Chapter 9 - Emory

I'd been deep in notes for another patient when Vlad came tumbling into my office. Adrenaline spiked as I hurried to his side, and I was immediately struck by what he was wearing.

"Are you wearing a janitor's clothes? What's going on?"

His brow was dotted with sweat, and when he flipped over onto his back, clearly exhausted, a faint red spot was growing on his hip. My stomach dropped when I pieced together what I was looking at, and I went straight for the zipper of the jumpsuit.

"Holy shit! Are you bleeding?"

Vlad met my eyes, but he was having trouble focusing, and all he was able to give me was a subtle nod. It couldn't be good if he were losing consciousness, and as much as I had a million other burning questions in my mind, I knew that time was of the essence.

My stomach clenched. I needed to see what we were dealing with, which was precisely why I didn't become a doctor.

I hate blood.

With shaking fingers, I pulled the zipper down over Vlad's broad chest. His breathing was really fast and shallow. I'd grown up with doctors, and despite not being any good in the field myself, I knew a thing or two. With accelerated breathing and heart rate, sweating, and losing color in his face, Vlad was showing all the signs of blood loss.

"Okay, okay. We'll get this figured out. Just hang on."

I wasn't sure if I was talking to him or myself. The reality that I was dealing with a bleeding patient in my office was far too fucking weird, and I tried to focus on getting the jumpsuit off him.

The top was easy enough to get off, and Vlad even helped to a degree. Peeling the fabric away from the injury site posed the biggest problem. My guts churned, and I forced myself to breathe through my mouth to avoid that coppery smell of blood.

I pulled the fabric away, and Vlad let out a barely audible hiss. The fact that he'd made a sound at all, however, was enough to know that he was in a lot of pain. The gore revealed nearly had me throwing up, but I choked it back. It was a deep gash that looked like a massive claw mark or slash.

Knowing that werewolves weren't, in fact, real, I had to assume that a huge knife or weapon did this.

"Did someone slash you with a knife?"

Vlad shook his head and then struggled to hold up a hand, pointing it forward like a gun and performing the accompanying firing motion.

"You were shot?" My eyes flared wide.

He just nodded, his skin clammy and cold where I held the back of his neck.

"Jesus Christ, Vlad. We need to get you to a doctor. This is too much blood. I can't—"

But before I could finish, he just passed out, his head going limp in my lap. Time froze as my breath burned in my chest. I needed to do something.

Now.

"Okay, I'm taking you in."

However, that was a lot easier said than done. The nearest hospital was quite close, but getting the six-foot-two, two- hundred-pound man down the elevator and into my car was hell. Antoinette was dealing with some fire in the trash when I tried to go and ask her for help, and if it weren't for that janitorial outfit, I wouldn't have had the best idea of my life.

I rushed down the shorter hall across from my office and snagged the large rolling cart kept in the supply closet. Getting it to my office, I was able to lift Vlad onto the cart with a bit of help from him when the pain forced him to surface into consciousness momentarily.

The trek down the hall and to the elevator was significantly easier with him on the cart, and I didn't stop to answer any of Antoinette's questions.

"I'm sorry! It's an emergency. I'll have answers when I get back!"

"Of course! Go!"

She really was a wonderful person. I got Vlad down the elevator and to my car. Getting him inside was a challenge, but I managed, and then we were flying across the few blocks to the hospital.

I pulled right up to the emergency bay when we arrived. Practically leaping from the car, I rushed toward the doors and cried out for one of the nurses or doctors to help me.

"Help! Please! The man has a gunshot injury!"

Everything from that moment on felt like a whirling merry-go-round of frantic energy and action. Medical professionals swarmed the car, getting Vlad out and onto a stretcher in seconds. They hauled him inside, and I followed along with them for as far as I could.

I stood perched at the edge of the medical bed as they worked on him, getting his pants and clothes cut away from the wound and working to stop the bleeding. They were incredible in action, but the sights brought my mind back to the endless days I felt trapped in the hospital when I was young, watching them work on patients as I sat there confined to my bed.

"Ma'am, did you see what happened?" There was a nurse at my side, and I startled slightly, not realizing she was there.

"Umm, no. He…he, umm, came into my office like this. I wasn't there for the injury."

She nodded, and my attention went back to the people hooking up fluids to Vlad's IV.

"Is he going to be okay?"

The nurse beside me reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder. "He's in good hands, and the graze wasn't especially deep. He's lost a fair amount of blood, so we need to be sure to replace what he's lost. Do you know his blood type?"

I shook my head. "No, I'm his therapist. He just started coming to me. But, umm, I'm a universal donor. He can have mine."

"Thank you, miss." I turned toward her to see the nurse nod. "If we need that, we'll let you know. We do have reserves on hand."

I nodded back, unable to think of anything else to do. "Right. Of course."

Vlad was stabilized quickly, and after the flurry of movement that had been everywhere in the beginning, the room returned to stillness. Vlad was still unconscious, but he was resting in the bed, the monitor beeping in time with his steady heartbeat.

I sat down next to him in a chair when the doctors gave me clearance to do so, and then all there was to do was wait.

***

About an hour later, Vlad woke up, startling me out of the semi-dozing state I'd found myself in. It was hardly late by any means, but something about just watching a person lying in bed unconscious was enough to get your own body wanting to do the same thing.

"Ugh," he groaned, and I shot up, sighing as I realized he was up.

"Hey. It's Emory. You're in the hospital for the gunshot wound."

He looked over at me, his brow sinking low over his eyes as he scanned himself. A hand came up, and he patted his good hip before pulling his hand up to his face and miming a phone call.

"Oh, I don't know where it is. You didn't have it in your pockets."

Standing up from the chair, I went over to the bag where the nurses had put his clothes. I held it up, showing Vlad the lumps of fabric, which would answer his question.

"They had to cut them off you. And I'm not supposed to go in here. It's evidence."

Vlad frowned again. Looking around the room, he pointed at a small desk-like table that was stuffed into the corner. A pad of paper and a pen were sitting by the monitor at the back, and I guessed that's what he wanted.

"Oh, right." I walked over and snagged the stuff, handing it to him. "Umm, you're in a recovery room. They gave you sutures and an IV for the blood loss. Didn't know your blood type, so…they had type O to give you, though."

I was rambling at this point, and I knew it. But there was little else I could do, that urge to fill the silence while Vlad scribbled on the pad too strong to ignore. When he held it up, I read over the words quickly.

I'll admit that a hospital isn't where I want to be. But thanks. I— a section was scribbled out, and then it continued— am grateful for the help. Really. But I need to get out of here and back to my place. Am I cleared to leave?

I shrugged. "I'm not sure. They haven't mentioned discharging you. We were waiting to see if you'd wake up. You lost a decent amount of blood, Vlad."

He rolled his eyes before shrugging as well. I could sense his frustration, and the fact that he was so ready to just up and get out of here after I'd had to drag his ass to the hospital was enough to get me clenching my jaw so I didn't say something I'd regret.

He'd thanked me, so that was something. But he really needed to be taking his near-death experience a bit more seriously.

I walked over to the chair I'd pulled up again, sitting down with a clear huff in my breath.

"I had to get you down to my car, you know. Thankfully, you'd worn that getup, and I remembered the cart in the supply closet, or your ass would have bled out on my carpet, which I'm pretty sure has been irreparably stained."

Vlad ducked his stare for a moment, sighing. As he pulled up the notepad again, I sat back in my seat. It was an odd unfairness that he got to be able to think about what he wanted to say—or write, rather—while most of us were at the whim of words that blurted out of us.

When he held up his message again, I leaned forward in the chair to have a look.

I'm sorry. I didn't have a lot of options. But I am grateful. The word was underlined. You didn't have to do what you did. I'll remember that.

All I could do was release a heavy breath. Vlad had a pretty low opinion of people if he didn't think that I was honor-bound to help a man dying in my office. Still, that held up with what I already knew about the guy.

"Well, you're welcome. I wasn't about to let you—"

I stopped speaking as Vlad looked to the door behind me, and his eyes flared wider than I'd ever seen them. His brows were at his hairline, and I noticed the immediate tension that took hold of his jaw.

"What? Are you okay? Did the stitches—"

But Vlad held up a hand, cutting me off again, which was impressive for a guy who wasn't speaking. He put a finger to his lips and then pointed outside our room. I turned in my seat, looking across the hall at the open beds that sat across from this recovery room.

A few men of similar muscular physiques were set up on the beds out there, with still more surrounding the injured ones. I could see a mass of leather jackets and dark suits on the men, their auras giving off a distinct intimidating effect.

Something about them made shivers run down my spine, and I looked back to Vlad to see him glaring daggers at them.

"Wait." I glanced between my patient and the other men, the puzzle pieces falling into place. "Are they the ones who shot you?"

I kept my voice to a whisper, and when I regarded Vlad again, he didn't meet my eyes, just nodding in slow motion.

"Oh my God. Do you want me to call the—"

He grabbed my hand, halting me. "Okay, I got it. Don't call anyone. What exactly would you like me to do then? Are you good with just waiting to be dismissed?"

Vlad eyed me, cocking his head in that way that made you feel like the guy was saying, "Seriously?"

"Then what, Vlad? What do you want?"

With a deep breath that I could see taking over his entire body, Vlad lifted the blanket off him, glancing down to check his bandages. He put a hand on his hip, pressing down.

"What are you doing?! Don't mess with it!"

I tried to swat at him, but Vlad yanked his leg away before quickly hanging both legs off the bed.

"Vlad," I whisper-yelled at him, "you can't stand up. You probably need crutches or something. Stop it."

But he didn't listen, standing up from the bed smoothly until the weight settled on his bad leg. He groaned but just shook his head, forcing himself forward through the pain. He snagged his bag of clothes and pulled out the pants. As he held them up, the two halves of the right pant leg hung limply.

"I told you they had to cut them off. You're not wearing those anytime soon."

He turned over his shoulder and glared. With not nearly as much effort as I expected, he stuffed them back in the bag and crossed the room to me. I just looked up at him as he towered over me.

It was a moment before he jerked his head toward the door, pointed at me, and mimed the motion of driving a car.

"You want me to take you out of here?" Shock reverberated as he nodded. "Now?"

Vlad nodded again, grabbing my arm and hauling me toward the door.

"You haven't been dismissed! Your leg!"

He clapped a hand over my mouth as we stood just behind the curtain pulled over to block the window into Vlad's room. He put a finger to his lips, silencing me. As I waited there, held perfectly still by him, I noticed shadows on the other side of the curtain.

The men Vlad had noticed before were approaching the door after I'd yelled. What the hell is going on?

After another moment, they disappeared, and Vlad looked around the corner. I was quick enough to pick up on the fact that he didn't want to be seen by them, and it struck me that these "gentlemen" across the way had just been in some type of altercation with Vlad, and he'd been shot. He'd also come crawling into my office instead of going straight to the hospital, and he looked more concerned about those men out there than he did about his own injury.

All that added up to Vlad being involved in something shady.

As a therapist, you weren't supposed to judge your patients. They were coming to you to improve their lives, but chances were that bits and pieces of those lives weren't squeaky clean because of their current predicaments.

This was a first for me.

Not because I didn't have other people I'd spoken to—both alone and with guidance—who didn't have complicated pasts, but because I was fairly sure that Vlad was involved with something deeply illegal. Call it a counselor's instinct, but this entire situation was not reading "harmless mixup."

"Vlad," I whispered while still giving my words bite, "what the hell is going on? Why do you need me to get you out of her so damn fast?"

After sliding in from looking out our door, Vlad faced me and sighed. There was no phone to help him, and it looked like he wasn't in the mood to write anything down either. Instead, he gestured, and I did my best to follow along.

He pointed out the window toward where the men had been gathered, and I looked out through the window to see that they'd gone somewhere else except for the guy, who was currently unconscious in the hospital bed.

"Okay, yeah. They're gone."

Vlad then jabbed his finger down the direction of the hallway opposite them. He grabbed my hand, and we were flying out of the room before I could say another word.

"Goddamn it," I whispered, "this is not answering my question."

But Vlad didn't look like he cared much, and when we were about halfway down the long hall, he yanked us into a room off to the side that appeared to be some sort of nurse's closet. There were basic supplies here, such as a few rolling metal trays and a collection of folded scrubs and towels.

"Seriously, Vlad. I'm not driving you anywhere until you talk to me." He glared in my direction as he pulled on some scrub pants under his hospital Johnny and then the top. "You know what I mean."

With a groan, he dressed and came up to me, ready to leave the room again. I planted my feet, meeting his annoyed expression with one of my own.

"Answers."

I knew there was little he could explain via gestures, but I wanted whatever Vlad could give me. He rolled his eyes and then pointed back down the hall where we'd come from. I nodded, and then Vlad mimed a gun again, tracking and then pulling the trigger dramatically. The last hint was a point to his own chest.

"They wanted to shoot you?" Vlad wobbled in his head in a half-yes, half-no, pointing down at the floor aggressively. "They still want to shoot you?"

He nodded.

My eyes flared wide, and I shook my head. "Oh, no. This is a matter for the police. I don't want to be involved in some thug…drug dealer…nonsense!"

Vlad yanked me back by the bicep when I tried to leave, shaking his head. He poked his finger into my chest and then mimed shooting again.

"Me? Why would they want to shoot me?"

I furrowed my brows as I studied Vlad's expression. As stoic and focused as he'd been since he saw the men outside his room, he looked sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes, let out a long breath, and then pointed at himself. When he met my stare again, he shoved his finger harder into his pec, raising his brows at me.

"You? Because they saw me with you?"

He nodded.

"Well, shit."

I was strongly considering breaking down or just snapping completely. Still, there was just enough self-preservation left in me that I didn't want to wait around to find out if Vlad's stalkers were really that upset.

"Fine. We can go to my place. But I swear to God, the second you're in reach of a damn pen, you're going to explain a lot more about what the hell is going on."

It was exceedingly difficult to be intimidating when speaking to someone with at least five inches on you, but I tried my best.

After a beat, Vlad nodded once, and that was it. He hauled us out of the closet again and down the long hall, following the exit signs.