3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Ezra

W alking away from my fated mate instead of telling her she’s supposed to be mine feels wrong, but it’s not the first time I’ve hit a roadblock when I’ve wanted to talk to Lana Cole.

When we met, I was too stunned to know what to say to her.

She’s a beautiful woman, compassionate and resourceful, and she’s meant to be mated to me.

Despite already having gone through this three times, with my existing pack members, it was a shock to my system to know, without a shadow of doubt, that the person in front of me was made to be a part of my life, like I was made to be a part of hers.

She felt something, too, but Betas don’t always understand what it means when they meet their true mates. They don’t have the instincts of an Alpha, or the intuition of an Omega, to help lead them to the right conclusion.

I’m going to have to be the one to tell her, when the time is right.

Destiny led me to Goldcrest Academy.

Now I need to wait for fate to give us the chance to get together.

Clearly it wasn’t on the cards for today.

Moving swiftly down the corridor, my thoughts start to shift back into work mode.

The patient in room nine is a strange case, different from the others we’ve been treating, for multiple reasons.

Like the others, she’s been stabilised.

Unlike them, we don’t know who she is or where she came from, besides knowing she was rescued from a trafficking situation.

She hasn’t been identified, and she can’t, or won’t, tell us what her name is.

She’s also the only Beta, which is strange only because all my other patients are Omegas.

Typically, only Omegas are targeted by traffickers, thanks to the unique qualities that make them so appealing to Alphas, so this Beta is an anomaly.

Under any other circumstance, I’d find her case intriguing.

As it is, this gig was supposed to be a temporary one.

A couple weeks, max.

I agreed because a friend and former colleague of mine heard about the situation and called me to find out if I could help. It was an emergency, and I was free, for the first time in years.

I said yes without thinking twice.

In all honesty, I should have said no.

My pack put up with me travelling all over the country to work.

I’d promised to take a break, and a week later, I was packing a case to come out here.

They understood, but I knew they were disappointed.

I promised this was the last time.

Owen told me I'm a workaholic.

He might be right, but I can’t complain about it now.

If I hadn’t come out here, I never would have met Lana.

I had to say yes, and there was more than one reason for that.

She needed me, for my skills and because she’s ready to meet her mates.

She’s strong. She had to be to take this academy on and start immediately making changes for the better. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t also lonely.

Surrounded by people, but none of them are close to her.

It’s like seeing a reflection of who I was before I met my pack.

And my pack don’t even know she exists.

There’s a good reason I’ve been avoiding that conversation, but it is inevitable.

If she’s meant for me, she’s meant for them, too.

I clear those thoughts from my head as I get to the end of the corridor and see there’s a nurse waiting outside of room nine. Cora Levinson. The five foot nothing, typically cheerful brunette nurse is unusually sombre. Hugging herself and rubbing her arms like she’s cold, her gaze is unfocused.

My work here isn’t done.

I’ve barely gotten started.

“What happened, Cora? How’s the patient? Are you okay?”

She blinks at the quick barrage of questions, but she looks more focused when she starts to process what I’ve asked.

“She woke up,” she starts, hesitating before blowing out a breath and going on. “I don’t know what triggered it, but she was seriously agitated. She pulled out her drip, and she just … She lunged at me, tried to grab me. The look on her face … I didn’t know what she might try to do to me. I left quickly, got out and locked the door.”

She shivers. “I’m okay. It just frightened me. She did, I mean. I shouldn’t have left the trolley in the room. I know … I just …”

“It’s okay,” I assure her.

Our Jane Doe has been in a state of confusion since she got here. Severely malnourished, she’s been making slow progress toward a healthy diagnosis, while giving only yes or no answers with nods and shakes of her head and nothing more.

Nurse Levinson shouldn’t have left the trolley full of medications where an unpredictable patient could access it, but based on my assessment since she’s been here, Jane Doe isn’t a junkie looking for a hit. She’s not likely to overdose on pills, at least not on purpose.

“I’m going inside,” I tell my colleague. “You can grab your trolley and get back to your rounds once I call you in to the room to grab it. Just do an inventory first and let me know straight away if anything is missing.”

She nods slowly and moves back, allowing me to access the door.

Like the other rooms in this makeshift hospital ward, there’s a long glass panel that runs down the side where the handle is, giving a glimpse into a room that was likely originally designed to be an office.

The hospital bed is set up in the middle of the windowless space, with nothing more than a nightstand with a table lamp on top close by. I can see the sheets have been pulled back and the bed is clearly empty. The trolley has been abandoned a few feet away from the bed.

It would seem our Jane Doe is hiding.

I unlock the door and push it inward slowly, watching through the glass panel as it moves.

A sigh of relief escapes me when I confirm she’s not hiding behind the door.

There’s nothing worse than taking a jump-scare from a patient.

Stepping into the room, I glance back at Nurse Levinson.

“Listen out. I’ll call when you can come in and get the trolley.”

She nods, her eyes wide as she stares back at me.

The tension only tightens as I close the door on the nurse.

It’s silent in the room, and I don’t know what my patient is thinking right now.

I need to be careful.

I crouch down and check under the bed.

It’s not her hiding spot.

I didn’t think it would be.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” I call out, as I turn to the closed bathroom door. “I’m here to help you. That’s all. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She doesn’t respond, and I have no choice left but to attempt to access the room she’s hiding in. I close my fingers around the handle. Turning it, I hold my breath.

The door opens when I push inward.

She didn’t engage the lock.

I open the door slowly, giving her time to process the action, and, hopefully, showing her that I’m not trying to scare her.

God only knows what she’s been through.

Of all the patients I’ve seen since I came out here, she’s the only one who hasn’t been able to give us any information beyond the basics we gleaned through nonverbal answers to basic yes or no questions.

Without a psychologist on staff, it’s hard to tell if she’s mute by choice, or if she has some sort of disorder, most likely caused by trauma.

The painfully thin redhead crouched by the side of the shower cubicle stares up at me, blue eyes wild and unfocused. There’s something in her hand, something she’s clutching tightly enough to turn her already pale knuckles white.

She shakes her head when I step into the room.

I stop and put my hands up. “I’m here to help.”

Her frown is the only response I get.

“You’re suffering from malnutrition. We need to get you back to bed, and back on your meds. You need rest to recover.” I attempt to take another small step toward her, and she pushes back against the wall, lifting up her fist to reveal what I can now see is a toothbrush handle, oddly shaped, almost as if it’s been sharpened into a point.

Her threat is obvious. She’ll stab me if I come any closer.

Whatever trust she might have once had in people is long gone.

It’s not hard to understand why. She was just released from a terrible situation.

Unfortunately, my training didn’t cover dealing with this type of severe trauma.

It’s time to admit that and find out if it’s possible to get her the help she really needs.

She’s still staring at me, waiting to see what I’m about to do, her weapon raised.

I have no doubt that she’s willing to use it.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell her. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d lower that weapon.”

She looks at the sharpened toothbrush, so I think she understands what I’m saying.

It doesn’t make enough of an impression to get her to lower it, but if she understands, then we can talk, and I can find a way to reason with her while I wait for someone with experience of mental abuse to come out here and make some real progress with her.

“I need to let the nurse get her trolley and leave. I’m not going away. Okay?”

I’m not sure if it’s a twitch or an actual shrug, but she seems to acknowledge what I’ve said.

So, I move back, leaving the bathroom, closing the door over only partially, and darting back to the door that leads back out to the corridor.

Nurse Levinson is standing there, wide-eyed and awaiting instruction.

“You can come in and get the cart,” I tell her quietly.

She nods, moving toward me.

I open the door wider, allowing her access to the room.

She steps inside and rushes over to the trolley.

“Leave the meds meant for this patient on her nightstand,” I instruct. “And before you go back to your rounds, I need you to go and ask Ms. Cole to contact a psychologist.”

“Ms. Cole?” she asks, as if she’s not sure who I’m talking about.

It shouldn’t be a surprise to me by now that not everyone working this ward knows who’s in charge of the academy. A lot of the medical staff were brought in via the Alpha Alliance or by a personal connection to someone already working here. They only deal with their direct supervisors, and I doubt anyone else has had the head of administration on their mind anywhere close to as often as I have.

“Lana Cole is the head of Goldcrest. She was in the staff break room a few minutes ago, but she should be back in her office if she’s not still there. It’s to the left when you enter the building through the main entrance.”

“Oh,” she murmurs, nodding. “Sure.”

I move over to stand in front of the partially open bathroom door while Levinson follows my instructions and starts putting the patient’s medication on her nightstand.

Jane Doe will be looking at my back right now, while she tries to decide on her next move.

It’s a little worrying that she has a weapon, but I don’t think she’ll attack me.

Even if she does, I would be more worried about her breaking a bone than I would about the kind of shallow wound that sharpened piece of plastic could open in my skin.

Once Nurse Levinson has left the room and closed the door behind her, I turn around to find out Jane Doe has been watching me from her spot by the side of the shower, weapon still in her hand, still held firmly and ready to be used.

This woman sees me as the enemy right now.

Considering what she’s been through, I don’t blame her one little bit.