on her aunt’s face, but she wasn’t ready to face her questions yet, so she closed her eyes, pretending to fall asleep until eventually she did drift off.
When she awoke again, the fluorescent light above her burned brighter. Turning her gaze toward the window, she saw only darkness.
“You’ve been asleep for hours.”
Her body tensed, but when she recognized the feminine voice, her muscles relaxed. Rosie stood up from the chair next to her bed and brought a cup with a straw up to her lips. The ice-cold water was a balm to her parched mouth and throat, and this time, Rosie allowed her to drink as much as she wanted.
“Better?” A hand smoothed over her temple.
“Yes,” she managed to rasp.
“The doctor would like to come and see you,” she said. “If you can manage to stay awake. Otherwise, you can go back to sleep.”
She shook her head. The motion made her wince. Pain began to seep into her body, concentrated on her left shoulder, arm, down the right side of her torso, and her ribs. Had she felt this hurt before?
“Are you in pain? The nurses warned me the meds might be wearing off.”
Meds? Did shifters even need medicine for pain?
Rosie reached to her other side and pressed on a button by her hand. “There. They’ll be here soon.”
Only a minute passed before a nurse in scrubs walked in. She babbled as she talked, not really waiting for Dutchy to reply as she plunged a syringe into the IV line.
“… there you go,” she said as Dutchy’s body relaxed. “Oh, the doctor’s here.”
Dutchy glanced up at the new person in the room—a tall, older man who wore a white coat. “Ms. Forrester? I’m Dr. Jenkins.”
“H-hello, Doctor,” she rasped.
“It’s all right, no need to overexert yourself. If you don’t mind, I’ll need to perform a quick examination.” He picked up the clipboard at the foot of her bed and placed his stethoscope in his ears.
She nodded and he began to check her pulse, breathing, and her throat and eyes. A nurse came in to check her blood pressure, and when everything was done, he scribbled on the clipboard. “Vitals are good … tell me, do you remember what happened to you?”
“A little.” After the park, she’d shifted and ran off. She couldn’t remember where her fox brought her or how long they’d been roaming, but they darted across the highway when something large and blue came from nowhere. “I was hit by a car.”
Dr. Jenkins put away his stethoscope. “Yes. It was a good thing that the emergency services were already on the way and they got you here in time for surgery for your internal injuries.”
“S-surgery?” Her gut twisted.
“You also have bruised ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a fractured forearm, not to mention cuts and contusions all over, but thankfully, no head injuries.”
“But, I’m a shifter, didn’t they tell you? I should be able to heal on my own.” Sure, surgery could help in some cases when shifters got really hurt, but usually it wasn’t necessary. “How long ago was the accident?”
“Three days ago.”
“Three days?” She glanced over at Rosie, who nodded. “How? Why am I not healing?”
“The science of shifter medicine isn’t exact because there’s just too many factors and too many types of shifters.” Dr. Jenkins’s expression turned grave. “There have been some cases where if a shifter has a traumatic experience, it can change them fundamentally. Some experience a fracture of sorts, a disconnection from their animals. Their animals may act out, making them difficult to control, akin to going feral. While others experience loss of their healing capabilities or even other senses. Tell me, did anything happen to you recently? And are you feeling any other physical abnormalities, symptoms, or illnesses?”
Shame burned through her. She didn’t want to admit what had been happening to her vision, at least not in front of Rosie. “I … can we do this another time, Doctor? I’m getting tired.”
“Of course. I have some more rounds to make before I have to go home, but if you need me at all, just tell the nurses, and they’ll call me.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
As soon as Dr. Jenkins left, Rosie turned to her, hands on her hips. “Don’t you even think about pretending to sleep.”
Dutchy already had the blanket halfway up her chest. “I wasn’t. I really am tired.”
“Duchess Marie Forrester, what aren’t you telling him?” Rosie’s gaze narrowed on her. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing,” she said defensively. “Please, Aunt Rosie—”
She moved closer to