Along with all those things were hospital beds that seemed far more cushy and comfortable than regular ones, along with separating curtainswith the same patterns and color scheme as the carpet, and all the medical equipment stored in glass cabinets.
The smell, though, was unlike the smell of any hospital I’d ever visited. Normally, there was the distinctive smell of disinfectants, but here, the main scent was of the brewing tea and a number of herbs I couldn’t possibly identify.
Behind the front desk stood a familiar figure, who looked up the moment Lucien and I entered with a big, welcoming smile on his handsome face, putting his dimples on display.
“Cousin!” Remi, Lucien’s cousin, said as a greeting in French, rounding the desk to give Lucien a one-armed hug, which Lucien returned. “J’ai l’impression de ne pas t’avoir vu depuis une éternité.”
“It’s only been a few days, Rémi.” Lucien responded to the rapid French chatter with a weary smile, and I could see him visibly relax. He’d been tense the entire drive here.
Remi grinned as he released Lucien. “I heard you went full Alpha mode today.”
And just like that, the tension returned, straining Lucien’s face. “There was no other way,” he said quietly, resolutely, but his eyes betrayed him. I could see the heavy gravity he felt that he didn’t allow himself to show. “I needed to remind them who their Alpha is.”
Feeling the tension, Remi’s grin disappeared. “From the way the members talk about it, it seemed the message was well received.”
The two exchanged loaded glances, and I could see they were sharing thoughts I wasn’t privy to. I wondered if it had anything to do with what Alby had said. About Lucien and his pack back in France.
Lucien then took a deep breath and asked, “Is Anaïs still here?”
Remi shook his head, a frown on his face. “An hour ago, she headed to the library with Enoch and a human man.”
That reminded me that Thayer had joined Anais and Enoch on their research of Lucien’s Spellscript. With everything that had been happening, it hadn’t crossed my mind since that morning.
With a curt nod, Lucien said, “Don’t forget to tell Anaïs when she comes back that we visited, okay?”
Remi’s bright eyes flicked behind me, toward where Dianna stood, waiting, with the guards on each side, as he nodded absentmindedly. “All right.”
Lucien then led us past the front desk, leaving Remi behind, and deeper into the Ward. He came to a stop before one of the beds, which was fully hidden behind the thick curtains. Through it, however, I could see a shadow. Someone was lying there.
He then turned to Dianna, who was now fully dressed, and said, “You have fifteen minutes.”
She barely gave a nod. In fact, she was so stiff, one of the guards gave her a gentle nudge forward to get her going. She finally did, disappearing behind the curtains.
After Lucien told the guards to wait outside, he turned to look at me, gaze heavy. “Werewolves don’t easily get hurt,” he suddenly said.
I frowned, thinking back to Alby and Dianna and how they were still somewhat fine even after being shot, and wondered why he was telling me that.
“This is true in the physical sense,” he continued, face grave. “When it comes to our mental health, however, we are far weaker than humans.”
Feeling the gravity in his words, I could only nod as he slowly pulled the curtain away, revealing Dianna sitting next to the hospital bed, her hand holding the old man’s who rested there.
Thoughrestingwasn’t the right word for his state.
The man’s glassy eyes were staring unblinkingly at the ceiling. His face was full of wrinkles and completely pale, which made him appear to be in his eighties or nineties, and his skin was paper thin, with spots and blemishes. His thin, wispy layer of hair was entirely white. What I could see of his body under the blanket was thin and frail.
He seemed like a wraith, really. All skin and bones. As if with one slight shove, he would fall apart and turn to ash.
We paused at the foot of the bed, and Lucien leaned toward me so he could murmur in a barely audible voice, “This is Kate.”
“Kate?” I repeated in a small whisper. Well, shame on me for assuming the patient’s gender.
“Kate,” Lucien confirmed, and took a deep breath. “She’s eight years old.”
“Eight,” I mumbled, unable to process what he was saying. “Don’t you mean eighty?”
“No, eight.” Lucien’s voice was now low, and the grim pain I could hear in it made me look up at him. There was evident darkness in his eyes. And guilt.
So much guilt that it made my own heart ache for him. I reached out to hold his hand, squeezing it.