He was a human, and he was weak.
He wasn't the big bad Alpha who had the world wrapped around his finger. He was a normal person, who had his own problems, and could die.
He could be broken, and he could be saved.
And, I was the one who could save him. I took a deep breath, and the nurse put the oxygen mask over his mouth.
"I'm going to take a look at the bullet wounds."
There were so many. I took the sterilized scissors, and cut open his shirt.
It was bad.
The moment I cut his shirt, his wounds bled, and the scent of his blood filled the room.
There were so many scars, and old wounds.
How many times had he been attacked? How many times had he been in danger? How many times had he had his life on the line, and almost died.
I didn't know.
But, that wasn't what was surprising me.
