clean up, and even then, he probably wouldn’t have gone unless Damon was here to nag him.” Rosie placed a hand over hers. “What happened between you two?”

  A lump formed in her throat, and though she wanted to say something to Rosie, the words wouldn’t come out.

  “It’s all right,
” Rosie said sympathetically. “You can tell me when you’re ready, okay?” She pulled her in for a tight hug. “I’ll take care of you. So will Angela.”

  “Th-thank you. Can you … don’t tell anyone else back home, okay? Especially Mom?” When her human father had passed away when she was little, Belinda Forrester had moved her and her siblings back to her home town to be close to her family and skulk.

  It was the ideal situation as the skulk was close-knit, with families living together not unlike a commune, raising their kits alongside each other. Dutchy had loved it and flourished in it as creativity was encouraged, but she moved away for her studies and career. Everyone had celebrated her successes with her, from getting into the most competitive fashion design program in the country to when the gown she designed for Sybil had made it into Vogue. If any one of them found out what had been happening to her in the last couple of months …

  “If that’s what you want.” Rosie’s mouth twisted. “But you’ll let me know what I can do to help you, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “I need to go outside for a bit, will you be okay?” Rosie asked. “Do you want anything? Some food, if the nurse says it’s okay?”

  “Go ahead,” she said. “And no … I’m fine.”

  “All right.” Rosie pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  As soon as she was alone, Dutchy let out the breath she’d been holding. She took several deep, calming breaths. Her vixen yapped and slunked about, as if an enemy would pounce at them at any moment.

  I know you’re trying to protect me, she told her animal. But why aren’t we healing? Ever since she started shifting when she was about four or five, she’d never been sick or hurt. And now, she’d been out for three days, and the weakness in her body was nothing like she’d ever felt before.

  Was the doctor right? Had she somehow disconnected from her animal? She didn’t feel different, other than the fact that her vixen reacted violently to the mere thought of him, and it had gone feral when he tried to touch her. Was this the reason why she couldn’t access her shifter healing?

  Rosie said to tell her what she could do to help, but the truth was, she didn’t know how or if anyone could help her, not when she’d given up herself.