The Resuscitation

POV: Paige.

It takes my brain a couple of agonizing seconds to fully process what I just heard over the continuous, piercing tone of the flatline monitor. Did he actually say *mate*? My mind spins, trying to make sense of the impossible syllable that just left his bloody lips. I glance at the young, battered Lycan standing on the other side of the trauma bed. He looks just as shocked and surprised as I am. Did he hear it too?

The flatline screams in my ears, snapping me violently back to reality. My trained doctor brain immediately kicks in, forcefully overriding my personal panic and the swirling confusion in my chest.

“Crash cart!” I yell at the top of my lungs. I forcefully shove the impossible, world-altering word completely out of my mind. Nurse Bryn rushes into the chaotic room pushing the heavy equipment. I grab the defibrillator paddles.

“Clear!” I shout.

I deliver the first shock. His massive body jolts violently off the mattress, an electrical spasm surging through his failing heart. I stare at the monitor, but there is absolutely no heartbeat.

“Clear!” I shout again. I deliver the second shock. His chest arcs upward once more, slamming back down against the bed. Still absolutely nothing.

The young Lycan steps closer to the edge of the bed, hot tears welling in his bright eyes as absolute desperation takes over. He grabs the metal railing with trembling, bloodstained hands.

“Come on, Damon… come on, man,” he pleads brokenly, his voice cracking with unadulterated grief.

The heavy tension in the emergency room is completely suffocating. Then, slicing cleanly through the heavy silence of the room—*beep, beep, beep*.

I stare at the screen. The rhythm is incredibly faint, but it is there. A jagged green line spikes across the monitor. It is enough.

“Let’s go!” I shout. We immediately jump into action, unlocking the bed wheels to roll him rapidly upstairs to an operating room.

Once I am thoroughly scrubbed in, I stand over the sterile surgical table. I am facing the incredibly daunting task of operating on a full-blooded Lycan. I have absolutely zero knowledge of their internal anatomy. I have to blindly assume it is somewhat similar to a standard werewolf’s anatomy. I am about to find out.

I make the first deep incision into his chest. As I originally suspected, one of his lungs has completely collapsed. I work quickly, carefully inserting a chest tube to relieve the immense pressure and stabilize the lung. I am just moving on to assess the internal bleeding when Dr. Tate enters the OR, already fully scrubbed in to assist me.

“What are we working with?” Dr. Tate asks, coming to stand right beside me. His tone is entirely professional and deeply calming.

I rapidly report the grim statistics. “We have a collapsed lung, severe internal bleeding, and half his ribs are completely shattered. There are more broken bones than I care to count right now. I’m honestly surprised he is still alive.”

Dr. Tate offers a gentle, reassuring smile. He immediately begins assessing the extensive bone damage. "Well, Lycans are incredibly resilient creatures. I’ll start setting these broken bones immediately. If we let them heal incorrectly while he is unconscious, we’ll just have to break them later to set them right. Let’s take full advantage of him being under anesthesia. Did you put him on blood thinners?"

I pause, staring at Dr. Tate in utter confusion. "No. We never use blood thinners when operating on werewolves."

Seeing my obvious lack of knowledge, he steps in to explain a crucial piece of Lycan anatomy. “Lycans heal much faster than wolves do. If we don’t put them on heavy blood thinners immediately, the surgical incisions you just made will literally heal together before you can properly fix his internal organs.”

My eyes widen in shock. It is incredibly hard to believe this battered man can heal at all considering his horrific state, but I immediately instruct the anesthesiologist to administer the necessary blood thinners.

Following Dr. Tate's expert guidance regarding their dense, highly unique bone structure, the grueling surgery proceeds smoothly. Dr. Tate even starts humming quietly to himself, completely in his element as he expertly pins and sets the severe fractures. Slowly but surely, Damon’s chaotic, failing vitals finally stabilize into a steady, reliable rhythm.

As we begin closing the incisions, Dr. Tate casually informs me that Wyatt, the injured pack wolf he was operating on earlier, will also make a full and complete recovery. Wyatt was the wolf in by far the absolute worst condition out of our pack members, so we are mutually relieved to hear he is out of the woods.

Hours later, thoroughly exhausted, I drag my heavy limbs out of the operating room. I head straight to the locker room showers to wash off the thick layers of sweat and Lycan blood. Once I am clean, I change into comfortable, fresh clothes—a pair of black leggings, a soft bralette, and my absolute favorite baggy sweater. It is late, and I am desperately craving my bed. However, my rampant anxiety completely refuses to let me rest just yet. I have to physically check on my Lycan patient before allowing myself to finally sleep.

I quietly walk into his dimly lit recovery room. The large room actually holds four beds, but only the Lycans are currently occupying the space. I imagine no wolf wanted to recover in the same room as them. The young Lycan from the ER is sedated in the bed directly next to Damon.

Nurse Chloe is standing right by Damon's bed, squinting in the darkness as she severely struggles to update his intricate medical chart. The only light source is a tiny bedside lamp.

Without thinking twice, my hand instinctively moves toward the wall to flip the main light switch.

The sudden movement triggers a deep, menacing, almost-growl from a large, shadowy figure sitting perfectly still in the far corner of the room.

“He likes it dark,” an older, heavily scarred Lycan warns from the shadows. His voice is incredibly rough, grating, and deeply threatening.

Chloe shoots me an annoyed look, clearly indicating she already tried to turn on the main lights and was thoroughly threatened into submission. But I am not Chloe. I am the Head Physician of this pack hospital.

With a sharp, unapologetic flick of my wrist, I turn the bright fluorescent lights on anyway.

This blatant act of defiance inspires another angry, rumbling growl from the dangerous friend in the corner. But Chloe simply sighs in immense relief. She gratefully finishes scribbling her important medical notes under the bright lights and hurries completely out of the tense room.

The older Lycan slowly stands up from his chair and starts moving toward me. His massive, hulking frame looms intimidatingly over me as I stubbornly step forward to check on my patient's heart monitors. He looks significantly older than the other two Lycans, with white dusting his dark hair and a muscular build that radiates lethal power.

As he stops right next to me, I immediately notice that his own arm is incorrectly bandaged in a sloppy, makeshift sling. Did someone on my medical staff do this? It looks like negligent care. I also spot a deep, jagged cut across his wide forehead that is miraculously already healing, and an angry red scratch mark running down his thick neck.

His face remains absolutely stern and unyielding. His deep grey eyes are incredibly distant and terrifyingly cold. They clearly broadcast exactly how deeply wary and profoundly uncomfortable he is being completely surrounded by wolves on our territory. In any other normal circumstance, Lycan trespassers would be killed on sight. Alpha Sloane made a very rare, highly controversial exception for them today.

“How long until he wakes up?” he asks, his deep voice demanding an immediate answer.

“The surgery went very well and he is currently perfectly stable,” I reply, maintaining pure, icy professionalism, even though his looming, deeply aggressive stance is rapidly grating on my frayed nerves. “Depending on exactly how fast Lycans heal, he should wake up sometime tomorrow without a problem.”

“Will he be able to travel?” he presses further, narrowing his dark eyes at me.

“We will run more x-rays tomorrow morning to make sure his shattered bones are healing securely in place. Depending on those results, he could travel perhaps in a week’s time,” I inform him calmly.

“Perhaps?” he scoffs bitterly, his upper lip curling in deep disgust. “Our own healers would’ve easily had him walking in a day’s time. You mutts can’t even do your jobs right.”

He spits the offensive word 'mutts' with pure, unadulterated venom, lacing his tone with deep-seated prejudice.

Unfazed by his blatant, highly offensive disrespect, I firmly stand my ground. I absolutely refuse to back down.

“We will cure you, feed you, and clothe you for exactly as long as our Alpha sees fit,” I state coldly, my voice dripping with absolute, unwavering authority. “Until then, try your best not to offend my medical staff. Remember, you’re on wolf territory now.”

I give him a tight, entirely fake smile and promptly turn on my heel. I march right out of the tense hospital room, leaving him silently fuming behind me.

As I walk quickly down the quiet, sterile hallway toward the exit doors, I am genuinely amazed at how quickly this incredibly rude, deeply arrogant man managed to irritate the tired right out of me.