Coming Home to You

Her POV

“I just talked to the guards and they are bringing the lycan up,” Anderson tells me.

“Conscious?” I ask, annoyed because I can already guess the answer.

“They shocked him, so probably not.”

I hold my tongue from saying about the treatment of the guards or how the creatures in the cells were treated lower than animals. All that was going to do was create tension and mistrust that I really didn’t have time for today.

Hearing the ding of the electronic key card, I lifted my head from my work to watch the guards carry him in and strap him onto the slab table.

“Here you go, Dr. Keene,” Thompson says, “One lycan specimen, as requested.”

“You couldn’t have kept him awake?” I snap as I check over his wounds. With only a pair of briefs on, I could see each one of the spots the guards had shocked him. The marks resembling lightning strike victim’s wounds.

“Not if you wanted him brought up in one piece,” he snarked.

Taking a deep breath to get my temper under control, I put a smile on my face and turned to look at the guards, “Thank you for the help gentlemen. I’ll call you when I’m done with him.”

The guards left without another word. Looking down at the wounds again, I wondered about the pain they must have caused to bring him here.

I lifted my hand slowly and gently traced one of the wounds that I could visibly see healing.

The second my hand touched his arm, his eyes shot open.

A Few Months Ago

“You picked out a house?” I roll my eyes as my amazing, doting husband walks over to me and wraps me in his arms.

“I did,” he smiles.

“And you didn’t stop to think maybe you should have discussed that with me, your wife, first?” I sass.

“You said you wanted us to get a bigger house,” he tells me, “So I bought one. We move in once your contract with the college is up in a few months.”

“What if I don’t like the house?” I argue.

“You will,” he says before he leans forwards and presses his lips to mine. I want to be annoyed at him, but all I can do is melt into his arms as we continue to kiss.

When he finally pulls away, he has a giant smile on his face.

“You know you can’t win every argument by kissing me,” I tell him, keeping my tone as serious as I can. But let’s be honest. The second he puts his mouth on me, I’m a goner. He can definitely win every argument that way.

“I think I can,” he smirks.

“No,” I tell him. He definitely can, I think to myself as my gaze lowers to focus on his mouth.

He throws his head back and laughs loudly, “If the last few years have taught me anything, you are easily swayed to my side of the argument.”

I open my mouth to defend myself, but my mind is blank. Thinking back to any fight we’ve ever had, he’s right. He usually just kisses me until I completely forget what we were arguing about.

“You know I’m right,” he leans forward and kisses his way along my jaw and to my mouth, planting a longing kiss there as well.

“You know now that I know your secret, you aren’t going to be allowed to kiss me during our fights.”

“Sure,” he says, kissing me again softly.

“I’m being serious,” I tell him, leaning back to escape his mouth. His arms tighten around my waist in response, so I can’t make it very far, “Stop trying to distract me.”

“Fine,” he sighs, “How about I show you pictures of the house we are going to move into instead?”

“Fine,” I agree. He shifts to my side, keeping his hand around my waist as he walks me to the living room of our little house. He moves to sit us both down in front of his laptop when I jerk back suddenly, “You did it again.”

“Did what?” he asks, his smirk still on his face.

“Distracted me when we were arguing to get what you want.”

Placing his hands on my hips, he tugs me swiftly until I’m sitting comfortably on his lap, “How about I show you the house you are going to love.”

Opening his laptop, he shows me a beautiful two-story home in the middle of the country. The design is right out of my head for my dream home.

I want to be mad that he picked it out and bought it without me, but I know I can’t. It’s perfect.

He was right. I loved it.

“Relax,” I tell him softly, “I need you to relax for me.”

His eyes draw together in shock and confusion as he slows down his breathing for me. He watches me closely as I keep my hand against the wound on his chest. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed as his eyes watch my hand go up and down with his breathing.

He opens his mouth to say something, but Anderson walks over before he gets a word out.

“He’s awake?”

Removing my hand quickly, I turn my back on him, “Yes. Can you bring me the serum marked Lycan off my desk?”

“Of course,” I feel Anderson move away, giving me only a few moments of peace.

Standing up, I move closer to the table to examine his wounds from the fight last week, “If you made more friends, maybe they wouldn’t all try to kill you in the ring,” I whisper to him. The scars are nearly completely healed, leaving only a light pink mark left but I could still see them, “You’re healing,” I say, my words quiet.

His eyes shift behind me as Anderson walks back over, “I thought you said the serum you gave him before was supposed to slow his healing?”

Apparently, my words weren’t quiet enough.

“It did,” I tell him, grabbing the vial from his fingers and taking a syringe from the side table, “Normal healing takes only a few hours.”

“My job doesn’t require carrying about how fast they heal,” he tells me highhandedly, “It’s about how fast we can kill them.”

I fight back flinching at his cruel words, “Could you give him a dose of 30 mL?” I ask him before handing him the needle. I walk to the other side of the table and grab my notebook off a stool.

Anderson gives him the dose while I write down a few observations. No one said anything for about ten minutes as I continued writing.

“Did it work?” Anderson asks.

“His wounds from the shocks aren’t magically healing, so yes,” I tell him, “You can tell the guards to come back.”

Anderson nods his head as he walks over to the door and sticks his head out to talk to the lab guard. Knowing I only have a minute before the rest make it up here, I look down at the table.

He’s watching me closely as tears fill his eyes. I want to say I’m sorry. I want to tell him he’s going to be alright. But I can’t.

The click of the door sounds again as the guards come back in, “Will we be putting him on the schedule to come back?” one of them asks me.

“Yes,” I say quickly, “Make sure he’s here in two hours. No more than that. I’d like to leave on time today.”

The guard nods and jots something down into a small notebook he had in his pocket, “I get that. I’m constantly running my overtime hours up.”

I give the guard a small smile before I walk back over to my work station. Then as quickly as he was brought in, they took him away.

“You sure two hours is enough time to see your serum work?” Anderson asks me.

"Yes," I nod, "If it works as fast as I hope it does, two hours should enough."