Chapter 3NYU Langone Hand Center
Roland paced the room. He had to call his Alpha and tell him he would need time to see Illya through to rehabilitation. It was also necessary to tell him about the press. He stopped pacing. His eyes darted up, his ears twitched, he sniffed, nose in the air. Suddenly, his nostrils were assailed with the smell of newly-mown grass and freshly turned earth. The large Beta jerked up his head and pivoted toward the smell. Coming straight at him, lying on hospital transport, was Illya. Mine, my Mate. Illya Raphäel, not Dudayev, Dudayev isn’t right, this man is my Mate.
He approached the gurney and saw Illya’s shoulders shaking. He sped up, running toward his Mate. One of the orderlies stepped in front of him and physically blocked his way. “Step outside, sir. It
