Chapter 48

It's Friday afternoon, a couple of days later. I'm still glowing in the aftermath of my fantastic date with Marcus, weird little scene with Lydia notwithstanding. I'm still a little angry about that, but it's not anyone's fault – well, except Lydia's – and I certainly don't hold a grown woman's behavior against anybody else.

Despite that little hiccup, and despite the gloomy and worried tone that inevitably crept in when Marcus and I discussed some of our concerns around Charles, it was a marvelous evening. I don't know that I've ever felt so taken care of, so listened to, so considered.

Well, except the last time I went out with Marcus, that is.

I think he might be it, I muse to myself. I don't know how I'm going to reconcile that with the fact that I'm currently parading around as someone else after having faked my own death, but I'm starting to think that this might be fate.

This might be it for me. Marcus might be The One.

I don't know why I'm so certain of this. I never believed in the concept of "The One" until now, that's for sure. But there's something about Marcus…I just…I just feel something. Deep inside my soul.

It's almost like there's an invisible line connecting our hearts, and I can feel it tug on mine when Marcus is near me. I think he might feel it, too. I wonder if werewolves really do sometimes have soulmates, like they say.

And I wonder if it's possible for a human to be a werewolf's soulmate.

I have no idea how one would test such a thing, nor can I imagine bringing it up to Marcus. Not unless he broaches the topic first, of course. Which I also can't imagine him doing, not really. He's so…gentlemanly, so kind and sincere but also a little distant.

It's a quiet distance – it doesn't feel personal at all – but it is there. I wonder if it's hiding some kind of vulnerability, some part of himself that he doesn't often show to others, if ever. It can't be easy, being a son of the Alpha.

Especially the only potential heir of the Alpha's who actually seems to give a shit about his father, or his community, or the duties of his office, I think somewhat bitterly. I wish there was more I could do to warn him about the dangers lurking around him – both to him and his father.

But I promised the Alpha that I would keep secret the revelation that his food and medication was being tampered with, most likely on the orders of Charles. It's been necessary for his own protection, I realize that, because the more people who know about the plotting, the more likely it is that Charles will panic and do something desperate.

Still, I hate keeping it from Marcus. It feels dishonest, somehow. And maybe he could help me, if I did tell him. Marcus is the most trustworthy man I've ever met, and all of this concerns him, too. He should know – he can probably help.

I'll talk to the Alpha about it, I decide, tapping my pen definitively against my notepad. I can't go behind his back to talk to Marcus, but maybe I can convince him that Marcus should be brought onboard. It won't hurt to broach the subject with him, anyway.

I wonder if I could get an appointment with him this afternoon. I go onto our internal comms system on my computer and message Claire, asking her if I could get a few minutes with the Alpha this afternoon.

He's taken a big step back from his afternoon meetings, so he should be relatively free, but I don't like to assume or push in. If he's feeling particularly tired, he might not want to discuss serious matters today, which is more than understandable.

Claire messages back to say that she'll check in with him. A few moments go by, and then Claire messages again to say that the Alpha isn't answering his messages or his desk phone.

"I'm going to go check on him," she says. "It's unlike him not to answer his desk phone, at least."

I think nothing of this – the Alpha has been known to doze off at his desk more than once, especially since I have him on a new medication that causes a bit of an energy slump in the early afternoons – until…

A blood-curdling scream echoes down the hallway, coming from the direction of the Alpha's office.

"Move out of the way – I'm his doctor – I said move it!" I shout as I shove my way through the crowd of people trying to gawk inside of the Alpha's office. "For Christ's sake, people, get your asses out of the way!"

I elbow some skulking little man out of my way. One of Charles's lackeys, I note, who seems to be deliberately trying to slow down my access to the office. Claire is still screaming for me, knelt over the form of the Alpha, who is lying gray-faced on his office floor.

"Take a step back, Claire," I say calmly. "Call 911 and tell them that a physician on the scene says this is a code blue and to hurry. If the ambulance is more than five minutes away, we will transport ourselves."

I'm loosening the Alpha's tie as I speak, unbuttoning his shirt and reaching for the stethoscope that I keep in my cardigan pocket.

"Then, get all of these looky-loos out of here and close the door until help arrives."

Claire is already on the phone with 911, tensely confirming to me that the ambulance will be here in a few minutes. I'm listening to the Alpha's heart – it's still beating, but erratically. I move him to the recovery position and bite my lip.

"Claire, this doesn't look good," I say under my breath. "I think he's been poisoned."

I ride to the hospital with Emmett in the back of the ambulance, and Claire follows beyond in her car with Roger, who promises to call the Alpha's family on the way. None of them were home this morning, which, to be honest, I find slightly suspicious.

Not that I suspect Marcus or even Jeanette, but it's incredibly unusual for both of them plus Joel, Daisy, and Charles to be out of the house in the middle of the day during the work week. Almost like one or more of them wanted some kind of alibi.

They're going for plausible deniability, I think to myself as I help the EMT monitor the Alpha's heart rate. Well, I'm not going to be fooled by a cheap trick like that. Charles is behind this, or I'll eat my stethoscope.

The Alpha is still unconscious by the time we get to the hospital, though I've tried to bring him round as his eyelashes fluttered at one point after we started a saline drip, calling out his name loudly and clearly.

But he wouldn't wake up. The EMT and I agreed that it would be impossible to give him further treatment until we know what he'd been poisoned with, or if he'd even been poisoned at all.

Still, I think he was. I'm almost certain of it.

We wheel into the hospital and I jump into action again, shouting that I'm the Alpha's personal doctor and quickly relaying my suspicions to the ER doctor who comes running toward us to help.

News crews are already starting to swarm outside – how the hell did they get here so quickly, I wonder?

"We need to get him to a private area," I say urgently to Dr. Madison, the ER doc who is currently checking Emmett's vitals. "I'm almost certain it's poison. We need to move fast."

She nods, and I turn to follow her back into the hospital. I see Claire out of the corner of my eye and wave, indicating that I'm going back with the Alpha. She gives me a thumbs up while talking on the phone, probably to one of the family. She's clearly been crying, I notice. Roger, too.

I hasten after the Alpha's stretcher and prepare to tell the doctors what I know.