Her jilted Alpha

Man, woman or Angel ?

*Gina*

I work my arm around the man's shoulders, trying to pull him up, and swear

softly. "Damn, you're bloody heavy too".

Outstretched as he is, it is difficult to tell precisely, but I would guess him several inches taller than I am, which puts him well above six feet, probably 6’3 or 6’4.

I pat his stumbled cheek until he stirs from the depths of oblivion into which he has fallen. “Come on now, pet. Up with you".

He nods and struggles to push himself up to a sitting position, while I do what I can to assist him, tugging here, pushing there, and ignoring his groans of pain. The coppery stench of blood scents the air. His clothes are wet, and it isn't from the dampness of the heavy fog settling in and wrapping around us like a wispy shroud.

“Look, I can't carry you on my own. I know the darkness is calling to you, and she's a tempting mistress, but you have to resist. You've got to fight her and help me here”. I tell him.

Another nod. A grunt. Labored breathing. I slide in against him, slips beneath his arm, giving him my shoulder to use as a crutch while I snake my arm around his back, closing my hand against his side … he releases another groan muffled by clenched teeth … and I feel the liquid warmth pour over my fingers. Not good. Not good at all.

Leaning on me, using the brick wall for support, he pushes and I pull, until he is on his feet. Ah, yes, well over six feet.

“All right now. My place is just up here. Not far”. As usual I had closed up my bar at midnight, my employees had all headed home after the daily cleaning, and I had worked on my books for a while. I had finished up at half past one and had been taking out the rubbish when I heard the commotion, not at all pleased to find shady acts occurring behind my establishment.

I don’t allow for shenanigans inside; I certainly am not going to allow them to occur on the other side of my walls. My tolerance for misbehaviors is a low threshold that goes even lower when it comes to causing injury to people.

Our pace is slow, his breathing harsh and uneven, and more than once he stumbles and staggers, before righting himself. Cooing gently, I encourage him with words of praise for each step taken when he doesn't falter or fall. I consider hauling him into the tavern, but it would be bad luck if he dies there. Better option is my flat, although the stairs will be a challenge. Finally we reach them.

“Grab the banister, pull yourself up. Lift your feet a little bit higher”. I demand, I have to cut through his haze.

“Right”. The word comes out low but determined.

But he also needs encouragement. “You're going to make it”.

“I better. Have some scores to settle”. He mumbles.

A man with a purpose can survive a hell of a lot. My brothers have taught me that.

“Save your breath and your strength for the climb”. I tell him.

It is a long and taxing climb, but I have to give him credit for never faltering, even though he has begun to shiver, and that concerns me. It is a cool night, but not so much that one needs a jacket, and our efforts are keeping me far too warm.

But then I have a great deal more blood rushing through me, while his is leaking out, leaving a trail behind us, marking his progress. He drops to his knees three steps shy of the landing, and I nearly tumble on top of him. Catching my balance, I kneel beside him. “Almost there”.

Crawling, he laboriously takes one step, then another. I hop to my feet, locate my key, unlock the door, and swing it open. “When you get inside, you can collapse on the floor”.

He does just that.

I rush out, down the stairs, and back into the tavern. “Robin !”

The little urchin who sleeps on a small bed near the fireplace, in spite of my best efforts to move him into a proper home, but he simply won’t have it. He sits up and rubs his eyes. “Aye ?”

“Fetch Dr. Talon to my flat immediately”. I slap some coins into his hand. “Take a taxi if you can find one. You need to be quick. Tell him there's a man dying on my floor”.

His eyes grow wide. “Did ye try to kill ‘im, Gina ?”

"Him”. I repeat automatically, emphasizing the h, always striving to improve his pronunciation of words because I had learned early on that speech affected people's perceptions of a person. “If it'd been me, there wouldn't have been a try, now would there ? He'd be dead”.

“What ’appened then ?” He asks.

Another h lost, but I don’t have time to correct him again. “Later. Fetch Dr. Talon. Be quick about it”.

The boy slips his feet into his shoes and takes off at a gallop. Hurrying back to my apartment, I am discouraged to find the man hasn’t moved a muscle during the time I was gone. Placing my fingers above his upper lip, I feel his faint breath whisper over my skin. Relief washes through me. Leaning near his ear, I command. “Don't you dare die on me”.

*Thor*

Her voice comes to me through the fog, soft but slightly raspy, urging me on, keeping me anchored to this world when my aching body and wounded soul wants to sink into a vast oblivion where peace awaits. She drapes a thick woolen blanket over me, but my shivering continues just the same, my clenched teeth doing little to prevent their clattering. She presses a hand to the worst of the gashes.

Hurts like the very devil, but a distant part of me that can still process thoughts understands she needs to stanch the flow of blood if I am to have any hope at all of surviving.

“Stay with me now”. She urges. “Dr. Talon will be here soon”.

Talon ? One of the physicians to the royal Lycans? How does she, living in the poorest part of the city, know such a notable man ?

“What's your name ?” She asks.

The other thoughts flitter away as I work to concentrate on responding to such a simple question. “Thor”.

“I'm Gina”. She says

Is she the Gin the rogues had run from ? I had thought it was a man's name. Squinting, I fight to bring the hovering person into sharper focus, but my vision has never been particularly clear when it comes to viewing things that are near. Something that embarrassed my father.

I make a reach for my glasses in my jacket pocket before remembering the bastards have taken them too. So I concentrate on what I can determine about the individual who has come to my aid.

Short hair, cropped just below the ears. A dark shade. I can’t discern specifics in the dim lighting. Blouse ... not a blouse. Shirt. Similar to mine. A kilt ? No, not tartan. It is plain. A skirt ? It makes no sense. Why would the rogues run from a woman ?

“I own the tavern downstairs". The person says.

A man obviously, a man with the voice of an angel. Can a man be named Gina ? I don’t care. The bloke is keeping me from leaving this world behind. That is all that matters.

Then the angel begins reciting the process for brewing beer. Definitely a man. A woman would have described the various stitches in a sampler. My mind is a muddled mess. Of course it is a man. A woman's presence wouldn't have chased off four rogues, she wouldn’t have managed to haul me upstairs and entertained me with an accounting of the differences between various liquors.

I don’t know why I am disappointed with the truth. I know only that the fingers combing softly through my hair is the gentlest I have ever known.