Page 18 of Witch’s Wolf (Bound by the Howl #2)

18

SAM

A sharp, sterile scent fills my nose. Antiseptic and latex with something metallic lurking beneath it. I force my eyes open. White ceiling. Two long bars of flickering, cold fluorescent light.

A monitor beeps somewhere to my left, each spike of the green line punctuating the pounding in my skull. My body feels disconnected like I’m floating in a haze of dull pressure with something sharper occasionally stabbing underneath.

My right leg is heavy. Too heavy. It has to be a cast. My arms sting, a dozen tiny cuts that burn against the crisp sheets. A tube tugs at the skin of my left hand, taped down, feeding me something I can’t taste. I try to move, but my limbs respond like they belong to someone else. Then, I see the shape.

Her? Erica?

A curvy silhouette at the foot of the bed, her form framed by the harsh light. It takes a second for my vision to clear, to make sense of the shape. Then disappointment floods my thoughts as sight clears and I see Monica. She steps forward, her smile bright, her voice a warm contrast to the sterile air.

“It’s good to have you back, Sam,” she says.

I blink. My tongue is thick, my throat raw.

“Back?” The word scrapes out, hoarse.

“You had an accident,” she says, her expression softening.

Accident. The word rattles around in my skull, but it doesn’t make sense.

I try to sit up, but pain lances through my head like a blade, and I groan, slumping back into the bed. I touch my head and my fingers brush against fabric. Bandages. There’s a dull, searing ache beneath them, a steady throb pulsing with every heartbeat.

“Where am I?”

“Shandaken Medical Center,” Monica says gently. “Raul’s outside. He can fill you in.”

Raul.

His familiar presence barrels into the room before I can process more. Heavy boots. A shadow stretching across the linoleum. Then his voice fills my head like a cannon booming.

“Damn, brother. You look like shit.”

“Feel like it too,” I agree, managing a smirk without too much pain.

Raul’s face doesn’t crack even a hint of a smile. His eyes are sharp, cutting straight through me.

“You wanna tell me what the fuck you were doing out there?”

The room tilts. Fragments shift in my head. Tires on asphalt. Darkness. Cold air rushing in. No, not rushing, falling . A drop. A crash. My throat tightens.

“I… don’t know…” I say. “Slow down. I thought you knew what happened.”

“I know what happened, but I don’t get it,” he flexes his jaw and leans in close. His voice is low and edged with something I can’t place. “Erica and Stacy saw you before it happened. They said you missed the turn. You didn’t slow down at all, went straight off the damn road.”

Something icy slides across my body. Missed the turn. That’s not something I do. I can’t argue. I can’t explain. Because no matter how hard I try to piece it together, I don’t remember .

I try to recall the events, but pain and drugs make it feel like I’m trying to think through a thick fog. Raul’s words fade, lost in the mists, but something stirs in the back of my mind. A flicker, faint but insistent.

A flash. There was a flash.

Bright. Blinding. Cutting through the dark like a blade. My stomach twists as I realize it’s not just a feeling. I am recalling this, it’s real. I saw it.

The memory sharpens. It’s not fluid or fully formed. More like snapshots. Frozen moments in time. An empty road stretching ahead, then the narrow strip of dirt alongside it. The bend looming too fast and too sudden.

That flash. What was that?

“I saw a flash,” I say, grimacing as the pain in my head spikes. “A bright flash. I must’ve, I don’t know, I must have dozed off? The next thing I remember is the turn and it was coming too fast. That’s all I’ve got.”

Raul’s expression darkens. His hands clench into tight fists and he’s vibrating, with anger? Rage? Disbelief?

“You fell asleep? That makes no sense. It was only ten-thirty, Sam. You never even think about bed before midnight. How do you explain that?”

“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head and instantly regretting it. As the pain subsides, I look at the still images that are all the memories of the events I have. My attention keeps returning to that flash. “The flash Raul, what was that?”

“There was no flash,” he practically spits and then glances at the closed door as if making sure no one else hears. “Erica and Stacy were there, and they didn’t see anything. All they saw was that you driving straight off the cliff.”

“I know what I saw,” I say, clenching my jaw.

He exhales sharply then paces around the bed. He growls, clenching and unclenching his hands. When he stops, he fixes me with his piercing, ‘I’m the alpha glare’.

“You sound awfully sure for someone who just took a seventy-foot tumble off a cliff.”

“Because I am sure,” I say. A muscle ticks in my jaw. The conviction solidifies, digging its roots deep. “I saw it, Raul. I know it.”

His silence is heavier than his words. He studies me, weighing something behind those sharp eyes.

“You were lucky,” he finally mutters. “In more ways than one.”

His tone shifts, something unreadable settling in.

“What do you mean?” I ask, grimacing as the pain spikes again.

“Monica was working the night shift. She got a chopper flown in from the city. If she hadn’t…” He doesn’t finish, but the unspoken words settle like lead in my chest.

“I should thank her.”

I brace my arms against the mattress and try to sit up. Searing pain tears through my ribs, sharp and unrelenting. I grit my teeth, exhaling sharply through my nose.

“Easy, tiger.” Raul moves fast, gripping the bed’s lever and adjusting the backrest. I sink into it, breathing through the pain.

“There’s something else you should know,” he says, his voice lower, barely above a whisper.

A chill skates down my spine. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s bad. The certainty cuts through the haze of pain and drugs. My wolf whimpers, not wanting to know but needing to.

“What?”

“Erica. She, uh…” Raul hesitates, shifting his weight. He scrubs a hand over his jaw, eyes flicking to the door. “She’s been crying since we got here.”

Pain spikes throughout my body. I grit my way through it, trying to focus while fighting this urge to try and get up again.

“Crying?” That doesn’t sound like her. Erica isn’t the type to fall apart. She’s strong, too strong I’d say most of the time.

“I asked her why. She wouldn’t say. Just that she wanted to talk to you about it.”

It’s bad. Something more. Something else.

Unease crawls up my spine as my thoughts spin, latching onto unknowns.

“Send her in,” I say, voice steady in sharp contrast to my spinning thoughts.

Crying? Over me?

Sure, we’re maybe dating which we haven’t really discussed, but it’s new. Fresh. She’s not in love with me. At least, I don’t think she is. Maybe Raul’s exaggerating. He has a habit of making things bigger than they are. Probably saw a little moisture in her eyes and decided to make a whole thing out of it.

The second she steps into the room, I realize he wasn’t exaggerating. If anything, he underplayed it. Her eyes are swollen, red-rimmed, and glassy. Even from across the room, I see the tear tracks glistening on her cheeks. She has her arms wound tight across her chest, forming a fragile barrier between us.

“Hi, Sam.”

Her voice is wrong. Too quiet. Too raw. A warning bell clangs in my head, echoed by the pain.

“I wouldn’t call this alright,” I smirk, nodding toward my busted leg. “But where’s the blonde who kissed me in the middle of the street in Shandaken? Come here and give me a kiss.”

She frowns, fresh tears dropping, and shakes her head.

“I’m… sorry. I’d rather stay here.”

Something about the way she says it, soft and wobbly, makes the air feel too thin. Then she drops the bomb.

“Sam, I think we should stop seeing each other.”

The words don’t compute. I blink at her, sure I misheard.

“What?”

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just stands there, arms locked, breathing shallow.

“Why?” My voice is rough, uneven. “Did I do something wrong?”

She shakes her head once.

“No.” A pause. A breath. Then, barely above a whisper. “It’s just that… the more I think about us, the more I realize that I’m going to hurt you.”

A cold, sinking feeling spreads through my chest. She’s already hurting me. And I don’t even know why.

Humans. Never trust a human. They leave you when the shit hits the fan and for no damn reason.

“How?” I ask, mouth full of cotton.

“Does it matter?” her voice wobbles. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I was stupid to pursue this in the first place. I should have stayed away from you.”

“Erica…”

“Goodbye Sam,” she whispers and then she walks out the door.

A hollow numbness spreads through my chest, heavier than the pain radiating from my battered body. I stare at the empty space where Erica stood, my brain scrambling to make sense of what just happened. One moment she was here, fragile but present. The next, she was gone, slipping through my fingers like water, leaving nothing but silence in her wake.

She didn’t even give me a real reason. Saying she’d hurt me? What the fuck does she think this is? She’s driving a knife straight through my ribs with her words. With her absence.

I clench my fists against the thin hospital blanket, frustration simmering beneath the surface. I should go after her. Demand the truth. Force her to look me in the eye and explain why she thinks walking away is the only option. But I can’t.

I’ve got a leg wrapped in plaster and an IV in my arm. And I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. Helplessness presses down like a two-ton weight. I hate this feeling this powerless. I’ve been through hell before, but at least then I could fight. Now, I’m stuck in this damn bed, watching the woman I’ve fallen for slip away without a fight.

And the worst part, the part I feel in my bones, is that she doesn’t want to leave. She’s scared. Of what, I don’t know. But something has her convinced that the idea of us is impossible.

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly. If she thinks I’ll just let her go without a damn good reason, she’s got another thing coming.

This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.