Fever (4 page)

Logan dozed on and off throughout the night. His head snapped up when he heard Vincent shift in the hospital bed. There were a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue. But when he opened his eyes, he realized Vincent was still asleep.

He sighed impatiently, wanting to know more about the origins of the dead werewolf. Where it came from. If there were more. A scrap of information on
Vincent himself would be useful.

A
look at his watch revealed that he’d missed his scheduled 9pm call-in. By nine hours. Eddie and Rudy would be pissed that he hadn’t managed to radio within the eight-hour grace period. Another prowler had probably already been mobilized to further investigate and provide backup.

Logan
rubbed the grit from his eyes and leaned forward in the bedside chair.

The motion
made his arm twinge with pain and he grimaced, rubbing the site of the tetanus injection. His hand hadn’t needed stitches. He eyed the gauze, wondering how easily he could sue the hospital for pain and suffering.

T
he thought made him smile. He could use the cash, but judging by how empty the ward was, one lost lawsuit would shut them down.

Vincent
mumbled, shifting restlessly, but he didn’t open his eyes. Accordingly to the doctor, it might take several more hours for the sedative to run its course. For whatever reason, he was clawing his way toward consciousness sooner rather than later.

Definitely a
prowler, then. Not one to let his guard down. But according to Nurse Biel, if he’d just stayed quiet and let the medical staff do their job, he wouldn’t have needed a sedative in the first place.

Yeah.

She and Logan had exchanged a few choice words about that. Something told him that she wasn’t so keen on taking him out to dinner any longer. It was a win-win situation.

Vincent’s
head tossed on the pillow.

He
reached over, hand hovering in a hesitant gesture to provide comfort. They didn’t know one another, and yet, the man had saved his life. At risk to himself. It was a greater sacrifice than what most friends could muster when the time came.

Biting his lip, Logan returned his hand to his own knee.

He glanced out the window. The sky was lightening to blue beyond the trees.

“No,” Vincent muttered, toss
ing his head again. The steady
beep, beep, beep
of the heart rate monitor increased.

“Hey,” Logan tried to calm him, keeping his voice soft. “Just relax, man. Can you hear me?”

He rose to his feet, lingering by the bed, wondering if he should press the call button. A wave of annoyance mingled with his concern. He didn’t have extensive medical training, he had no idea if this was normal–

Vincent
’s hand shot out, grabbing his wrist in a bruising grip.

Logan
felt his skin grind against bone. He tried to pull away, but the grip was unyielding. Utilizing a pressure point had no effect. Sweat beaded his upper lip when he realized the call button was out of reach. If the grip tightened any further, it might snap his wrist.

He was
about to yell for a nurse when Vincent cracked open his eyes. They were terrified.

“Help me,” he pleaded.

Logan’s voice gained an edge of authority. “Let me go. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe.”

“No.” With a
fierce yank, Logan found himself inches from Vincent’s face. “Not safe. We need to leave. Before they come back.” His words left no room for argument.

Logan’s heart pounded
harder. In the receiving area, he’d acknowledged and then ignored his suspicions that the hospital wasn’t the sanctuary it appeared to be. Now the feeling was back, and stronger than ever.

The sinister comments made by Nurse
Biel weren’t merely unprofessional.

The
lack of medical staff wasn’t the result of budget cuts.

And the fear in
Vincent’s eyes wasn’t put there by a drug-induced nightmare.

“We’re leaving
,” he agreed.

Part of him questioned if his
immediate trust in Vincent was wise. But if he couldn’t trust someone who’d saved his life, the world was deeper in the gutter than he thought.

“
We’ll be out of here in less than ten minutes. Can you walk?”

After a moment,
Vincent nodded, releasing his wrist. Though his eyelids fluttered with exhaustion, the determination in his gaze never faltered.

Logan
straightened slowly, feeling another pop in his lower back.

Walking around
the foot of the bed, he switched off the monitors one by one. It wasn’t the first time he’d fled a hospital. Serious injuries were an occupational hazard. Since claw marks tended to raise questions, he never remained a patient longer than necessary.

“Try to sit up,” he ordered, slipping an arm under Vincent’s back to support him.
The heat radiating there almost made Logan yank his arm back in surprise. There was no doubt in his mind that Vincent had a fever. It might complicate things, but Logan had dealt with plenty of infection-related fevers before. This one should be little different.

He
made quick work of removing the IV, muttering an apology when Vincent groaned. There wasn’t much they could do about the absence of clothing. None had been left in the room, not even a hospital robe.

“Look on
the bright side,” he said, helping Vincent to stand. “At least your gown ties at the sides instead of the back. You get to keep a little dignity.”

The look Vincent gave him was
one of exasperation.

Logan shrugged. He tr
ied to find the glass half full whenever he could.

“Do you need help to walk?”

“I think I’m all right,” Vincent answered. “The sedative is wearing off.”

Logan crossed the room and peered into the hallway. The
re were cameras overhead, but there was also an exit door not thirty paces away. They should be able to make it.

“Okay
–” He turned back, almost colliding with Vincent. “Geez! Were you always that tall?”

A raised eyebrow was his only
answer.

“Right.
There’s an exit door to the right and it’s not far. You ready to do this?”

“Look, kid, if you’re going to keep asking stupid questions
–”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Logan stopped him right there. “First of all, I’m not a kid.
You can’t have more than five years on me. Second, you might want to get used to my questions, because I have a shit ton for you when we get out of here.”

He didn’t wait for Vincent’
s reply, slightly worried it would involve a tightly-clenched fist. Instead, he glanced down the hall one last time and began speed walking toward the exit.

There was a sharp inhale
behind him. Then Vincent had a grip on the back of his shirt, dragging him forward at a run.

“Get off
–” he started, but a shout from down the hall cut him off.

“Vincent!”
Dr. Allen yelled. “You need your last dose of antidote!”

A gunshot made Logan’s heart leap into his throat. He looked back to see Dr. Allen aiming directly at him, firing another round.
He was aiming wide to avoid hitting Vincent. The protectiveness in his eyes was frightening.

They flew
through the door, hitting it with enough force to break the latch. Two more gunshots rang out behind them. Logan struggled to suck early morning air into his lungs, reeling as he took in their surroundings.

One of these days, he’
d quit smoking for good.

“This way,” he pant
ed, sprinting across the parking lot. It took him less than five seconds to reach the car. Fumbling for his keys, he wrenched open the door. It was only then that he realized Vincent had fallen behind.

He
lay on the concrete halfway between the exit door and the car, hospital gown bright in the fading darkness.

Shit.

The exit door opened, revealing Dr. Allen.

Logan met his eyes with
a hard stare.

He dove into the driver’s seat
and fastened his seatbelt. As the car roared to life on the first try, the doctor began shuffling toward Vincent.

The open driver door swung as Logan
backed out of the parking spot. Shifting into drive, he hit the gas. Tires squealed as he veered around Vincent and aimed for the doctor.

He
expected a stunned, deer-in-headlights expression, or a realization of horror. What he received was a glare filled with so much hatred that it made his stomach clench.

T
he doctor raised the gun too late. He didn’t even get off a shot before he jumped over the front bumper. His enormous body tumbled over the hood and shattered the windshield.

Logan
grimaced as the car lurched. Though his head tapped the steering wheel, he was immensely grateful he’d never replaced his airbag. He slammed on the brakes before he hit the hospital sidewalk. The doctor’s body slid from the hood, landing in a flowerbed of weeds.

Reverse.

He backed up carefully, mindful of avoiding Vincent where he lay crumpled on the ground. Then he shifted into park, unbuckled his seatbelt, and stumbled out of the car.

Ouch. He glanced at the car’s front end. That was going to leave a mark.

Judging by the blood dripping from his eyebrow, he wasn’t exactly unscathed himself.

“Vincent,” he yelled
. Dizziness assaulted him as he knelt by Vincent’s side. “Are you shot? We have to get out of here. Get up!”

His heart was pounding
like a freight train. Christ, he’d just hit a man with his car. Probably killed him. Unable to stop himself from gazing across the parking lot at the body, his heart dropped.

Dr. Allen was rising
to his feet.

Logan
blindly grabbed one of Vincent’s arms and placed it across his shoulders, hauling him up. His entire body shook as he dragged him to the car, wrenched open the back door, and shoved him inside. It didn’t matter that his feet protruded or that the door wouldn’t close.

He
ran forward, jumping on the hood to reach the driver’s seat. It dented under his feet and then his ass when he slipped, but he was behind the wheel in record time.

There was a snarl
up ahead. An inhuman, eerily familiar snarl.

“Oh, my God,” he breathed.

Dr. Allen’s body jerked once, then twice. Furious golden eyes met Logan’s stare. Unblinking. Challenging.

Screw that.

Logan shifted into drive and hit the gas, sharply yanking the wheel to the left. The windshield flew from the car in one mangled chunk of shattered glass.

The
exit door banged open again. He glanced at his rearview mirror. Nurse Biel emerged from the hospital, her eyes flashing gold.

Logan’s jaw dropped
. Another werewolf. Three in the same town, possibly more.

Drive
.

He accelerated, pulling
onto the road. The engine roared. Forty miles an hour. Fifty. Stop signs and intersections meant nothing to him. He drove clear across town, heading for the motel.

There was a second
radio hidden in the bottom dresser drawer. He and Vincent could barricade themselves inside the room until the cavalry arrived. They would be safer there than on a road bordered by werewolf territory, especially in this beaten down piece of–

Vincent groaned.

“You back with me, Vincent?” Logan blinked when he realized how hysterical he sounded. But he had a lot on his mind. Trying to sound more in control, he continued, “I need answers and I need them now, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

Logan laughed a bit too loudly. “Good. Good, I’m glad you understand.” He slapped a palm on the steering wheel, gripping it for dear life. The wind rushed at his face as they barreled down the road. It roared through the car, escaping through the open back door.

He raised his voice to be heard
more clearly. “First question. Were you shot?”

“No.”

“What the
hell
is going on around here?”

“It’s
a long story.”

What he would give for a
nother cigarette.

“I’m going to need…
” He took a deep breath to remain calm. “…a little more than that, Vincent.”

“This town is filled
with werewolves. It was seized to act as a sanctuary from prowlers, and then–”

“Stop.
” Logan slammed on the brakes and pulled into the motel parking lot. “That revelation right there? That raises ten more questions. Let’s just get inside. We’ll radio for the Society, tell them to send every prowler in the area, and then we’ll talk.”