Chapter 6

• "You will let no one know about me." It was not a request but a stern warning directed at her. Her eyes flashed with anger, but her focus shifted back to Wyatt as he whimpered in pain from the oozing blood.
• She took a deep breath and braced herself for this impossible task. Her mind raced as she ran to gather hot water, bandages, scissors, and whatever supplies she could think of for the impromptu operation. Fortunately, her father's store had a stock of medical supplies that could come in handy. He used to work with an NGO that provided medical aid to the underprivileged.
• "Don't die on me, please," she muttered, blowing air out of her cheeks as she heated the tip of the knife. This was not what she had been prepared for. Her hands trembled uncontrollably as she watched over Wyatt.
• "I can't do this. It will cause an infection in your body, Mr. Romano. Let me call an ambulance," she pleaded. "Do it, or I will shoot you," he shrieked, his threat shaking her to the core. The sound of his voice caused the dog to burrow into the cushions.
• One by one, she carefully removed the bullets, and once the last one was out, Wyatt drifted off to sleep. She wrapped his wound and let out a sigh of relief. Keeping a watchful eye over him was her only option now. She reached for her phone, intending to call the hospital and inform Dimitry about his brother, but the vivid warning from Wyatt resounded in her mind, causing her to stop.
• She had met this man just yesterday, and now he was lying in her bed, placing his trust in her to save his life. Fear and anxiety washed over her as she realized that the next few hours would be critical, and she had to closely monitor his condition. Hazel set an alarm on her watch and settled into the rocking chair beside Wyatt's bed. Each ticking second felt like a verdict. If he survived, there would be nothing to worry about, but if he didn't... her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard, thinking of the consequences.
• As she studied his features, she realized how his cyan-blue eyes used to complement his tanned complexion. He might have appeared cold-hearted and arrogant before, but now he resembled a sleeping baby in her bed. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she drifted into a deep slumber.
• Morning arrived, and a ray of sunlight pierced through the cracks, gently awakening her. She struggled to open her heavy eyelashes, but the dog whined at her feet, wagging its tail in search of food.
• "Ugh," Hazel groaned, but reality quickly flooded her mind, and her eyes widened as she remembered Wyatt. Hastily, she got up and surveyed the blood-soaked bandages, alarming enough for her to consider calling for help. However, before she could act on it, she grabbed his wrist to check his pulse, only to find that he was as cold as ice, with barely any discernible heartbeat. Normally, the human body would fight infection and exhibit a high fever, but his condition was the opposite.
• "Wyatt," adrenaline surged through her veins as she peeled off the white tape to inspect his bullet wounds. Her eyes widened in astonishment, her face losing color. There were no signs of bullet wounds, just unblemished skin. She couldn't comprehend the rapid healing of his wounds. Was it all a lie? No, because the bullets were still on the tray she had used during the operation. Trembling, she reached for a flashlight, and with a shaky hand, she lifted his eyelids to check for signs of life, hoping to glimpse some truth amid the confusion.
• As his eyelids lifted, a pair of welcoming raven-black eyes shimmered back at her, devoid of any trace of his signature cyan color. She fell back to the ground, unable to believe what she was witnessing. It didn't seem human.
• Then what was he?
• The shock washed over Hazel’s features as fear gripped her. She fell back, her mind racing with questions. If his wounds had healed, why hadn’t he woken up? Overwhelmed and unable to think clearly, all she knew was that she had to tell someone, perhaps his brother, about his condition. Panic setting in, she hastily rummaged through his pockets, hoping to find his phone, but all she came across were cards.
• “Wyatt,” she whispered, her mind racing with thoughts. Was he a ghost in human form? No, that couldn’t be right. She then considered the possibility of him being an alien, but such thoughts only made her nervously bite her nails. What if he woke up and harmed her?
• With a trembling hand, she touched him again. “Wyatt,” she called out, but there was still no response. All she could think of were those raven-black eyes she had just seen a few moments ago, which prevented her from thinking about anything else. Her house felt like a graveyard, with a man lying on her bed, unresponsive, and she anxiously waited for him to wake up and talk to her.
• “What should I do? Why won’t you wake up?” she pleaded, feeling helpless. She waited until night, but he continued to sleep soundly, like a log.
• “Should I run some tests on his blood? What if he had powerful sedatives in his system? Or something else?” Her mind raced with possibilities, but she wasn’t sure what to do. He had warned her not to call anyone, but how was she supposed to save his life if she couldn’t get any help? The fear of the consequences if he died, and the police came after her, made her scream in terror. She looked out of her house, relieved to see that nobody was around to witness her distress.
• Finally, she considered one last option - calling her friend Kevin to run some tests on the blood samples. She contacted him, giving him the samples without revealing too much.
• “Are you becoming a mountain serial killer?” Kevin joked as he took the samples from her. Nervous, Hazel didn’t say much, simply asking him to run the tests and let her know the results as soon as possible. Hazel had to take a medical leave from work, pretending she was suffering from a high fever and diarrhea. Fortunately, her superiors accepted her explanation. As she returned to the man sleeping on her bed, she tried once again to wake him up, but he remained unresponsive. Hours passed, and eventually, Kevin called to her with excitement in his voice.
• “Hazel, where did you get these samples?” he asked.
• “Just tell me what you found, and remember, don’t mention any of this to anyone,” she warned him.
• “I know. Don’t worry about it. This is human blood mixed with a high quantity of wolfsbane and silver,” he said, scanning the reports.
• Hazel’s confusion grew. “What? What do you mean by wolfsbane and silver? And what is wolfsbane?”
• Kevin sighed. “Oh, man. This is going to be epic. Wolfsbane is an herb that is harmful to werewolves. Even silver, too.” Hazel couldn’t comprehend what she was hearing. She had never encountered a case like this before. A man had been shot multiple times in the gut, but now he was miraculously healed and unnaturally cold.
• “Hello, Hazel? Are you there?” Kevin’s voice broke through her thoughts.
• “Yes,” she stuttered, her gaze fixed on Wyatt. “What should we do?”
• “Replacing the blood might help,” Kevin advised. Hazel pleaded with him to bring the blood bottles for Wyatt, but also to keep things low.
• Werewolves? Seriously?
• She rushed inside and opened her laptop, spending the next two hours researching werewolves, their myths, and the things that affected them the most. According to her findings, werewolves were humans with the ability to shapeshift into wolves. They possessed enhanced senses and faster healing abilities. They could die from a silver knife or silver in their blood, while wolfsbane acted like acid to their skin.
• “F*ck,” Hazel murmured, the weight of the situation sinking in. Suddenly, a thought struck her. How had Dimitry heard her voice when he was unconscious? What did that mean? She slapped her hand over her mouth in fear. Could it be true? Was Wyatt a werewolf? Her heartbeat quickened at the thought, but she quickly dismissed it. There was no way it was possible. Still, she had to check before she let her imagination run wild. Hazel went back upstairs and found Wyatt still sleeping. Her eyes shifted to the knife lying beside the bed. If he truly was a werewolf, his body would heal itself.
• With a trembling hand, she picked up the knife. “I’m sorry, Wyatt,” she whispered, making a soft cut in his hand. Blood began to trickle out, but within a second, his skin healed over the wound. Hazel gasped, falling to the ground in fear.
• Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Someone banging the door.