5. Brody

I rush outof the room, the corridor blurring as I move. I silently thank Ethan and Tyler for pulling me out of a difficult conversation. With the hunter attacks escalating in boldness and malice, the idea of taking my pack and leaving Mystic Falls becomes a siren's call in my mind. It would be easy to pack up and move farther into the wilderness than we already are. The fear of another victim, another life torn apart by hatred, looms over me as I prepare to face whatever waits in the ED.

I won't ever leave, though. Despite the omnipresent shadow of death, I love it here—the pulsing heart of the community, the adrenaline of my job, the sense of purpose that anchors me. Mystic Falls is a small town surrounded by forests, where we live. It's close enough I can run to work in my wolf form without anyone freaking out, and the forest is dense enough to keep the hunters out.

Avoiding the elevator, I opt for the stairs, descending into the belly of the ED. Each step brings a contrast of sounds, from the hushed calm of the stairwell to the imminent chaos awaiting below. As I'm a floor away, the murmurs of voices start seeping through the walls. The scents of antiseptic, blood, fear, and relief mingle to form a potent cocktail that hits me before I even see the first patient.

It's a sensory overload that few shifters can handle, but I've never used a plug for my nose or a de-scenter. Perhaps it's the part of me that still clings to the fantasy of a mate walking through those doors—a fiery, nurse she-wolf, or a mystifying witch. We'd lock eyes, imprint, and then tumble into a love story written in the stars, but reality isn't so kind or predictable.

With a deep, steadying inhale, my hand resting on the cold metal door that separates me from my domain, I brace for impact and push through with just a minute to spare. The cacophony of the ED hits me like a tidal wave. The overlapping voices, the distant wails and cries, and the symphony of human suffering and hope is a twisted kind of music to my ears.

Perhaps there's a streak of masochism in me.

"B-dawg!" A male nurse with eyes so blue, they border on ethereal, slaps my shoulder. "Bay one."

"Kael, what's the siren doing in the ED?" I ask, striding alongside him to bay one. We scrub in, the ritualistic washing of hands grounding me, even as nerves tickle my throat. Kael, a siren, has a gift for calming the emotions in our patients and is a rare treasure in the ED.

"Huggie called me," Kael replies, his voice laced with concern. His worry is a palpable wave that washes over me. "Said he might need me."

"Ethan called?" I mutter, glancing toward the bay door that rolls open with an ominous creak. It opens right into a trauma room. Huggie is Ethan's nickname, a moniker that he earned time and time again. "What have they brought us this time?" I murmur, more to myself than to him.

"No clue. I'm as in the dark as you are," Kael responds, his gaze flicking toward Marcus, our resident ghost nurse. Marcus floats by, his spectral form shimmering slightly. He's the ghostly guardian of the night shift with the ability to move through floors to alert other doctors as we need them.

The moment the ambulance backs into the bay, my instincts kick into high gear. Kael moves with a fluidity born of countless emergencies, his hands already gloved and ready. As I shake my hands dry, Marcus dives through the ambulance doors, his ethereal form slipping past the barriers of the physical world to peek at what we have coming in.

Ethan leaps out of the ambulance driver's seat, his sizeable frame imposing yet dwarfed slightly by mine in height. His eyes, deep pools of chocolate brown, lock onto mine with an intensity that sends an electric current down my spine. He's cut off our bond, and I can't help but wonder why.

I don't have to wait long to understand, as he opens the doors to reveal Tyler and a patient hidden behind his lean frame.

As the scent of blood fills the air, a softer, more delicate aroma weaves through it—lavender and wildflowers. It's a scent that tugs at something primal within me. When Ty reveals the stretcher with a woman lying on it, bleeding and broken, every fiber of my being understands the urgency of their call. This is no ordinary case.

Mate.

Every instinct in me screams, a mixture of primal urges clashing with the trained discipline of a doctor. As I focus on the patient, her fragile human form contrasts sharply with the spiritkin resilience I'm accustomed to, and she is human, as far as I can tell. She doesn't have the unique scent of spiritkin lingering on her. Her heart rate, a slow, ominous beep on the monitor, is alarmingly sluggish, and she's bleeding profusely. The space is thick with the metallic scent of blood, and her pale skin, marred by bruises and the stark red of her wounds, paints a picture of vulnerability. She's human with severe injuries—broken ribs, which I can tell are hindering her breathing, a visibly swollen and misshapen ankle, and a snow globe, its whimsical contents now a dangerous shard embedded in her leg, threatening catastrophic blood loss.

"Fuck," I mutter, my voice a low growl of concern as Ty and I carefully maneuver her onto the hospital bed. Her eyes, stormy and defiant under furrowed brows, flicker with a tumult of pain and strength, barely staying open.

Our mate is severely wounded. Fear pulses through my veins, and no matter how hard I try, I can't tamp it down.

"Are you guys always this rough with your patients, or am I just lucky?" Her attempt at humor comes out as a raspy whisper, her voice strained yet laced with a stubborn tenacity. Despite her fading consciousness, her spirit remains unbroken.

I briefly meet her gaze, seeing the flicker of fear beneath her bravado, before turning to Marcus. "Alert the OR now," I command, the urgency in my voice echoing off the sterile walls. Marcus, his spectral form shimmering as it catches the fluorescent lights, nods and phases through the wall with an ethereal grace.

Ty, his brow furrowed in concentration, examines the snow globe lodged in her leg. His hands, usually as steady as stone, show a faint tremble as he assesses the situation. "We need to stabilize this before we can do anything else," he advises, the weight of the responsibility to care for our injured mate evident in his crackling voice.

Ethan strides into the trauma room, his presence filling the space with an air of command that he doesn't have here, and I won't hesitate to kick his ass out if he tries to play alpha. "Any wrong move could cause Ava to bleed out," he warns, his voice a deep timbre that resonates with the severity of her condition.

Which only pisses me off. I can see how hurt she is.

"Let's stabilize the leg first," I agree, my mind racing to strategize the best course of action while battling the emotional storm brewing inside me.

Kael, his face etched with worry, steps closer to Ava. Urgency ruffles his usually calm demeanor. "What about pain management? We can't just overlook that."

Ethan, glancing at the monitors that beep persistently, displaying Ava's faltering vitals, interjects. "She's losing blood too fast for heavy sedation," he says, his eyes dark with concern. "We already gave her witch's morphine, but she's metabolizing it like a shifter."

I take a moment to process this. Ava's human body, so fragile and yet unpredictably strong, is defying expectations. "Administer minimal sedation," I decide, my voice calm yet carrying the gravity of the situation. "Keep her conscious but comfortable."

As we work to stabilize her leg, Ava's eyelids flutter like fragile butterflies against a storm, proof of her struggle against consciousness. I itch to praise her.

"Is this how you impress all your dates?" she teases, her attempt at a smile revealing her indomitable spirit.

Ty, his focus unwavering as he pulls supplies from cabinets, offers her a brief, strained smile. "Only the special ones," he replies, his voice a comforting rumble.

Ethan's movements are precise, a dance of professionalism masking his concern. "We're going to take good care of you," he assures Ava, his gaze momentarily locking with mine in a silent promise.

In that instant, a profound shift occurs. Ava, lying vulnerable on the bed, becomes more than just a patient. She becomes the epicenter of a world we never expected to have. A visceral fear grips me—fear for her safety, her life—unlike anything I've ever experienced. It keeps me rooted to her side.

For the first time in all my years as a doctor, I freeze. What if I lose her due to an action I take or don't take? Try. The thought whispers to me. If I do nothing, then she will surely bleed out. Move your ass.

"We need to prep her for surgery as soon as we stabilize the injury," I announce, my voice steadier than I feel.

Ty nods, the fierce determination in his eyes reflecting my own resolve. "I'm scrubbing in," he states firmly.

Ethan looks to the ceiling, his teeth grinding. "Fuck it, I'm in," he says, though he doesn't sound too happy about it.

"I'm sleepy," Ava slurs, her voice a delicate thread holding her to consciousness. Her eyelids flutter, fighting a losing battle against the darkness threatening to engulf her.

It's enough to get all of us moving.

"Stay with us, Ava," I urge, trying to keep my voice steady, despite the unruly emotions exploding inside me.

"Don't go…planning your…victory party yet," she mumbles. Her brave attempt at a smile warps into a grimace, pain etching lines on her otherwise smooth forehead. The fierce spirit in her eyes is a glaring contrast to the alarming pallor that has taken over her face.

Ethan, his expression tight with concern, looks over. "She's losing blood too quickly," he states, urgency lacing his voice.

Kael, holding the sedatives like a lifeline, meets Ava's gaze. His voice is a soothing balm in the chaos. "Ava, I'm going to give you something for the pain. Just a little, okay?" he says, his tone a blend of professional calm and genuine care. He freezes abruptly, his eyes widening. "Fuck, can someone get the snake off her neck?"

"There's a snake?" My surprise leaps into my voice as I instinctively reach out, but the creature moves faster than anticipated, sliding off the gurney and onto the cool floor. "Shit."

"Leave it. Focus on Ava." Ty's command cuts through the confusion. "I'm running to grab the stabilizer."

Kael, regaining his composure, steps forward again. "Let's try this again, okay?" His voice calms not just Ava, but me as well.

Ava's response is a heavy nod, her voice a fading echo. "Make it…a double."

As Kael administers a sedative created by his voice, Ty arrives with the stabilizing equipment. Our movements are choreographed as we secure Ava's leg with meticulous care to ensure the embedded snow globe remains undisturbed.

Marcus phases back into the room finally, his ethereal form shimmering with the intensity. "Mercy's ready. She is having the OR prepped now," he announces. "She said to get your asses up there."

"Good," I reply, my focus laser sharp on Ava. We transfer her onto a hospital gurney, her breaths shallow and labored.

We move swiftly down the hospital corridors, a blur of white walls and sterile lights. Ava lies on the gurney, her vibrant spirit dimming under the harsh lights.

At the OR, the trauma team, a solemn assembly of skilled professionals, awaits us. They take the gurney, wheeling Ava away from our protective circle.

"Mercy, take care of this one," I say, the weight of my words laden with the unspoken bond that's formed in mere moments. She's imprinted on each of us with one glace of her beautiful brown eyes.

Mercy's sharp gaze assesses the situation—and by situation, I mean us—then she responds with a raised eyebrow. "Interesting. Get out of my OR."

"We're scrubbing in," Ethan states, a fierce glint in his eyes. His posture is stubborn as he crosses his arms.

"No, you are not," Mercy counters, authoritative and unwavering. "This patient means something to you three, and I won't have any mistakes in my OR. Get out," she commands, her gaze flicking to security, reinforcing her order.

Damn her.

The OR doors close, severing our last visual link to Ava, leaving us in a limbo of anxiety and anticipation. Ethan's voice, a mere whisper, reflects our shared helplessness. "I hate not being at her side."

"Mercy is right—we'd only make a mistake," Ty asserts, his eyes wide and worried "We found our mate, and I'm not about to lose her to a freaking snow globe."

I spin around to face them, my body a live wire of fear and determination. "Tell me everything. What the hell happened?" It isn't until that very moment that I realize I'm covered in my mate's blood.