Her jilted Alpha

For his modesty

*Gina*

I almost lost him. Somewhere during my explanation regarding the difference between whiskey and whisky, he had started drifting away. Realizing it was like a punch to my gut. I don’t want to lose him, so I have wrapped a strip of cloth tightly around his thigh, stuffed linen into the other wounds … in spite of his crying out … and pressed my hand against the worst, the one at his shoulder, which seems to be the deepest gash.

Beneath my fingers, the stream of blood has slowed to a trickle, seems to have stopped in other spots if the lack of fluid soaking through to turn white linen crimson is any indication, but he is so damned pale as though very little fluid remains in him to give him color.

The pounding of rushing footsteps hitting wooden planks echoes up the stairs, vibrating off my door.

Thank God ! The resounding knock is brisk.

“Hurry”. I yell, hating the few seconds of delay, wishing I hadn't closed the door but I had wanted to trap as much warmth as I could inside in hopes of keeping the stranger from shivering to death.

Dr Talon is through the door and kneeling beside me before I can take much notice of his disheveled appearance. I supposed Robin had woken him, and he had been quick to dress, probably using only his fingers to tame his riot of pale curls. Stubble is marking his jaw.

“Caw ! Blimey ! 'E's a bloody mess !” Robin declares as he follows the physician in and, with big, round eyes, stares at the man lying prone on the floor. “I ain't swearin', Gina. I promise. I'm talkin' about all the blood”.

“I know, Robin. You did a good job. Off to bed with you now. You don't need to be seeing this”. I tell him.

He looks disappointed. “But ...”.

I give him a glare that has him backing up two steps. “To bed. And don't tell anyone else about him”.

“Why ?” He asks.

“Because I say so”. My tone leaves no room for discussion.

He sends me to a disgruntled look, obviously not satisfied with my reasoning, before turning on his heel and shuffling his feet as he goes out the door. Honestly, the male of the species sulks more than any female I have ever met. Life is full of disappointments. Best to learn from them before tossing them aside like so much rubbish and moving on.

“What happened ?” Talon asks, bringing my attention back to him. He has moved aside the blood-tinged blanket.

I wonder how his voice can sound so calm. “He was attacked by rogues in the alleyway. He goes by Thor. Or at least that is what he said”

"I think he is an Alpha”. The doctor says.

I look at him, he looks better quality than most men here. “What would an Alpha be doing in this decrepit part of town ?”

“What does a woman with means do here ?” He asks distractedly, as his hands move swiftly over the man, locating each wound, giving it a quick peek before moving on to the next.

I hadn't had the means when I had begun. My oldest brother had set me up, and I am still working hard to make something of myself. “Providing drinks to those who want it, employment to those who need it”.

He slides his pale blue gaze over to me. “I am making a point, Gina. Don't assume you know what you don't”. He jerks his head toward the small kitchen area. “Now, can you take his feet, while I lift him by the shoulders, and help me haul him onto the table ?”

It is a struggle, but I have height on my side to give them the leverage needed to get the man off the floor and stretched out onto my wooden table. He is a tall tankard of ale, his legs below the knees dangling off the oak. He had some heft to him. I can see that, splayed out as he is. Broad shoulders, a working man's shoulders. The lean torso of a chap who doesn’t spend the better part of his days or nights engaged in gluttony. Activity rules him. I very much doubt he is an Alpha, those are rare around here. But based on the fine threads of the clothes that remained to him and how perfectly they are cut to fit him, he too, has means.

“Warm water”. Talon says absently, snapping my attention away from a perusal I have no business making. Time is of the essence if this man is to be saved, and the physician, rightfully so, expects me to see to his bidding, to assist with his endeavors.

I turn on the stove, fill a pot with water, put it on to warm, then stare at it, suddenly uncomfortable that I have not one but two men in my flat. I don’t bring men here, don’t entertain visitors, not even my brothers.

These rooms serve as my sanctuary, the place where I can escape from the harsh realities of life and find a measure of peace that makes it easier to go out in the world. My tendency has always been to withdraw because the hustle and bustle of a great number of people tends to sap me of energy. In order to survive, I have taught myself not to retreat, but I still require a haven where I can restore my calm in order to better face the world.

Testing the water, I decide it is warm enough. I pour it into a large bowl used for mixing pastry, turn around, and very nearly drop the porcelain dish. Talon has removed the man's clothing, every stitch, and is examining the wound in his thigh ... the one near his manhood, which is flaccid but still impressively thick and long.

As a child, I had seen my brothers' personal areas when they got their weekly baths, but they had been boys, and this gent is certainly no boy. From head to toe, he is quite the imposing specimen, with well-defined muscles. The hair on his chest is dark and curly, arrowed down to his pelvis, down to that part of his person that should not make it difficult to breathe.

I set the bowl on the table near his head, almost running over to the linen cupboard, and yanking out a sheet.

"Good”. Talon says. “We'll need some strips”.

I swing around. “I was thinking of covering him, for his modesty's sake”.

Understanding crosses over the physician's face as he holds out his hand. “Sorry, Gina. I wasn’t thinking”.

I realize he is very much aware that it is my modesty at stake.

Taking the sheet from me, he spreads it over his patient, leaving the wounded thigh bared along with most of his torso. The draped sheet molds itself to the man's contours, and does very little to stop me from envisioning what is beneath the white linen. I fear I am blushing like a modest chit, not an experienced tavern owner. “Is he going to live ?”

“I hope so. Shoulder and thigh are the worst, but nothing major hit. He has a deep gash in his backside. Got lucky with the bite to his side and the one on his arm as it appears both were quite shallow, not deep enough to have nicked anything important. But he has still lost a lot of blood”. Looking up, he holds my gaze. “He's fortunate you found him when you did”.