Alpha attacked, p.1
Alpha Attacked, page 1
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Also by Eve Langlais
Copyright Alpha Attacked © Eve Langlais
Cover Art © by Melony Paradise of ParadiseCoverDesign.com
Produced in Canada
Published by Eve Langlais
http://www.EveLanglais.com
eBook: ISBN: 978 177 384 340 7
Print ISBN: 978 177 384 341 4
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This book is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.
Introduction
Biting the bullet of love.
Working in the ER, Maeve has seen some weird stuff, like the guy with numerous gunshot wounds who literally hops off the operating table and walks out. Which isn’t as strange as the people who claim they saw a wolf running out the main doors of the hospital. All par for the course on a full-moon shift.
What Maeve doesn’t know is she saved the life of the local Alpha.
Griffin is tough, and those who tried to kill him will regret their failure, because he is now out for revenge. The problem is identifying the enemy. Is it the rival wolf gang over the river, or a stranger trying to steal his Pack?
The answer appears to be tangled up with the doctor who operated on him. A woman with a delectable scent—and secrets.
What does Maeve have to do with the violence targeting his Pack?
And what will the sexy doctor say when she realizes he doesn’t just howl in bed?
Find more howling heroes at: EveLanglais.com
Kodiak Point
Feral Pack
Bitten Point
Dragon Point
Their Furever Mates
Pack
Freakn' Shifters
1
Working during the full moon sucked for those in the emergency department. It wasn’t just a myth that people acted a little crazier. It happened Every. Single. Time.
Unprovoked attacks. Hallucinations. And for some reason, more people came in with dog bites.
Like the others employed by the hospital, Maeve had to take her turn working the night shift on the full moon. She made her rounds, cubicle after cubicle, dealing with folks. One couple, who’d decided to bind their love in blood, needed stitches because they’d cut a little too deep. There was the guy overdosing for the second time that night who refused her offer of drug counseling. She informed three other people she wouldn’t prescribe opioids and got called a few choice names. The usual stuff.
She let it all roll off her back. Addiction could be a terrible thing to deal with. Maeve’s was for chocolate. Not the cheap stuff bought at the corner store. She liked her imported Belgian treats. She’d been known to get testy when Aunt Flo visited and she didn’t have a piece of cocoa goodness melting in her mouth.
Around two a.m., with the moon shining super bright outside, the shit really started hitting the fan as the bars shut down, spilling the drunks into the streets. Most would stagger home or find a place to sleep it off. But others just had to cause trouble, leading to a wave of people coming into the ER. Most sported contusions and broken noses, easily triaged and gotten rid of. Those with stab wounds required a closer look.
At almost four, Maeve finally got a break. She was savoring a glorious hot chocolate with little marshmallows on top when the intercom went off.
“Dr. Friedman. Purple in R2.” Purple was code for gunshot wound. Getting all too common these days with the illegal guns coming into the city. The hospital changed the color code often so that people hearing the announcements wouldn’t start whipping out their phones to try to film a traumatic moment.
The macabre bent of today’s society worried Maeve. Made her not regret her choice to skip having kids. Although she’d recently been thinking of getting a cat.
Seemed like a lot of responsibility when all she wanted to do when she got off shift was suck down a glass of wine while slouching on her comfy couch.
“Dr. Friedman. Code purple in R2.”
She sighed at the repeated message. No more delaying. She gave her mug of chocolate, sugar heaven a mournful look and slugged back one more drink before heading at a brisk pace to the operating rooms.
Nurse Herman, also known as her best friend, Brandy, when outside of work, held open a door and gestured. “In here.”
“Not R2?”
Brandy shook her head. “They switched the operating room because Jarvis is working on the lights.” Jarvis being their maintenance guy.
Maeve stepped into the prep room and held out her arms as Brandy draped a clean protective suit on her. “What do we know?”
“Male. Thirties to forties. Drive-by shooting. Six gunshots, mostly to the torso.”
Maeve listened to the summary as she snapped on gloves and tied a mask over her face. Just last week, she’d had to listen to some interns mocking the thin paper. Ignorant idiots. Nothing worse than sneezing on an open wound or a gusher hitting the face to appreciate the protection it afforded.
One part of Brandy’s recitation caught her attention. “Did you say six gunshots, mostly to the chest?”
Brandy nodded. “It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”
Not for long, most likely. But perhaps he’d be one of the super lucky ones.
“Have they started a transfusion yet?” she asked.
“We will as soon as we figure out his blood type. We must have gotten some faulty test strips, because the darned things keep lighting up like a Christmas tree. We sent some to the lab.”
“We don’t have time to wait. Get him going on O negative.” The universal blood type.
“We would if we had some,” Brandy grumbled. “Apparently, there’s a massive shortage of it in the city.”
Not the most auspicious announcement. With how much blood he’d lost and what he’d continue to lose, it would make her task of saving him darned near impossible.
Challenge accepted.
Fully suited, Maeve entered to find the patient already stripped, a sheet over his lower half covering his groin and thighs. Nurse Abbott—a recently graduated young girl who always chirped, “Call me Ginnie”—gently sponged the chest to clean the area around the numerous oozing holes.
The monitor hooked up to him showed his heart was ticking along steadily. The blood pressure cuff on his arm inflated, providing a reading of one hundred over sixty-five. A bit low, but not dangerously so. Surprising, given the blood he must have lost.
Brandy wheeled a cart close by with the surgical tools Maeve would likely need. “Ready when you are.”
“Ditto,” Ginnie chirped, stepping back from the operating table.
“Where’s the anesthesiologist?” Maeve asked, noting the specialist missing from his post.
“They’re looking for one.” Brandy sounded less than impressed as she said, “Freddy called in sick. Again.”
“We have no one to put him under?” The query lifted Maeve’s brows. “How am I supposed to operate?” No one had a reply. She eyed his torso and the holes. “I don’t suppose the bullets went straight through?”
“Nope. Still inside.” Brandy shook her head.
Meaning Maeve would have to dig. No way he’d remain unconscious. “I can’t operate on him. What if he wakes up partway through?”
“He’ll bleed out if you don’t,” Brandy pointed out.
Even if the bleeding from the wounds appeared sluggish, they had to be cleaned and sewn shut. But only after she removed any debris inside. It would involve poking and possibly some slicing. Either would likely rouse him. If he thrashed while she wielded the scalpel on his flesh, she could seriously damage something. If she did nothing, he’d probably die.
Rock, meet hard place. Rather than sigh, she took action.
“Ginnie, fetch me some lidocaine, both the swab and injection.”
“Yes, Doctor.” The younger nurse ran.
Maeve eyed the man. One of the wounds was shallow enough she could see the bullet. Easy to pluck. She grabbed some tweezers. “Brandy, keep an eye on him and let me know if he shows signs of waking. I’m going to start removing the foreign objects.” The best she could do. If lucky, he’d remain unconscious. If not, then hopefully Ginnie would return soon with the numbing agent.
With a steady hand, she gripped the protruding missile and pulled it free, causing the blood dammed behind it to well and roll out. A good thing, as it would help clean the wound. She poured a cleaning solution to rinse it out. “Pressure,” she ordered Brandy and moved on.
Whi
She went after a slug wedged between the ribs, spotting it when she squirted a clear solution to dilute the blood. Amazing that it hadn’t gone deeper. It clanged as she dropped it into a metal dish. The next had lodged into the muscle of his abdomen—rock-solid, she noticed, a male who kept in shape. As she wiggled the bullet from its tight hole, Brandy exclaimed, “Oh shit, he’s awake.”
Indeed, eyes of pale gold were open. He was aware and watching.
Like a deer caught in headlights, Maeve froze, scalpel poised over the sluggishly oozing hole.
“Don’t pause on my account.” He spoke in a low, smooth tone, showing no hint of pain or panic. Surprising, given the situation.
“You’re awake.” A dumb and obvious thing to say.
“How observant of you,” he drawled.
“I’m sorry. That doesn’t usually happen, but I’m afraid we don’t have an anesthesiologist at the moment to knock you out, and your situation is rather urgent.”
“How many bullets?”
Brandy replied, “Six. Five inside of you. Well, two now. Three are already out.”
“That would explain my discomfort.” He winced and went to sit up.
Maeve immediately put her hands on him to push him down. “You can’t move. We’re not done extracting the bullets.”
“Then, by all means, finish.” He relaxed on the table and waited.
It took her a moment to sputter, “I can’t. You’re awake.”
“Afraid you’ll get stage fright?” he teased.
“No. I’m waiting for Nurse Abbott to return with lidocaine.”
“I don’t need any drugs. I can handle it.” A big boast to make.
“You might think you can, but even the slightest flinch might cause me to slip. I can’t take that chance.” Maeve shook her head in refusal.
“Do it,” was his soft reply.
Instead, she glanced at Brandy. “Go see where Ginnie is with that lidocaine. She should have been back by now.”
“I swear if she’s flirting with that new doc in oncology, I will kick her ass,” Brandy threatened as she stomped off, leaving Maeve alone with the patient.
He still stared. Discomfited, Maeve looked away, asking, “How did you get shot?”
“By a gun. And just an FYI, it hurts. So fuck the waiting. Get those silver nuggets of torture out of me.”
“It will just be a minute—”
“Either you do it now or I’m leaving.” A baseless threat.
She snorted. “Don’t be melodramatic. We both know you can’t.”
“I’d like to see you stop me.”
She wanted to retort he was in no condition to fight off anyone. At the same time, she didn’t want him exerting himself, because who knew what kind of damage he’d do? “If you’ll just give my nurse a few more minutes, I’m sure she’s on the way back with the freezing agent.”
“And if she’s not? Let’s just get this done. I won’t flinch. Promise.” He even managed a charming smile.
Maeve poked at his wound to prove a point.
He didn’t budge, but his lip lifted higher at the corner as he drawled, “You’ll have to do better than that, Doc.”
“If you insist…” she mumbled. She ignored his stare to lean in close. She carefully sliced before using tweezers to pluck out the bullet that nicked his collarbone. A miracle it hadn’t shattered.
He didn’t even so much as gasp in pain. She eyed him after the slug plunked into the dish.
“You okay?”
“Yup.”
The monitors agreed with him. His heart rate appeared to be slowing. He remained calm. Probably high as a newt. Most people who came in at this time of night were under the influence of something.
She went after the last bullet. The deepest. It had practically gone right through his shoulder. “This one would be better removed from the back. We’ll flip you once my nurses get back.”
“Fuck waiting. I’ll roll myself over.” He proceeded to remove the sensors monitoring his vitals. When he would have removed the IVs giving him fluids, she put her hand over his.
“Stop. You’re being irrational. You lost a lot of blood.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need any of this shit.” He went to yank, and once more, she grabbed at his hand.
“Wait. You’ll make a mess if you pull it out like that. Let me do it.” Against her better judgment, but with little choice, given his obstinate insistence, she turned off the IV before sliding the needle out of his flesh.
The moment he was freed of all the medical equipment, he rolled to his stomach, losing the sheet in the process and baring his ass.
She must have stared a tad too long, because he snapped, “You gonna finish the job or what?”
She created an incision over the poking lump with the scalpel, and the final bullet emerged, which led to him sighing. “That’s better.”
“Time to sew you up.” She turned to the tray to hunt for what she needed, but by the time she faced him again, he’d sat up.
“What are you doing? Lie down.”
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t sewn your wounds closed yet. If you strain too much, you’ll lose even more blood and possibly bleed out.”
He glanced down at the holes riddling his body, all of them barely leaking any blood. “I’m fine.”
“You are not fine. You have five bullet holes! You’ve lost a lot of blood.” It surprised her that he sounded so coherent.
“I appreciate the concern, Doc, but I need to get out of here. Trust me when I say that would be best for everyone.”
“You’re in trouble.” Stated, not asked, since it seemed quite obvious.
“What gave it away?” was his sarcastic retort.
“If someone’s trying to kill you, then you should talk to the cops.”
He snorted. “No, thanks.”
The reply indicated a lack of trust, or perhaps a fear of the police arresting him. “If you’re worried about going to jail, you could probably get a reduction in your sentence if you testify about whatever’s got people using you for target practice.”
That brought an incredulous look. “Snitch?”
“Because that’s way worse than getting gunned down in the street.”
“Listen, honey—”
“I’m not your honey. You can call me Dr. Fri—”
“Whatever. My business ain’t none of yours, Doc.”
“It is, given you’re on my operating table.”
“Then I’ll remove myself.” He swung his legs over the table.
She took a step back before stating, “It is my professional opinion that you require proper bandaging and monitoring for the next twenty-four hours at least.”
“Think whatever you like, Doc. We’re done.” He hopped off the operating table and stood.
Given his nakedness, she kept her eyes on his face. “You’re being a stubborn idiot. You have holes in your body. Even if you don’t want stitches, then at least let me cover them. You don’t want them to get infected.”
“I’m pretty sturdy.” He took a step in her direction, most likely because she stood in front of the door.
“You can’t leave. The police will want to talk to you.” The hospital had to report all gunshot wounds.
He grimaced. “Yeah, well, I ain’t interested in gabbing with them.”
She wanted to argue, and yet, it suddenly occurred to her how large this man was. Determined too. He towered over her, him and his many, many muscles.
She retreated a step and hit the tray of instruments, which clattered and almost tilted over. As she grabbed at it, she partially turned.
By the time she recovered, the door to the operating room was swinging shut on a bare, but very nice, ass.
Minutes later, still gaping in a room empty but for equipment and bloody sheets, Maeve blinked as Brandy returned with the long-awaited syringes.
