Call of the Alpha - Part 1(10)

“I have to,” she said. “You could be in some very bad trouble and—,”

“I can’t,” he gasped. “Not good…not good for the pack.” He stopped suddenly, looking at her as if he couldn’t quite place himself.

“Pack?” she asked. “Pack of what?”

Again, he opened his mouth but nothing came out. He was winded again, exhausted beyond any point Jessica had ever seen inside or outside of the hospital.

“Never mind,” she said. “Save your breath.”

She looked longingly at the open bathroom door, thinking of how easy it would be to call the hospital and have an ambulance out in about twenty minutes. But there was something inside of her that told her no. Maybe this man was just very persuasive, but she suddenly believed what he meant. She believed that calling the hospital would indeed be bad.

She shuddered as she looked to his still body, lying in the bottom of the shower. Last night, with this unfamiliar man in her house, she had been a little sacred for her own safety. But now, only half a day later, she found herself scared for his well-being.

Realizing that his hand was still resting gently on her wrist, she gave his hand a squeeze. He squeezed back, albeit softly, and let out a groan.

She studied his face, trying to find some semblance of consciousness, but he was somewhere in between. All she could do was sit there with him in that moment and try to talk herself out of calling the hospital.





Chapter 5




The day took its toll on Jessica in numerous ways. First, there was the moral dilemma that occupied her head. Her head told her that it would be in the best interests of the man she was currently watching out for to call the hospital, but her heart told her differently. She knew that he was vehemently against that, for reasons she did not understand, but she felt compelled to trust. For the first time she, looked beyond her training and ignored her attraction to him as a reason to keep him around, and instead her thoughts wandered into some deeper and uncharted area that maybe there was something different, something almost supernatural going on with him.

It was a theory she had a hard time accepting because although she enjoyed the latest TV show or romance book like most women, she didn’t believe in supernatural things. Not really. But she had seen the way those wounds had closed up. And there was also the way that her mind had suddenly seemed to switch over when he had grabbed her wrist and asked her to please not call for an ambulance. In that moment, something in her head had made the decisions not to call the hospital. And for most of the day, that decision remained solid in her mind.

But as the day wore on, common sense and logic kept prodding her. She wrestled with it hourly as she did her best to care for the strange man that she had hit with her car.

Caring for him was the other way the day fatigued her. It had started by getting him out of the slippery tub. While on the bathroom floor, she made him swallow two painkillers and then sat there with him for a while in order to regain some of his strength. She guided him to her bedroom, stumbling a bit as they went in the same way she had gotten him from her car to the couch last night.

He had collapsed on her bed in a heap. It had been ten in the morning then and he spent the remainder of the day passed out. She tended to his wounds while he slept and when she was done, she did her best to dress him again.


As she dressed him, she had to wrestle with something else—something that she was unfamiliar with. Like any woman, she’d had her sexual urges during her teen years. She’d never been too forward but also not shy. That’s why some of the thoughts that ran through her head while she tended his wounds and dressed him made her slightly uncomfortable. While slipping his shirt on, she’d fought every impulse in her body and was barely able to restrain herself from running her hands delicately along his chest and stomach.

She’d had similar struggles while slipping the sweat pants onto his legs. When she reached his waist, she’d allowed herself an uninterrupted glance at his manhood. It was definitely larger than any belonging to her few college flings, and when she pulled the sweatpants up, it shifted just the slightest bit. Her hands seemed to itch, wanting to cup him there, to run her fingers along his length. That had been bad enough, but when she pictured herself running her tongue along its shaft, waking him up as she made him hard and took him in her mouth, it was too much. She’d had to look away and then leave the room as quickly as possible.

She spent a few hours doing her best to clean the couch of his blood and dirt. She got most of it up but was sure one of the bloodstains was there to stay. She checked on him periodically and as the day stretched on towards the afternoon, she noticed that his breathing was returning back to normal. She slipped the thermometer into his mouth again and found the same result, 104.2.

When she poked her head into the bedroom shortly after six o’clock, he stirred awake. He propped himself up on an elbow and looked groggily at her.

“Just checking on you,” she said. “You need anything?”

“Water. Please,” came his answer.

She filled a glass with water in the kitchen and took it back into the bedroom. By the time she placed it on the bedside table, he was asleep again. She studied him for a moment and then gently lifted his (well, her) shirt to check the wound on his chest. When she peeled the bandage away, she saw that it was almost entirely healed. The flesh there was soft and pink, the gash almost gone completely. Despite what she had witnessed the previous evening, she was still shocked. That wound had been a bloody gash, the flesh torn open. There was no way it could have knitted back together without help.