\[Rosco’s POV\]
I sit alone, staring at my hands, while passing doctors and nurses give me looks of pity. It pisses me off that they’re looking at me this way, but even I knew that I looked like a fucking wreck. I wore hospital scrubs since my clothes were lost when I shifted, and my hands and arms still held signs of being burned when I burst into that house to save Denali without thinking once about my own fucking life. But I was sure the thing that looked the worst was my face, which held everything. Every fucking bit of panic and fear I was feeling.
Fabian mirrors my emotions, whimpering and pacing while we wait to see how our woman is doing.
So far, Denali has been in surgery for over an hour. It was an agonizing fucking hour where I didn’t have any answers or know what was going on. And when I asked, I was simply told that sometimes it takes a bit to inflate a lung and then stop the bleeding, but how fucking long did it actually take?
I hated this, and I blamed myself. If I hadn’t left her, it wouldn’t have happened. If I refused to go to that fucking dinner, then she wouldn’t be where she was. It was all my fucking fault, and when I found the person responsible, I was going to skin them alive and hang them upside down by their fucking feet while I slowly sawed their body in half. They would suffer ten times what I was suffering—that much I would make sure of.
When we arrived at the hospital, I called Charlie and filled him in on what was happening, and he was in the process of hunting down the one that caused the attack. And yes, I was sure it was a fucking attack. With how quickly the beach house went up in flames, there was clearly foul play. The place was too new to catch fire that quickly.
Sighing, I lean back, look in the direction of the operating room, and fix my eyes on the green words in use. Slowly, I get up and begin to make my way over so that I can maybe listen in on what is going on, but before I reach, the sound of footfalls reaches me, and then arms are wrapping around my waist.
Going on alert, I whirl around, ready to shove off the one touching me, but stop as my mother’s large eyes lift to mine.
“Rosco!” She gasps, tears beginning to fall. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“There was a fire,” I explain. “I’ve got Charlie investigating it as we speak.”
“And what about Denali?” My father asks, oining us.
For a moment, I consider telling him that it was none of his damn business how she was doing. But then I remember that if it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be with me right now.
“I don’t know,” I admit, deflating. “She has been in the operating room for over an hour.”
“Oh goodness,” my mother gasps. “The poor thing. Is Roger or Beatrice here? Don’t they care at all what happens to their daughter?”
I bite back the laugh that wants to escape at her question. They knew as well as I did that neither Roger nor Beatrice gave two shits about Denali. Why the hell would they waste their time coming here when I was sure they would be happy if she died?
“Not here." I respond slowly. “And I doubt they’ll be coming.”
“Rosco,” my father warns. “Whether or not their relationship is strained, she is still their daughter.”
“She isn’t Beatrice’s daughter,” I snap, my anger flaring. “She doesn’t give two shits about anyone but Anastasia.”
I was already on edge over what was happening with Denali, and hearing my father defend Roger and Beatrice was pushing on my last nerve. It was becoming harder to remain calm, and if this conversation continued, I was sure that I would end up snapping.
Remaining silent, I untangle myself from my mother and prepare to step out. I needed to call Charlie anyway to see if he had found anything, but before I can move, the light above the operating room changes, and Denali is being wheeled out.
Eyes widening, I rush to her side and take in her face, which is half hidden by an oxygen mask.
“How is she?” I demand, fixing my gaze on the doctor on the other side of her. “Did the surgery go well?”
“She’s fine for now,” the doctor explains. “She may still remain asleep for a while due to the sedative, but she is out of danger.”
“That’s great,” I sigh, feeling like a weight was lifted off of me. “Thank you for your hard work, doctor.”
“It’s my job,” he shrugs. “She has to go to recovery for two hours for observation, but if you’d like, I can escort you to the room she will be in after.”
Recovery? Why the fuck couldn’t she go straight to the room so that she could properly rest? And I couldn’t be by her side while she was anywhere else. No. I couldn’t let him do that, but as I consider arguing, I realize that making trouble won’t do any good.
As I prepare to agree, my phone begins to ring, and when I pull it out of my pocket, I see Charlie’s name on the screen.
“Sure,” I say quickly. “I have to take this, but I’ll come find you after.”
“Go ahead,” the doctor urges.
Nodding, I begin to move, making my way down the hall and then out to the waiting room, and once I’m outside, I swipe to answer.
“Have you found anything?” I ask, not giving Charlie the chance to speak. “If you’re calling to say that you haven't, I'll..."
“I found the one responsible,” Charlie counters. “I’m sending you his picture and information now.”
“Great,” I beam, feeling the need for blood beginning to rise. “Can you meet me at the hospital?”
“You’re going to leave Denali’s side?” He asks in shock. “Shouldn’t you…”
“I have two hours,” I chuckle. “And I’m sure I won’t need any more time than that to figure out who the fuck that bastard works for.”
“Got it,” Charlie says as my phone dings. “I’ll be there in ten then.”
“See you soon.”
When Charlie pulls up, I don’t wait for him to stop before I’m hopping in his car and getting comfortable. Once I’m in position, I turn my gaze to his.
“What?” I ask when I find that he is watching me with a look of annoyance. “Why are you just sitting around?”
“Wondering what you would have done if I slammed gas when you jumped into my car,” he responds honestly. “I get that you are willing to die for Denali, but if you die, how are you going to avenge your woman if you die?”
“Are you saying that you would try to kill me?”
Charlie doesn’t respond; instead, he slams gas, and we begin to move until we reach a run-down motel. When he parks, we get out of the car and then head inside and up to the top floor, where I can only assume the one we are after lives.
“It’s here,” Charlie announces when we reach his room.
Not needing him to say anymore, I lift my foot and then kick the door, sending it crashing to the ground. Once it isn’t in my way anymore, I begin to move, storming inside, where the scent of death reaches my nose.
“No,” I growl, rushing in the direction it is coming from until I spot him sitting in a recliner with his throat slit open and blood staining his neck and shirt. “Son of a bitch!”