Mated to the Alpha

3

Mila

“Thank you, doctor,” the elderly man says as he helps his wife off the examination table. They’re so cute and I can’t help but smile as I watch them. He’s been so attentive to her needs.

It makes me realize what I’m lacking in my life.

I wish I had someone to look at me like that. To hold my hand like that.

“Why are you scaring me like this, Maureen?” he asks as he takes her purse. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably go partying in Florida for Spring Break,” she says with a wrinkly grin. “Wouldn’t you like that, Harold? Dancing and partying on the beach with a bunch of younger girls?”

I’m grinning as I pretend to read my chart.

“My dancing days are done,” he says with a laugh. “It would be more like Spring Break-a-hip if I tried.”

They thank me again as they leave, laughing and holding hands. Harold was worried she was having a heart attack so he called an ambulance. I was happy to tell them both that it was just indigestion.

I step into the hallway and sigh as I watch them leave. I’m such a sucker for old couples who still hold hands. It gets me every time.

They turn the corner and I get back to work. It’s quiet today at the hospital. I just started work and there’s not much going on.

A nagging feeling in the back of my mind starts poking at me again. It’s calling me to room 76.

I check my chart and I’m not due in that room. In fact, the patient in there is assigned to my colleague.

Rylan Young. 28 years old.

The name doesn’t ring a bell, but for some reason, my body is urging me to go there. To check it out.

I take a deep breath and head over to grab a coffee while I still can. As I’m pouring my milk in, the pull to the room gets stronger, heavier, and pretty soon I can’t ignore it anymore.

I’ll just go check it out and see.

My heart starts racing as I walk over. It’s filled with big muscular men.

But not just any men…

Firemen.

No wonder I was drawn to this room. My libido probably sensed the testosterone from down the hall and sent an emergency appeal up to my brain.

The four large men turn to me and I take a step back and swallow hard. They’re enormous.

All of them are wearing their fireman pants with tight navy blue shirts. Everywhere I look I see round biceps, massive chests, flat stomachs, and broad shoulders.

They make me feel incredibly tiny, which is a hard task to accomplish with all of my extra curves.

“Are you the nurse?” the one with tattoos running up and down his thick arms asks.

“Dude, that’s sexist!” another one says. He’s the youngest looking one out of the four of them. “She’s probably a doctor. A brain surgeon even.” He looks right at me. “Right?”

I gulp. “Just a doctor,” I say. “Dr. Matthews.”

“Great,” the older looking one with the gray hair says, looking relieved. “Is our boy okay?”

They move to the side and for the first time, I see the patient on the bed.

He’s unconscious and breathing, but he looks like he’s on the verge of death. The machines he’s attached to are beeping steadily, but from the way he looks, that could stop at any second.

My feet start moving on their own and I walk over to the bed, feeling drawn to him like a bee to honey. I can’t take my eyes off his face.

It’s gorgeous even though it’s been obliterated. His eyes are swollen shut, his jaw looks like it’s been shattered and his skin is a mess. Where it’s not torn up and shredded, it’s covered in dried blood.

“What happened to him?” I whisper as tears start flooding my eyes.

One of the guys laughs. “He tried to make out with a Mack truck while it was going 80 miles an hour. He flew back fifty yards and landed on the ground like a crash test dummy.”

I spin around and glare at him. That shuts his smart mouth up really fast.

“Are these his X-rays?” I ask as I push past two of them to the chart beside his bed.

It’s even worse than I thought. It’s harder to find bones that aren’t broken than bones that are. There’s internal bleeding, lots of it, and for sure there’s organ damage as well. He shouldn’t even be alive.

“What happened to him?” I ask as I try to fight back the tears. I don’t know why I’m crying. I’ve seen worse than this. I’ve had patients die in my care but nothing affected me like this.

I must be getting my period or something.

But no… I had it last week.

“He should be dead,” I whisper as I look at his chart.

The fireman with the gray hair leans in. “He’s a shifter, doc,” he whispers. “Grizzly bear.”

“Oooh,” I say as it dawns on me. “That would explain it.”

I drop the chart and take another long look at him. His breathing is labored, but he’s getting the air in. I can tell that his body is fighting for life. I gently put my hand on his shoulder and send him a few words of silent encouragement.

You can do it, Rylan. Don’t give up.

“Dr. Collins already gave him a couple of PRP injections,” I tell his friends as I study his face. It’s all swollen and broken, but somehow he’s still gorgeous. I can’t look away.

“PRP?” one of them asks.

“Platelet-rich plasma,” I tell them. “It will help speed up his natural shifter healing. The best thing we can give him is a quiet space to heal. His body should provide him with everything else he needs to recover.”

They don’t want to leave and I can tell by the way they keep looking at him that the five of them are really close. Even the tattooed guy who made the insensitive joke looks upset. Sometimes I forget that guys show each other love in that way. The crueler the joke, the more brotherly love there is.