“I don’t either, Danny,” I’d told him truthfully.
We put a hold on our renovations, unsure whether the attacks would arrive on our doorstep or if I’d be summoned to the middle of some cornfield somewhere at the next full moon. My sisters guarded our home in shifts. I focused on getting into optimal shape, exercising, weight training, and making the heavy bag in our half-finished basement my bitch. A week of worrying. A week of waking at every creek, squeak, and crack. And nothing. Finally, we returned to our jobs at the hospital, figuring Larissa wouldn’t dare pick a fight in such a public place.
Ha. Ha. Silly me.
I was finishing the last few details of my delivery so I could move on to my next assignment. I smiled at the sleeping infant as I cuddled her in my arms. Our foster mother had been a nurse. It was a career that had never interested me, but one she forced me into when she was diagnosed with cancer. I was only in high school at the time. Ana Lisa made me get my GED, and dragged me kicking and screaming into the program. I resented her for it. But I resented her cancer more. She knew she was dying and wanted me to obtain a job that would secure my future and provide for my siblings. I never expected to love it. But I did. So much so, my sisters pursued nursing as well. Taran worked in the Cardiac Lab. Emme in Hospice. Shayna and I delivered babies—a job that showed us the miracle of life on a daily basis.
My smile widened as I walked toward the new father. The labor and delivery had gone smoothly except the young dad remained skittish. He kept his hands on his lap when I tried to pass him his baby girl.
“I don’t think I should hold her,” he said.
I rocked the baby when she stirred. Like Tahoe, babies settled my beast and made me less scary. “I think you should. You’ve been waiting nine months to meet her, haven’t you?”
He glanced at his wife, the baby, and me. “What if I break her?”
“You won’t.”
“What if I drop her?”
“I won’t let you.”
“What if she dates?”
I pulled out his arm and tucked the sweet infant into the crook. “I think you have a good fifteen years to worry about that one.” I reached to help him wrap his other arm around his daughter, but he beat me to the punch. And just like that, the frightened man became a “Daddy.” He lifted his chin as the first tears of fatherhood dripped down his face. “Thank you, Celia,” he whispered.
I nodded and turned to adjust the new mommy’s pillows. Compliments weren’t something I was used to, no matter how subtle. I covered the beaming woman with a warm blanket I’d brought from the linen room. “Everything looks great. I’ll give you some alone time and be back with your lunch.”
The woman squeezed my hand, but never turned away from her precious little family. I slipped quietly out the door with the cartful of garbage from the delivery. I pushed the squeaky wheels along the halls, nodding to a doctor as she passed. As much as the babies brought me great joy, every delivery made me wonder if I’d ever experience that moment myself. I abandoned those thoughts. Who would want to father the child of a beast?
I knocked my elbow against the push knob to open the door to the dirty utility room. The giant metal cage to my right was filled to the brink with bean bags and yoga balls yet to be cleaned. Directly in front of me stood a large sink and the counter where we placed the cord blood for lab pickup. I slapped on some gloves and dumped the placenta into the medical waste bin, and angled the cart next to the laundry and garbage chutes. With the speed worthy of any tigress, I dumped the soiled linens down the rusted metal chute, slammed it closed, and opened the one for waste. Everything ran smoothly until a giant tongue sprung from the chute and fastened itself around my waist.
Shit!
My face smacked hard against the brick wall as it pulled, stunning my beast and slowing my reaction time. All I knew was I couldn’t go down the bin. My arms and legs spread out to cling to the opening, encouraging the force to yank harder. I grunted, gripping the edge tighter with one hand while my free claws sliced at the tongue holding me.
Warm fluid splashed against my scrubs. I’d thought I’d injured it, but realized quickly I’d only pissed it off. The tongue tightened, robbing me of my breath and threatening to snap my spine. It pulled me, harder and harder, until I wheezed and my body was abruptly yanked through.
I fell down the passage, banging against the metal sides as my claws searched wildly for something to dig into. My claws raked against the metal like a fork, but still I found nothing to halt my descent. The burning in my lungs caused fear to rip through my veins. I reached into my beast, willing her to beat back my panic. We had to survive. No way would we die without a fight.
The opening was too narrow for my beast form to fit through, but even if she could, the strong grip would likely prevent my change. So I kicked out, using my legs to prolong my inevitable meet-and-greet with whatever had lassoed me. Every time I slowed, the force became more insistent and my need for air grew ever desperate.
Finally, I managed to stop at the curve in the chute. Only to have something collide with my head and burst open.
Double shit.
I whipped down faster like a reverse bungee. It’s bad enough I had a tongue dragging me down a dark cylinder caked with years of hospital nastiness. Now I had to deal with a rainfall of garbage. Mounds of trash pounded into me in a cascade of rubber gloves, plastic cups, and catheters. Globs of iodine, detergents, and things better left wrapped up tight spilled against my head and arms like rain.
The tongue, thankfully, didn’t seem to like the combo, either. It quivered as if gagging and loosened its hold. I slashed hard in the direction of the pull just as I hurtled through the basement opening.