Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 108

Chapter 108: Critical Mass

"No."

It’s probably saying something about my personality that the first word I can say after being extubated is a straight denial, but to be fair, the situation I’m in warrants it.

The nurse’s pink scrubs mock me with their cheerfulness as she approaches my bed, brandishing those three empty vials like weapons. My throat burns from the tube removal, but I manage to croak out another firm "No" when she reaches for my arm.

"Ms. d’Armand, we need to monitor your recovery." Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s frustrated by my sudden obstinance, I’m sure. "Just a few small samples."

The memory of purple lines crawling under my skin makes my stomach turn. That, and the weird serum they’ve injected me with. As much as I trust Logan—and I do—I have zero interest in giving this place my blood. I don’t want to become some sort of new-age Frankenstein. "Not. Consenting." Each word scrapes like sandpaper, but I need to make this crystal clear. "Want. My blood. Back."

Taken aback, she stammers, "Back?"

I nod. One sharp, firm jerk of my head.

"I’m afraid that’s not possible. The samples were used for necessary testing—"

I lift my hand, pointing at the door. Where did Logan go? Someone came in saying he was needed, and now he’s been gone for a year. The clock says it’s only been three hours, but it sure as hell feels like a year.

The room feels colder without him, more clinical. More like that other place.

My voice cracks. "No more."

The nurse’s professional mask slips for a moment, revealing frustration. "Ms. d’Armand, you’re being unreasonable. These tests are standard procedure. We need to check your blood counts, see if your electrolytes are doing okay, and make sure you’re on the right track to recovery."

Yeah. I get it. I really do.

But what else are they doing with my blood?

I’m no expert in conspiracy theories, but I’m pretty sure any person who knows anything about conspiracy theories would assert that there is a zero percent chance they’re not doing something else with my blood.

Why else would a shady organization come out of nowhere to mount a full-scale invasion to get me back from dragons? Dragons who, by the way, haven’t been seen in our country in like, forever. As far as most humans are concerned, they’re nothing more than a fairy tale.

The memory of Xavier’s bite sends a shiver down my spine. Definitely not a fairy tale.

I want to tell this nurse exactly where she can stick those vials, but my throat identifies as pain, and Logan isn’t here to back me up.

Princess Paws lets out a small meow from her spot at the foot of my bed, and I’m grateful for at least one ally in this sterile room. The blue spirits haven’t reappeared since the explosion of magic. Another thing no one’s talking about, leaving me only more firm in my suspicion against the people helping me right now.

Is it terrible that I have no loyalty or faith toward the people who risked their lives to protect me?

Maybe. But I don’t really care.

The nurse steps closer, and I press myself against the pillows. "No."

She sighs. "I’ll have to note your refusal in your chart. The doctor won’t be pleased."

So? That’s his problem. Not mine.

They can do old-fashioned doctoring to figure out how I’m doing. I still have a fever, so we know whatever infection isn’t out of my bloodstream yet. Keep treating it, then. But no blood. None. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

But where the hell is Logan? He wouldn’t leave me alone, not after everything. Unless...

The monitor’s beeping speeds up as panic claws at my chest. Did something happen to him? Did the dragons come back? Is the world ending? Maybe it’s an apocalypse. Maybe he’s cheating on me. Is it cheating if we’re not-dating, but dating? Or is it just sex. Really good sex, but still—

No, it can’t be just sex. He still thinks of me as his mate, right? Then again, there was the whole rejection, so maybe he can be distracted by a big pair of blue eyes and a jiggly ass. And boobs. Really sexy boobs.

The nurse glances at the readings, then back at me. "Ms. d’Armand, you need to calm down."

I shake my head, pointing at the door again.

Get out.

Get out and bring back Logan before some slut slips on his dick.

Or the apocalypse happens.

Or whatever horrible thing has kept him from me this long.

"Ms. d’Armand, take a deep breath. Can you hear me?"

Maybe it’s apocalypse sex. He’s been detained by apocalypse sex by some blonde bimbo with giant boobs.

"Shit. Her heart rate’s... God damn fucking Mondays! Ms. d’Armand, can you hear me? Please take a deep breath for me and try to calm down."

The room is spinning. See? Definitely an apocalypse. Shit. My bed’s shaking, too. And I’m suddenly really, really hot. Maybe I should take off my clothes.

Pain explodes in my chest like someone’s driven a burning stake through my heart. Something loud and mechanical wails in harmony with my agony.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me—"

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