A Lover Cursed

Pain. And the wretched smell of baby powder and rotting fish. But fuck, the pain. Calantha came to slowly at first, blinking - if you could call it that considering how swollen her eyes were - against the darkness around her that she'd become accustomed to in the last weeks. She tried in her grogged state to move her leg from where it was pinned under her. Stupid idea. She was bound like that and as soon as she moved pain split up her leg light a white fire and into her overextended hip. She gasped - another mistake - and pain from her ribs groaned in protest. Now fully awake as she could get with as dehydrated and starved as she was, she bit down hard on the dirty gag in her mouth and tried to control her breathing. Six counts in, six counts out. Six in. Six out. Six-

But what was that smell? A new smell was behind the stench of Lesser and her own wretched body odor, and her heart started to beat faster but she kept herself as still as she could and tried to focus. She took a slow breath as deeply as she could manage, and what she discovered made her heart soar. That was the scent of a male. And not just any male, but an alpha male. Mixed with the power was the unmistakeable scent of sweat, gunpowder, and red smoke... the Brotherhood!

*************

Damn it!" Havers let the frustration rush out of his lungs in a string of curses as a vile of blood shattered on the floor where he'd thrown it. How long had he been at this? How many long years of struggling against his own nature to find some relief, some respite from the struggle of taking blood from anyone other than his shellan? He lifted his hands to his head and gripped his hair hard. The movement of his shoulders pulled at the scars on his upper back that just hadn't healed right and they reminded him and made him wish... they reminded him bitterly of the face of his beloved as her spirit slipped from this world into the next. If only-

His run-away train of thought was interrupted by the sharp, shrill cry of his cellphone ringing at full volume through the empty lab. He reached into his pocket and, resisting the urge to throw that at the floor too, answered it and brought it to his ear.

"Yes?" He said, the frustration in his voice obvious even to him.

"You wanna check that tone and try again?" A voice growled back at him from the earpiece.

Shit. His bad mood suddenly got exponentially worse. Could this night throw anymore cow dung around? But he took a deep breath and answered with all the calmness he could muster. "Vishous. What can I do for you?"

"I'm bringing you a trauma."

A trauma might have been exactly what Havers needed to get his mind off the problems in front of him, but dealing with the Brotherhood was not exactly an easy task. Everything they brought through his doors was made worse by aggression and possession and a complete inability to surrender control. And with the mood he was already in, Havers was sure to loose his cool. But he reminded himself that would only result in his head meeting a fist. Or the wall. Or both.

Vishous rattled off the patients status as Havers rushed up the elevators and down the hallway into the nearly empty trauma center. Signaling to his head nurse, got her attention and the code sounded over head as Havers hung up the phone. "Trauma one. Trauma one. Trauma one."

Heading toward the doors to the ambulance bay, Havers rolled his shoulders to shake the stiffness out of them.

"Doctor!"

Havers stoped and turned to wait for the male running down the hallway. Havers' student, Nash was his name, had been with him for nearly twenty years. Smart, sharp, but... well... He was what one might call a hippy, though Havers considered that just another word for "unkept". The male's long brown hair was always in - what did he call it? A "messy-man bun"? He preferred scrubs over slacks, and was always sipping on the next best herbal tea or whatever.  But Havers could overlook that. The kid showed the right balance of talent and heart.

"Nash. We've got some Brothers bringing us a trauma."

"Brothers?" Nash repeated as he slowed. "Is it one of them or..."

"A civilian. Dehydration, multiple contusions and lacerations. Unresponsive, but breathing and a heart rate. That's about all we know."

Havers looked over at the male who was listening intently and pulling on latex gloves.

"You remember the drill? These are VIPs, so-"

"I won't say a word. Promise."

"If he's as dehydrated as they say, I don't want any messing around when we can't get an IV. So-"

"Straight to a central line."

"And then we'll-"

"Get a read on nuro? I know how to run a trauma, Havers. You know I know." They reached the bay doors and stepped out into the cold fall air as the rest of the staff was bustling around behind them prepping the room for the incoming disaster. "These Brothers got you jumpy?"

Considering one of them turns into a dragon the moment anyone touches his female, a few others had (rightly) threatened his life, and still more had lifted him up off the ground and slammed him into the walls of his own hospital? It wasn't news to him that the King of the race wouldn't be unhappy with Havers' head served up on a platter. so yeah. A little jumpy.

But Havers didn't answer. They could hear tires rumbling up the drive just as a nurse appeared with a gurney. As a black SUV pulled up to the bay, Havers ears perked up and he heard before he saw the hoarse, pained scream of a female. Not a male as he'd assumed.

"I guess the patient'a responsive now?" Nash mumbled.

The door of the SUV opened before the vehicle came to a complete stop, and out burst John Mathew who immediately turned to the car to help whoever was inside. Abruptly, another brother emerged: Tohrment, holding in his arms a female wrapped in an old blanket and a jacket that dwarfed her. Havers moved to support the female's head as she was gently lowered onto the gurney. Once she was lowered and he got a good look at the face of the female, his heart seemed to stop, frozen in his chest. It... it couldn't be...

Half her face was bloody, one eye swollen shut. Her fangs were distended half way, her jaw clenching as she tried desperately to hold in her screams of pain as she was moved. Not only were her injuries causing her pain, but her muscles had started contracting of their own accord in painful cramps. Her hair, even the parts that were matted and dirty, was a brilliant red. Freckles over pale skin, lips that would be full and lovely once the swelling went down, and a striking resemblance to someone he'd known before but was now dead-

As the gurney was secured and wheeled away, Havers was held back by a hand firmly grasping his arm. He turned. Tohrment had a firm grip on Haver's sleeve, though he was looking wide eyed and pale after the female. The look in his eyes, like he had been transported to another time and place, was one Havers was painfully familiar with. And not because he'd seen similar expressions on the faces of others who had lost loved ones. No, Havers knew in a painfully personal way where Tohrment's head was because they were both part of a club no one wanted to be in, where once you were in you only ever left half the self you started with: they were both widowers. And that female was the spitting image of Tohrment's dead shellan.

Havers grasped Tohrment's forearm. "Tohrment," he said strongly. Tohrment's gaze shifted to the doctor. "What's her name?"

Tohrment opened his mouth, but it was a moment before he could form words. "Calantha." He said. Hearing his own voice must have spooked him enough, because he let go of Havers, stood up straight and cleared his throat. "Her name is Calantha."