MINE TO CLAIM

CHAPTER 1: NIGHT SHIFT

The gunshot victim came in at 2:47 AM.

“GSW to the chest, multiple entry wounds, massive blood loss!” The paramedic’s voice cut through the organized chaos of Northshore General’s ER. “BP’s dropping fast—he’s circling the drain!”

Ava Morales snapped into action, her twelve-hour shift forgotten as adrenaline flooded her system. This was what she lived for—the desperate battle between life and death, the moment where her hands could make the difference.

“Trauma Bay Two!” she called out, already moving. “Get me O-negative, four units, and page surgery now!”

The gurney burst through the doors, and Ava caught her first glimpse of the dying man. Even covered in blood, even barely conscious, he was striking—sharp features, dark hair, and eyes that were an impossible shade of pale blue.

Eyes that locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.

“Angel,” he whispered, his voice rough with pain. “Are you real?”

“I’m real, and I’m going to save you.” She pressed her hands against his chest, feeling the warm rush of blood between her fingers. Three entrance wounds, close grouping. Professional hit. “Stay with me. What’s your name?”

“Dario.” His hand found hers, grip surprisingly strong for a dying man. “Don’t… let me go.”

“I won’t.” The promise slipped out before she could stop it. “I’ve got you.”

His eyes held hers for one more moment—something passed between them that Ava couldn’t name—then they rolled back as his vitals crashed.

“He’s coding!”

The next hour blurred into a desperate dance with death. Ava’s hands moved with practiced precision—compressions, defibrillation, more blood, more drugs. Around her, the team worked in perfect synchronization, but she was the anchor, the one calling the shots.

“Come on,” she muttered, hands pressed against his chest again. “Don’t you dare die on me, Dario. Not tonight.”

As if he’d heard her, his heart stuttered back to life.

“We’ve got sinus rhythm!” Dr. Chen’s voice carried relief and exhaustion. “Pressure’s stabilizing. Get him to surgery before we lose him again.”

As they rushed him toward the OR, Dario’s eyes fluttered open one more time. His gaze found hers across the chaos, and his lips moved in words she barely heard:

“Mine.”

THREE WEEKS LATER

“Earth to Ava.” Leandro’s warm voice pulled her back to the present. “Where’d you go?”

She blinked, realizing she’d been staring at nothing while her fiancé talked about the wedding seating chart. They were in his apartment—their apartment soon—surrounded by planning binders and color swatches and all the trappings of their perfect future.

“Sorry.” She forced a smile. “Just tired from the night shift.”

“You work too hard.” He pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. It was comfortable, familiar, and safe.

Everything a kiss should be.

So why did her treacherous mind flash back to pale blue eyes and a dying man’s whispered claim?

“The wedding’s in three days,” Leandro continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “After that, you can cut back on the double shifts. Focus on us.”

“Right. Us.” She meant it to sound happy, but it came out hollow.

Leandro frowned, tilting her chin up to meet his eyes.

“Ava, are you having second thoughts?”

“No!” The denial came too quick, too sharp. “No, of course not. I’m just… nervous. Wedding jitters.”

He studied her face—kind, handsome, completely devoted Leandro, who loved her in all the safe, appropriate ways. Who would give her a good life, a stable life, exactly what she’d always planned for.

“I love you,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

“I know.” And she did. She just wasn’t sure anymore if love was supposed to feel so… quiet.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. She almost ignored it, but something made her open the message.

“Three days until you make the biggest mistake of your life. I’ll be there to stop you. —D”

The phone slipped from her nerveless fingers.

“Ava? What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I…” She stared at the message, heart hammering against her ribs. It couldn’t be. He was just a patient. One patient out of hundreds. There was no reason for him to—

Another message appeared:

“PS - You look beautiful when you’re scared. Almost as beautiful as you looked saving my life.”

Her head snapped up, eyes darting to the windows of Leandro’s fifth-floor apartment. Nothing but darkness and city lights.

But somewhere out there, she knew with absolute certainty, pale blue eyes were watching.

And counting down the days until her wedding.