64. Chapter 64

Chapter 64

Two days.

Jackson had been out for two days.

Layla placed the wet cloth on his forehead again and then studied his unconscious state. He looked like he was just sleeping, and his features were softened. So many emotions swirled inside her that she couldn't make sense of any of them.

Jackson was larger than life. When he was angry with her, when he made love to her, when he looked at her, he always evoked such extreme emotions in her. Now he looked harmless. He looked so vulnerable that she felt a hint of protectiveness towards him. It was funny how her fear of Jackson had disappeared now that he was so helpless. The need to stay by his side to take care of him was as strong as it was confusing.

And she felt driven to touch him constantly as if she was trying to reassure herself that he was still alive.

She shouldn't have felt any of those things, especially now that she knew what he was.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," she whispered, pushing a lock of his sweat-drenched hair out of his face.

A doctor stopped by every few hours to check on him while Diedre had given him several shots of something similar to what she had been given on her first night. The woman looked very upset after every shot but wasn't telling her much. Faith had been in every hour, too, with the ice packs to put around his body. None of it was helping.

From their reaction, it was evident that werewolves didn't get sick. They didn't seem like they knew what they were doing!

She'd had to constantly change the sheets because his fever wasn't breaking so they were getting drenched quickly. The doctor had said his temperature wasn't too much of a worry, but she knew they should have taken him to a hospital. His fever had been too high for too long.

She looked up from Jackson to Dylan, who had decided to fix the door. The first night there had been a constant flow of traffic into the room that no one had bothered with it. Dylan had been working quietly for a while, but she had constantly felt his scrutiny as she had sponged Jackson down repeatedly. Maybe he wanted to make sure she wasn't killing him while he was unconscious.

"I think we should take him to the hospital," she repeated for the hundredth time. "He still looks infected, and he still has a fever."

Dylan rolled his eyes before he hammered another nail into the frame he was replacing around the doorway. How many nails did the damn door need? Jackson was more important; surely he could see that? She was so exhausted from staying up with him that she was starting to see double, but she couldn't close her eyes for fear that Jackson would start getting worse. Something inside her just wouldn't let her rest.

She'd put that down to the fact that he was the only one in the packhouse she could trust to protect her. Dylan had already stated his desire to kill her, and the others were not addressing her at all when they came to check on Jackson.

"Jax is too stubborn to die," Dylan said. "We'll wait it out."

"He could start having seizures! The fever could damage his brain! If that doctor doesn't think anything can be done, then let's take him somewhere else."

"The doctor said you're doing a good enough job," Dylan shrugged. "Keep doing what you're doing."

She felt like arguing her point again, but Dylan was an asshole. Her head was a lot clearer now, but she could still hear his words after the attack ringing through her head. He'd been victim-shaming her. He'd blamed her for almost getting raped. If that didn't confirm that he was a dick and not worth her time, then she didn't know what did.

She rolled her eyes at him and returned her attention to Jackson. The cloth on his forehead was already steaming, and sweat poured down his body. She removed it from his forehead. Faith was bringing more ice packs, but she had to sponge him down again while she waited.

When she'd filled a washing bowl with fresh water, she took it back only to find Dylan standing over Jackson with a worried frown on his face. He moved the moment she settled back beside him. He appeared to be a typical man's man—he had been hiding his emotions the whole time. It was a little surprising. She'd assumed he had no feelings at all.

She started to sponge Jackson down as diligently as she had all the other times. Though she exposed most of his body, there were no sexual thoughts as she tried to cool him down. By the time she finished, his dressing was soaked. The doctor had left her several sterile kits so she could dress the wound when necessary.

Over the years, she'd had to play the nurse in her house several times when Brit got sick or her father came home drunk and cut up. She had been lucky that she never even caught so much as a cold, so it had always been down to her to take care of everyone. She could clean a wound and dress it in her sleep.

When she carefully peeled the dressing off, she reeled back on the bed.

Worse. So much worse. The teeth marks were discoloured and weeping, while the area inside the wound looked like it was being eaten from the inside.

Why was it getting worse?

Panic settled over her. If someone didn't do something now, he was going to die. And just that thought made her feel nauseous.

"Go and get Diedre."

She hadn't noticed that Dylan came back to stand beside the bed. He couldn't hide the worry on his face this time.

She got off the bed and rushed out of the room barefoot. There were two men on either side of the entrance when she got downstairs as if they were guarding the door, but for the first time since she arrived, she wasn't thinking of escaping.

She rushed down the hallway towards Diedre's infirmary.

"Diedre!" she called out.

The woman came out of the room and took one look at her before the same panic she felt reflected on her face. Diedre popped back into her office and grabbed a bag.

"I don't know what's happening," she said as they started to head back.

Diedre stopped and forced her to stop, too. The older woman put her hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

"I'll need to do more for him, and I don't want you to get upset. Stay down here. Go and find something to eat in the kitchen, and I'll get you as soon as I've tended to him."

"But—"

"Go," Diedre said firmly and then moved faster than she had ever seen the woman move.

She had a determined look as she started to march up the stairs.

"Please make sure she stays downstairs," Diedre told the men at the door.

They both nodded and then walked to stand in front of the staircase. She wasn't going to get past them.

Something in her chest hurt as she watched Diedre disappear at the top without her, that same thing that had pushed her to stay by Jackson's side. What if he died? What if Diedre came down in a little while and told her there was nothing she could have done?

Her hand went up to her chest as her heart started beating uncontrollably, and her breathing became harsher.

"So you're the girl."

With her breathing still harsh, she turned around and saw a woman entering the lobby. The same woman she had seen from the window who'd dressed inappropriately for breakfast.

Even now, she wore short shorts that showed off her insanely long legs and round bottom, and her breasts were straining out of her tiny t-shirt.

Her panic was replaced by the intense dislike she'd felt the first time she'd seen the woman. Her skin started to prickle, and shockingly violent thoughts filled her head. It was like watching a gory movie; everything flicking through her mind was so detailed. She had no idea where those thoughts came from.

She tried to put them aside so she wouldn't be rude to the stranger.

"Hi," she said politely.

The woman looked at her from the top of her dishevelled, unruly red mess on her head to her bare feet before she laughed and continued walking to the door.

"I don't know what he sees in you," she chuckled. "I guess I won't have to work very hard after all."

She knew instantly the woman was referring to Jackson. Those were fighting words, and they set a fire in her veins as she watched the woman walk out of the house. Her head seemed intent on ignoring that Jackson wasn't hers, and they could never be together properly anyway. She wanted to fight for him.

"I've made you something to eat."

The calm voice made her turn around. Faith stood in the hallway leading to the kitchen with a small smile on her lips.

"Come to the kitchen," Faith said gently.

And her mind settled instantly. She nodded at the girl and followed despite her body feeling shaken. She didn't understand why she felt any of these things. Maybe she'd run herself down. Not once in her shitty life had she ever felt such violent emotions against someone, especially over a man. She would probably be okay once she got some sleep.