* * * * Manon felt beat. He hated double shifts. It didn't help that his wolf was pacing restlessly in his mind, wanting only to hunt Chris down and claim her. He wanted her submission, but Manon knew that wasn't the way things were done. Not in the human world.
He splashed some water on his face, ready to go home. His mate hadn't answered any of the calls he'd placed while on break. Manon needed anew plan. He'd tried calling Tom, but with the difference in time, they'd been playing phone tag. If the human didn't call back, he'd drop by the man's store tomorrow and discreetly look for his mate. As he pulled on a clean t-shirt, he wondered if that would hurt or help his chances with Chris.
Heading toward the emergency room exit, a scent tickled his nose. Manon paused, inhaling deeply. Surely, he'd been mistaken. Between the smell of disinfectant, blood, and myriad of traffic, it could happen. Manon growled low in his throat. He wasn't wrong. Chris was here, in the hospital.
Manon pivoted and followed his nose. Too many others had passed through the halls, obscuring his mate's tantalizing odor, making it difficult to track. His wolf growling in his mind, Manon took his time, prowling the halls.
"Hey, Manon," Barbara called. "What are you doing? I thought your shift ended twenty minutes ago?" He turned to the nurse and forced a smile. "It did. My friend came in and I'm looking for her. Do you know if a Chris registered?"
"We had a Christopher Peterson come in. Poor guy. A couple homophobes worked him and his friend over pretty good." She shook her head. "I bet he looks quite pretty under all the bruising."
Manon's jaw dropped. He blinked repeatedly as his mind raced. He'd just assumed that Chris was short for Christine, but what if he was wrong? Could it be possible that be why my mate ran away? Because Chris is really a man? It made sense that Chris would think Manon would be angry if he found out, sincethey'd met in a straight bar, after all. There was only one way to find out.
"What room is he in?" Manon asked quietly.
"This way," Barbara said, turning and leading the way down another corridor. "Doctor Lansey just finished x-rays on his jaw and he's in observation," she added over her shoulder. "I sure hope he stays out for another half hour so the morphine has a chance to kick in."
Manon resisted the urge to growl at the woman, but just barely. It wasn't her fault she couldn't shut up. Barbara had always been the hospital gossip. At least, this time he could use it to his advantage. "What's wrong with him?"
"It looks worse than it is," Barbara assured. "The broken wrist was easily set, and no internal bleeding or broken ribs, like his friend. Even his jaw ended up just heavily bruised." Suddenly, Barbara's voice hardened. "Damn homophobes."
His friend? Right, she'd already mentioned that. "Who came in with him?"
Barbara gave him a curious look as she paused outside the door. "Remy Smithson." She cocked her head. "I thought you said you knew them?"
Shit, how to avoid suspicion? "Chris hangs out with a couple other friends, too. I was just wondering."
"Huh, well," she motioned to the door. "Here we are."
He nodded and headed into the room. The scent of his mate hit him before anything else. For once, perfume didn't mask Chris's smell, and the scent of blood intensified Manon's ability to recognize his mate. Well, holy hell, my mate really is a man!
Then he looked at the form on the bed and his heart nearly stopped. Barbara was right, Chris looked bad. Bruising covered the left side of Chris's face from temple to jaw. His left eye was already swelling shut. There wasn't a cast on Chris's left arm yet, since they needed to wait for the swelling to go down to get it sized correctly. The white splint looked bulky on Chris's slender arm. An IV ran through his right arm, an oxygen tube was attached to his nose, and a clip on his finger.
"Oh, Chris," he whispered.
Not able to take his gaze from his unconscious mate, he moved slowly into the room and sat down in the nearby chair. Swallowing hard, Manon carefully held the hand of the man he'd made out with the night before. He might not have known Chris was a man, but that didn't change anything for him and his wolf. This human was still his mate.
A desire to hunt down whoever did this to Chris and his friend burned through him. Manon bowed his head and focused on breathing. He had to stay calm for his mate's sake. Manon didn't want to be upset when Chris awoke.
The clatter of feet entering Chris's room had Manon looking up. He saw the surprised expression on Eric's face. He recognized the second man, too, from the bar, but didn't remember if he'd heard his name. He'd been a little preoccupied at the time. A glance down showed their clasped hands.Well, well …
"What are you doing here?" Eric asked, glaring at him.
Manon didn't miss the way the second man squeezed Eric's hand. "Easy, babe. We're here for Chris." The guy probably thought he said it quietly enough that Manonwouldn't hear, but his shifter hearing picked up his words easily.
Licking his lips, Manon searched for an answer. "I work here," he murmured, "and heard Chris was here. I wanted to make sure he was okay."
"You wanted … " Eric cocked his head. "So, you know Chris is … "
Manon smirked. "That he's a man?" He nodded, then carefully brought Chris's hand to his lips and kissed. "And it don't matter to me," he said.
"Wow, that's … unexpected," Eric whispered.
The human he didn't know stepped forward. "I'm Daren Creston. Are you sticking around, then?"
Manon nodded again. "I'm not going anywhere."
Daren looked at him for several seconds, then nodded once as if coming to a decision. "Don't hurt him. We'll be down the hall with Remy."
"How is Remy?" Manon asked quickly.
Eric and Daren exchanged a look before Eric murmured, "He'll live."
Chapter Five
T
he beep of a monitor filtered into Chris's consciousness, pulling him from the dark abyss he'd been drifting in. Along with consciousness came pain, and Chris whimpered. He felt a slight squeeze to his hand and tried to pry his eyelids open. Chris only succeeded in cracking one. He saw blurry monitors and a TV with a blank screen. A calloused hand cupped his jaw and gently turned Chris's head. He blinked, trying to make out the features above him.
Blinking again, Chris sluggishly processed what he saw. He let his eyelid drop closed. Maybe he was still dreaming, because surely that wasn't Manon sitting next to him.
The thumb attached to the hand on his jaw rubbed over his cheek bone. He shivered at the tender touch. "Come on, cher. I know you're awake. Let me seethose pretty gray eyes."
"Chris," he mumbled hoarsely. "Name's Chris." Manon chuckled softly. "I know, Chris," he murmured. "I told you. It's a term of endearment."
Cracking his eyelid back open, Chris watched Manon lean close and press a kiss to his forehead. He frowned. "That was cherie."
"It means the same thing in French," Manon whispered.
"What?" he squeaked.
"Beloved," Manon whispered. "It means beloved. That is what you are to me, Chris. My beloved."
He hadto be dreaming, still. Manon was straight, wasn't he? He certainly couldn't be in Chris's room, holding his hand, kissing his forehead, and telling him that he was Manon's beloved. It was the morphine, which was why they were having such an odd conversation. He snorted, which hurt his head, and Chris moaned.
"Here. Take a drink," Manon ordered gently, poking his lip with a straw.
Chris took it obediently and sucked. Cool water filled his mouth. It hurt a bit to swallow, but it was worth the soothing to his throat. He let out a sigh and rested for a second, then felt the straw prod his lips again.
"Come on, mon cher," Manon whispered into his ear. "They can't take you off that IV until you can rehydrate yourself. I'd much rather take care of you in the comfort of your home than here in the hospital."
Even as he frowned, Chris obeyed and took another sip. Once he'd swallowed, he whispered, "How is that the same word. Cherie? Cher? They're different."
Manon's deep chuckle sent a fissure of awareness down Chris's spine. Good thing he hurt so much, because the sheet wouldn't have hidden an erection at all.
Manon whispered, "It be French, my beloved. For some reason, dey tink everything should be masculine or feminine. Cherie be feminine. Cherbe masculine."