by Evie Ryan
“Call Italy,” she ordered.
Ismay’s jaw dropped. “That’s very unwise, my Love.”
Elektra glared at him with the weight of her thousand years experience so Ismay picked up the phone, but didn’t dial.
“We haven’t associated with their society in centuries,” he said, voicing his opinion gently. “Remember what happened last time?”
“I do,” said Elektra. “But we have no choice. The alternative is death.”
Ismay placed the receiver to his ear, dialed, and kept the conversation that followed to a quiet murmur.
“Joseph, start the paperwork for her enrollment at the Training Center. We’ll need to present something to the Board if and when she’s brought back to life.”
“We’re not equipped to train her,” stated Joseph dutifully.
“I realize that,” she said, unwavering in her demand.
Joseph left immediately to start the forms.
“There are no guarantees, Brandon,” Elektra went on. “When the Specialist arrives he’ll assess her potential. Go home.”
“Will you call me if there’s any news?” He asked.
“Brandon, go home.” Brandon met eyes with Ismay, who nodded encouragingly to convey that they would take it from here and he must leave. Slowly, he made his way to the doors and just as he was about to pass through, Elektra added, “If she lives, she’ll be your responsibility.”
He eyed her, acknowledging the warning then passed through the doors leaving the mysterious woman in their care.
Brandon took the long way home, walking by moonlight through the thick wilderness and thought about the woman. Blood cancer. She had wanted to get away from it all, escape her life if only for a few days. She was about to get exactly what she wanted in a major way. He wondered if that was what she really wanted, if living in the manner she was about to would relieve her or ruin her. Unlike the lost and injured hikers the Sanctuary found and turned into wolves and shifters, the woman would have no choice. And at this point neither did Brandon. She wouldn’t become a werewolf like him. If the Elder’s plan worked, if they’re able to save her, the woman would turn into a species of the undead that had been at odds with their people for centuries. It could either restore the rift between the two societies or drive them further apart, and Brandon would be caught dead center in the middle of it.
If he wanted anything in that moment it was for the woman to live. He had to have her no matter what the consequences. If she lived, Brandon Scott would make her his woman whether she was designed to destroy him or not.
Chapter Two
The sharp scent of rubbing alcohol that shot up her nostrils, stinging her brain, told Gwen she wasn’t dead. She was freezing. The length of her backside was chilled by the smooth hard surface she was lying on. She investigated the bed by spreading her fingertips and pressing her palms against it. Metal. She was on some kind of table. She motioned to lift her hand to her head, which was throbbing, but realized her arm was braced down. She tested the other arm. It was braced as well, along with her legs. Finally she sensed a number of straps banded across her chest, waist, and hips. She would’ve panicked if she had the strength to, but Gwen felt achy all over, freezing yet feverish. And her head was absolutely killing her.
What kind of hospital ties their patients down? She thought, as her mind began to race, pulling together the facts of what she last remembered. The hike. She had gotten bug repellent in her right eye. A blister that had cropped up on the back of her left ankle had been bothering her. The ridge! She remembered falling, the terror, the way her life flashed before her eyes and how it had been little more than an endless series of office meetings, arguments, and small victories peppered in with a few images of her parents, her sister and the baby, and capped off with the life altering diagnosis.
For one fleeting moment she wondered if she was back in Seattle, if this was the Harborview Medical Center and her doctor (what’s his name?) had decided to proceed with the treatment without her consent. Maybe they’d found her at the bottom of the ravine, air lifted her out, transported her by helicopter out of the Cascades, but as Gwen considered the likelihood she knew none of that had been the case.
She couldn’t see. Or rather, the room was pitch black. Or maybe it wasn’t. She wriggled her nose and discovered fabric brushing along the bridge. A bit of light seeped under the mask after her nose wiggled the adjustment, which told her there were lights on in her hospital room. If this was a hospital.
Though she felt ill in a way that was completely foreign to her, Gwen lifted her arm, this time pulling it up and under the strap until her hand was free to remove the eye mask from her head. The room was brighter than she expected and she had to squint so her eyes could adjust. Once they had, she noticed a thin, red, plastic tube sticking out of the vein on her inner right forearm. It connected to an IV that was hanging from a metal rack beside the table she was lying on. It took a second to register that the IV bag was halfway full of blood.
The sight was alarming. Gwen jutted upright, causing the straps that braced her to tear apart and the plastic tubes in her arms to pop out. In the back of her mind she found it odd how easily she’d freed herself, but with confusion taking hold the notion fell away. She realized there were more tubes sticking up her nose that wrapped around the back of her head so she yanked those out as well, all the while irritated by a shrill beeping noise. Had the room always been beeping? She scanned the machines that sat around the head of the table, and discovered which one was responsible for the grating sound that seemed to pierce her skull. It was some kind of heart rate monitor. The jagged checks of its digital waves had fallen into a flat line marking the moment she’d torn the plastic tubes out of her veins. She couldn’t take the noise. Without thinking, Gwen grabbed the machine, stand and all, and threw it across the room. When it hit the wall, shattering on impact, she saw that the damn thing had been bolted to the floor. There were holes in the sterile tiling where its stand had been.
Voices and footsteps emanated from beyond her room and were fast approaching. A stroke of shame sliced through her at her impulsiveness and the damage it had caused, and the thought of her insurance premium skyrocketing came to mind. But the fear was quickly extinguished by a greater shame: Gwen wasn’t wearing any clothes. Quickly, she grabbed the straps and made a feeble effort to cover herself up by laying a few over her lap then holding one across her breasts, which she managed just in the nick of time.
“Out of the way!” She heard a woman say.
Gwen’s eyes darted up to the small windows on the double doors where on the other side a man was staring at her. They locked eyes briefly, and Gwen was struck by the steel blue shade of the man’s irises. They seemed to catch the light, piercing through her. It was only after the man was shooed away from the window that Gwen registered his facial features, dark brown hair, and scruff of dark stubble across his strong jawline, which gave her the impression he was good looking. It only added to her embarrassment, however. How long had he been watching her? He saw her completely nude!
Before she knew it, an extremely tall woman was entering the room, followed by a gentile looking man, and then another who appeared to be unusually pale, youthful, and incredibly handsome.
“Look at this mess,” said the woman, as the gentile looking man rushed to Gwen’s side and began strapping the plastic air tubes around her head, though she tried to urge him back. She realized she wouldn’t succeed without exposing her bare chest.
“I can breathe just fine,” she stated, but the man was unrelenting, so she gave up and let him do what he was determined to do. Soon the tubes were back in her nostrils. “Where am I?”
“Firstly,” began the woman. “I’ll not have you destroying our medical equipment.”
“She doesn’t know her own strength. Give it time,” said the pale man discretely, to which the woman lowered her gaze as though he’d delivered information she was already aware of.
“I’d like to sp
eak with my doctor,” said Gwen firmly.
“You’re not in a hospital,” the woman corrected. “You’re in the Cascade Sanctuary & Wildlife Preserve. Do you know what that is?”
“No,” admitted Gwen after giving it a moment’s thought.
“You were found dead at the bottom of the ravine. We did what we could.”
“I was found dead?” She asked, confused. “You mean almost dead.”
The woman exchanged a sly look with the gentile man, before continuing. “This wildlife preserve nurses sick and injured animals back to health for the intents and purposes of releasing them back into the wild, or, if their condition persists, homing them here for further rehabilitation.”
“So a bunch of vets treated me? I’d like to call my insurance company if you don’t mind,” said Gwen hopping off the table. The straps that had been covering her lap fell to the floor and she immediately regretted her decision. Her right hand flew down to her loins, covering them, yet forsaking her right breast. She couldn’t win with this. “Who the hell took my clothes?”
“Have a seat,” said the woman.
Gwen had no choice at this point. She sat.
“I’m the Head of the Administration here at the Sanctuary Training Center. My name is Elektra. This is Ismay,” said the woman, gesturing to the gentile man. “He’s the Dean.”
“Training Center?”
“As I mentioned, we found you dead. You are no longer dead, as you may have noticed, which means there will be many adjustments you must make in order to acclimate.”
“This is a joke, right?”
“The training center will oversee your rehabilitation,” Elektra went on completely ignoring her question for its rhetoric. “This is Christoph Barone. He’s the specialist that salvaged your life.”
“Thanks?”
“Ordinarily, we’d like to keep you here for observation, but you seem strong and quite frankly we can’t risk further damage to our equipment,” said Ismay, though he kept his eyes on the stately woman, Elektra as he did so.
Elektra seemed satisfied then told Gwen, “You’ll need to meet with Joseph who will process your enrollment paperwork. I assume you know your social security number? You’ll give him that information, along with your name, home address, work address, and a list of all living relatives.”
“Why?” Asked Gwen.
Elektra shot Christoph a sideways glance, to which Christoph shrugged though it was barely perceptible. “A personality flaw at best,” he offered. “Not a symptom.”
Elektra seemed displeased with the explanation. Her lips pressed into a hard line, as she steadied her intent and chose her words carefully. “Why? Because life as you’ve known, is over.”
It was chilling. This wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a hospital. Gwen had been saved, her life restored, but had regained no sense of control. The way that woman was looking at her, boring through Gwen down to her very soul, told her that she was now indebted. And she had no idea what it meant.
“Get dressed,” ordered the woman.
Gwen was about to point out the fact that she had no idea where her jeans and sweater were when Christoph produced a small case. It had seemed to appear out of thin air and for a second Gwen wondered if the head trauma had done something to her vision and short-term memory. Christoph set the case on the table beside Gwen then followed Ismay out through the doors.
“Please, get dressed then meet us out in the corridor. Your meeting with Joseph will be brief after which we’ll get you settled into your room. This is a peaceful facility and we won’t tolerate any violence,” she warned.
Gwen was completely taken aback. She hadn’t been violent a day in her life, quite the opposite, but she understood the woman’s concern. “I didn’t mean to throw that machine,” she explained. “I mean I meant to, but I wasn’t thinking. It was completely out of character for me and I don’t know why I did it. It won’t happen again.”
Elektra stared at her for a long moment then said, “My Dear, it is very much in your character.” With that she left Gwen to her privacy.
Gwen turned the small case over in her hands, feeling its weight and looking for its hinges. When she located them, she popped the case open expecting to find her jean shorts and sweater, but the case contained a ball of black fabric. She lifted the material out of the case and realized it was a black dress made of a slinky material and overlain with black lace. Now that the dress was no longer within the case, Gwen realized there was a pair of sandals resting at the bottom. At least she thought they were sandals. The shoes were black as well, closed toe wedges with two long black ribbons extending from the heel of each shoe.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said under her breath then repeated the sentiment loudly through the doors. “You’ve got to be kidding me with this!” But there was no response.
* * *
Brandon’s gaze traced the line of the woman’s bare back, as he peaked through the glass. Her blond hair faded deeply dark at the nape of her neck. He liked how the short cut accentuated the length of her neck, the angles of her broad shoulders, both of which complimented her narrow waist and the width of her curving hips. For a moment, he got lost in the lines of her body, remembering how she’d felt in his arms. Her sun-kissed skin, as he remembered it now looked pale, though her new milky-white complexion was all the more becoming.
“Werewolves are barbaric brutes,” said Christoph, who had appeared behind him soundlessly. “Stop drooling, you filthy animal and give the woman the privacy she deserves.”
Brandon snarled at Christoph, redirecting his gaze to meet the man’s piercing green eyes. It unnerved him that Christoph was cool as silk and just as smooth. It made any objection Brandon had to the criticism utterly futile. He was a bit of a brute, clearly, he’d been caught getting an eye full. But that was his nature, so what? “I hope you’re visit here will restore relations and not strain them further,” Brandon said, trying to sound as intelligent as possible.
Christoph smiled. Everything about him was crisp from his black coiffed hair to his pressed lavender button-down shirt to his shined wing-tip shoes, which seemed to glisten. “I wouldn’t concern myself with diplomacy, if I were you. It’s above your pay grade.”
“If you have such a problem with werewolves, why are you here?” Brandon challenged.
The smile slipped off Christoph’s face then he said in a deep tone that Brandon found both threatening and sensual, “It’s a worthwhile opportunity.”
“Meaning what?”
Christoph let the mystery of his statement hang between them then said, “You know she could kill you with a look. I wouldn’t go barking up that tree if I were you.”
“The Administration wants me at the helm of her rehabilitation,” stated Brandon, asserting his authority.
“I’m sure you’re quite mistaken about that.”
“You can’t train her if you’re not here.”
“Exactly.”
“Gentleman,” called Elektra from the far end of the corridor. “A word?”
Brandon closed the office door behind himself after Christoph had passed through. Elektra resumed her seat behind her desk and Ismay joined her, standing by her side.
“This is highly unorthodox, but the Administration has every intention of rehabilitating and training Gwen Keller,” she began.
Gwen Keller. Gwen. Brandon turned the woman’s name over in his mind. It was beautiful and matched her delicacy and strength to a T.
“Brandon Scott will be in charge of her training,” Elektra stated.
The confirmation caused Brandon to shoot Christoph a glaring look that said, I told you so.
“Christoph, any instructions you could spare before you leave would be much appreciated.”
“I believe the most appropriate course of action would be for me to take Gwen back to Italy with me,” he said. “Once she’s healthy enough, that is.”
“We can’t let you do that, with all due respect,” said Elek
tra.
Christoph seemed surprised at her stance.
“Once a hiker is admitted and treated at the Sanctuary they're tied to our spiritual code. We take responsibility for their lives and actions. We can’t allow her out. We won’t turn her care over to you, as appropriate as you might believe it to be.”
“Then I’ll stay,” Christoph offered, though it certainly didn’t come across that way. It sounded more like a threat as far as Brandon was concerned. “I’ll oversee her training.”
“I have every intention of training her-” Brandon said, getting heated.
“Train her in what? You’re a werewolf. What are you going to teach her?” Christoph let his temper cool, abandoning any more arguing with the lowly werewolf who was clearly beneath him, and focused his point at Elektra. “Do you understand that the combination of her new strength along with the dark urges that will surely take root make for a deadly cocktail? It would be irresponsible of me to leave her in your care and it would be wildly arrogant of you all to presume you can handle her, much less this novice.”
“I’m not a novice,” said Brandon.
“You’re a werewolf, and therefore not equipped to train her. Period,” countered Christoph. “I’ll respect your code, but you must let me handle her.”
“Fine,” said Elektra without a moment’s hesitation. “But you’ll also respect our killing codes. I don’t know your dietary needs, but our organization is committed to helping the preservation of wildlife and it will not be tolerated if our new guests go around sacrificing them because they get hungry.”
“Death is never necessary,” Christoph said reassuringly.
“Further, you must promise not to use your dark influence over the staff or any of our students.”
“You mean we’re not permitted to feed off of the shifters here?”
“That’s correct,” said Elektra.
“You’re driving a very hard bargain.”
“All of our students are vulnerable. They’re honing their skills and trying to grow into their new abilities with as much control as they can manage. If you think we don’t know enough about your kind, you know even less about ours. Feeding off of them could hinder their progress and frustrate them, and a frustrated shifter is deadly. Let’s not have any mishaps please. This is a peaceful organization.”