Bane's Choice (Vampire Motorcycle Club #1) - Alyssa Day Page 0,67

her own eyes. “But I can’t text. I left my phone at home when Bane kidnapped, ah, whisked me away.”

Meara turned serious. “If you don’t come back, I don’t know what Bane will do. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

Ryan doubted that. He’d lived a very long life. “Over a human, you mean?”

“Over anyone. Ever,” Meara said, and the bleak expression on her face told Ryan that she didn’t think it was all that great that it was happening now.

“I’ll be back,” she repeated. “I promise.”

Meara nodded. Then she curled up on the seat, her eyes closed before her head touched the leather.

…

The hospital, oddly enough, looked exactly the same as it had every other time Ryan had been inside it, which seemed impossible, given how her world had shattered and reformed into an entirely different version of reality.

She wondered how many of life’s greatest epiphanies came with this sense of disjointedness—this feeling that the world was slightly off-kilter from the way she’d left it. And the hospital didn’t smell like death, thank you, Meara, but like antiseptic and healing.

Like home.

Perhaps it was a matter of perspective. The patients, some in pain and filled with despair, might see it differently. She just knew that she and her colleagues did their very best to help and to heal. To offer hope to those who had little.

Sometimes, discovering an accurate diagnosis was the beginning of finally being able to conquer an illness. But sometimes—often—her surgical skills were required. She cut into live bodies, like a psychopath or a serial killer, which was hard for some people to understand. Certainly, some of the guys she’d met through friends or dating apps had a very hard time with it.

Bane, though, hadn’t seemed to be deterred one bit by her chosen profession.

Of course, he also had no problem with cutting—biting—into live bodies. She didn’t know how to feel about that, either, so maybe those men she’d dated hadn’t been so wimpy, after all.

She kept walking, waved at people, and said quick hellos, but didn’t stop to talk, intent on getting to the residents’ lounge before she had to field too many questions about her unusual attire. She grabbed a lab coat off the first laundry cart she saw and pulled it on, relieved to have her unrestrained breasts covered up. She hadn’t been able to get away without wearing a bra since she was about thirteen years old.

Like not wearing a bra is what’s unusual about today.

She snorted a laugh and quickly turned it into a fake cough when she saw a couple of med students giving her odd looks. Probably wondering why Old Reliable Ryan was wandering around in fancy sandals, laughing to herself.

Rounding the final corner, she ducked into the residents’ lounge, delighted to see that it was empty except for her very best friend in Savannah, Dr. Annie Coates, the finest pediatrician Ryan had ever met.

“Where have you been, girl?” Annie put her hands on her hips. “I texted you a dozen times. I covered for you, but I was starting to worry!”

“Let me run and change, and we’ll talk.” Ryan hurried to her locker, before anybody else came in, and grabbed her backpack that contained her spare keys, and the extra sets of scrubs, sneakers, and socks she kept at the hospital. She also had a bra in there, thank goodness. She was tired of bouncing with every step she took.

After she changed into clothes that made her feel like herself again, she walked back out to chat with her friend. Annie was five feet, four inches of trouble packed into a slender, graceful body with an angelically innocent face that belied her great talent for mischief. She’d been a ballet dancer, professionally, until she’d turned twenty-five and realized that her shelf life in dance would probably be over soon, thanks to frequent injuries. Then she’d whizzed through college and medical school, done her residency here in Savannah, and stayed to build a practice, even though her family called Atlanta home.

“Thanks! I was—” Ryan broke off, staring at her friend. “The braids! Those are new. I love them!”

Annie did a twirl. “I’m going with box braids for a few months, trying it out. I’m looking forward to going back to natural, but this transition stage is a pain.”

“Well, they look amazing with your killer cheekbones.” And, of course, they did, just like everything Annie wore or did with her hair, because she looked exactly like the ballerina princess she’d been