The Cold Tyrant's Remedy

“Code Violet, Level Seven. All non-essential personnel clear the east corridor immediately.” A woman’s voice came through the hospital intercom and the nurses' station fell silent as Lucia Vasquez looked up from the patient charts in her hands. Two senior nurses exchanged tense glances before one of them reached for the phone and spoke in a voice too low for Lucia to hear. Something was wrong. It wasn't the normal emergency tone. This one was lower and slower, almost calm. At the far end of the hallway, the reinforced doors of the restricted wing slid open. Lucia stepped aside as medical personnel rushed through the corridor, their white coats moving in a blur. Gurney wheels squeaked, IV bags swung from their hooks, and someone was shouting instructions from down the hall. Everyone knew better than to go near the restricted wing. The rumors changed every week. Some said celebrities stayed there. Others believed it was a private research floor owned by the Crowe family. Lucia never cared enough to ask questions. She was only concerned with finishing her shift and making it through the night. “Code Violet, Level Seven. All non-essential personnel clear the east corridor immediately.” The announcement repeated. Lucia should have walked away. She knew that. But the doors hadn't fully closed. Before she could stop herself, she glanced through the gap. The hallway beyond didn't feel like part of the hospital. The lighting was warm, the walls were covered in dark wood instead of white paint, and the air smelled faintly of cedar and metal. Then she heard it. A pained groan coming from the third room on the left. Lucia froze. For a second, she remembered her mother in the ICU three years ago, shaking so violently the bedrails had rattled while nurses rushed in too late because the floor had been understaffed. She remembered standing frozen in the doorway, unable to help while her mother suffered. Before she could talk herself out of it, she slipped through the opening and hurried toward the sound. The room was large and dimly lit, filled with some equipment she recognized and some she didn't. Monitors flashed readings across their screens, and a reinforced bed sat empty in the center of the room. She looked down. Then she saw him. A man, lying on the floor. His body was jerking violently, his back was arching off the hardwood, and his teeth were grinding so hard, she could hear it from across the room. Then she noticed one of his hands clawing at his chest while the other was twisted at a terrible angle. Oh, Lord. The hand was definitely broken. Lucia looked around quickly. The medical team still hadn't arrived. It didn't matter. She was here now. Dropping to her knees beside him, she reached for his shoulder. “Sir? Can you hear me?” No response. Then she noticed blood slipping from the corner of his mouth where he had bitten his tongue. Grabbing a folded cloth from the nearby tray, she carefully tried to keep his airway clear by pressing the cloth into his mouth. Her heart pounded. She had handled seizures before, during her emergency room rotation, but never alone and never with a patient whose medical history she knew nothing about. Suddenly his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. The seizure stopped instantly. One second, his body was convulsing, and the next, he was completely still Lucia stared at him. Confused. His fingers were ice cold against her skin, but the tension was slowly fading from his face. His breathing was also steadying. She tried to pull away but his grip tightened. “Don’t.” The word came out rough and weak, he sounded like he hadn't spoken in days. Then his eyes opened and their eyes met. She gasped. “Who are you?” he asked gruffly. “I’m an intern,” Lucia managed, her throat feeling dry all of a sudden. “I heard you fall and came in to help." She looked around nervously. "The team should be here any moment now.” “What’s your name?” he asked, his voice coming out more clearly now. “Lucia," she whispered. "Lucia," he repeated slowly, like he was tasting it. “What’s your specialty?” he asked. “I’m just an intern,” she said again. Then in an attempt to change the topic, she pointed to his arm. “Your hand is broken. You need medical attention. I'll go look for the nurses.” “It’s already healing,” the man said and Lucia looked down immediately. She looked down, and as she watched, his bones shifted beneath his skin, straightening. The swelling faded in real time, the purple bruising fading to pink, then to his normal skin tone, all in seconds. Lucia jerked backward so fast her back hit the floor. She scrambled away from him, her heels slipping on the hardwood, and her heart slamming so hard she could almost hear it. "What the hell are you?" He sat up slowly. One hand braced against the floor, and the other, the one that had been broken, flexed experimentally at his side and perfectly healed. Perfectly normal. His pale gray eyes found hers again, and just then, the doors burst open behind her and security rushed into the room. There were three of them. Before she could react, two of them grabbed Lucia's shoulders and hauled her backward. Her back hit the wall and an arm pressed across her chest, pinning her in place. "Wait," the man's voice cut through the chaos. He was standing now. Taller than she'd realized. Broad shouldered, with dark hair falling across his forehead. His shirt was torn open at the collar, bloodstained, but he moved with the kind of controlled precision that made the guards hesitate. "Let her go," he growled. The guard holding her didn't move. "Sir, protocol states any unauthorized contact requires immediate..." "I said let her go." The guard's face went pale. His arm fell from Lucia's chest so fast she stumbled forward. An older woman pushed through the crowd. She had silver-streaked hair pulled into a tight bun. She was wearing a white coat and her badge read DOCTOR. LIORA NKOSI. Her gaze swept the room, she looked at the man, then at Lucia. Her expression remained unreadable. "Get him back to bed," she told the medical team. Her voice was calm and terrifying in its control. Then she turned to Lucia. "Take her to administration. Confiscate her badge. She is not to leave until I complete my assessment." “Assessment for what?” Lucia asked, trying to steady her voice. “I was only trying to help.” Doctor Nkosi didn't look at her when she said, "You entered a restricted area during a Code Violet. That alone is enough to get you fired. Be grateful we're not involving the police." "I want to see her file," the man said to the doctor, drawing her attention from Lucia. "Yes, about that…” The guard grabbed Lucia’s elbow and guided her toward the door before she could hear what the doctor had to say. As she was being dragged away, she turned back one last time. He was staring back at her, and the look on his face sent a shiver down her spine. What the hell had she gotten herself into?