Hybrid Lena

-Lilian-

“Clear.” The word echoed in my ears as I watched the heart monitor. The line crawled forward flat, mercilessly, then twitched upward, just barely before sinking again into nothing.

“Charging. Two hundred. Clear!”

The room fell silent. Every pair of eyes locked onto the screen. My own heart slammed against my ribs as adrenaline flooded my system.

Come on. Come on.

I needed this man to come back. None of this made sense. He shouldn’t be dead. Not him.

He’s a werewolf.

Wolves don’t die easily. You’d have to tear us apart, rip muscle to bone or put silver through the heart. He’d suffered neither. No silver. No catastrophic trauma.

I knew what he was, I could smell it beneath the antiseptic and sweat, beneath the sharp tang of ozone from the defibrillator.

No one else in this room knew. Just me.

The only other wolf among a room full of humans.

Inside my head, Lena stirred. My wolf growled low and uneasy, responding to his scent, to the wrongness of his stillness.

The monitor jumped, erratic spikes then flatlined again.

“Fuck.”

Another nurse stepped in, smoothly taking over as she started compressions, the defibrillator began to charge again. Her hands moved with practiced precision, so calm and controlled.

I felt anything but.

There was no way his heart would have just given up. If he were human, maybe. But a wolf? His heart should have forced itself back into rhythm by now. It should have fought.

My gaze swept over him, grey eyes searching for something anything that explained how this was possible. Any bruising. Needle marks. A scent out of place.

There were nothing

Unless, wolfsbane.

The thought hit like ice down my spine. If it was in his system, that explained everything. It also meant disaster. Wolfsbane didn’t just kill us, it left traces. Traces humans would notice. They would run tests. Ask questions.

They would investigate.

If they found it during the post-mortem.

This would be bad. Very bad.

I stared at the defibrillator. One bar away from ready. Around me, the room descended into controlled chaos, orders barked, footsteps rushing, hands moving fast in a desperate rhythm.

If he woke up, everyone hear could die. And if he didn’t, the truth might come out anyway

Oh god. What do I do?

My hands began to shake. Panic clawed at my chest, sharp and unforgiving. There were only two outcomes, and neither was good. If he woke, I was the only one in this room strong enough to even attempt to stop him and judging by his build, I wouldn’t stand much of a chance.

“Lilian?”

I snapped out of it. Noah stood beside me, his deep brown eyes fixed on my face, concern written all over him. I hadn’t even realised I’d stopped moving.

The defibrillator beeped again.

Without another word, I swallowed my fear and reached for the pads. Lena surged forward inside me, alert and ready, muscles coiled beneath my skin.

“Charging three-sixty.”

The pad slammed onto his chest; you’d better not kill me for this.

“Clear.”

Cold water splashed my face, jolting me back into my body. I gripped the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

The worst of the adrenaline had faded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. My shift was over, technically but my mind was still in that room, still hovering over that bed.

I’d brought him back.

But he hadn’t woken in the violent adrenaline surge I’d expected from a werewolf, He’d simply…slept. Peaceful. Unnaturally.

At least the immediate risk of a post-mortem was gone. Thank god for small mercies.

Still, the longer he stayed in the hospital, the more questions humans would ask. He’d come in with no ID. No name. No history. And unanswered questions were dangerous things.

A knock sounded against the door.

“Lilian?” Noah’s voice filtered through, “I’m heading off. Want me to wait for you?”

“I won’t be long,” I called back.

I grabbed a towel from my backpack and dried my face, tucking a black strand of hair behind my ear. It stood out starkly against the rest of my long white hair.

When I was younger, I’d hated my white hair. Tried to hide it. Dye it. Almost thought about cutting all of it entirely. It would only grow back, maybe even more so.

At school, they’d called me a freak.

Funny how things changed. In college, studying adult nursing, people admired it. Some even envied my hair. Eventually, I stopped fighting it and learned to love it.

I checked myself one last time, making sure nothing else was out of place, then stepped out.

The corridor was quiet, as Noah, and I walked side by side. I could feel the question pressing at him, unspoken but heavy.

“I’m okay,” I said before he could ask, “Just had a mental block. That’s all.”

He studied my face, searching for cracks, for lies. I stopped and turned to him, meeting his gaze. He folded his arms, posture deceptively casual but I knew him too well to miss the concern beneath it.

“Really?” he said. “This is me.”

“Yes I know, my best friend of too many years to count,” I said lightly.

“Fifteen years next week,” he cut in.

Of course he remembered.

Before I could reply, a nurse from the night team jogged past us, tension written all over her face. Then another. My attention snapped down the corridor towards the senior nurse barking orders.

She noticed us watching,

Something was wrong.

She headed straight for us. “Lilian. Noah. You were both with the cardiac arrest patient earlier today, the one you managed to bring back.”

“Yes...” Noah said cautiously

“You haven’t seen him around the hospital, have you?”

My stomach dropped

Shit.

He’s gone. I knew it. I’d hoped he’d leave quickly, before tests, before questions, but still.

“No.” Noah said smoothly, glancing at me for confirmation.

I shook my head. “Sorry. No.” The senior accepted the answer and hurried off, voice already raised as she called for staff to search the building.

“Come on,” Noah said quietly, placing an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s get you home. There’s nothing we can do tonight.” Part of me wanted to stay. To help. Another part understood exactly why the werewolf had ran.

The further he got from this hospital, the better.

We reached the car park and climbed into Noah’s red Ford Focus. As he drove, he talked about work, about nothing, but his words blurred into background noise.

My thoughts kept circling back to the man. I hoped I’d never see him again.

As I leaned my head against the window, my eyes drifted to the wing mirror. A large, dark silhouette stood at the edge of the car park, watching us leave.

My heart stuttered.

I twisted around, peering through the back window.

Nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Noah asked. “What are you looking at?”

“I thought I saw someone,” I said after a moment. “God, I must be tired.”

From that point on, Noah didn’t push. I closed my eyes, resting my head back, Lena finally easing into uneasy silence as the hospital disappeared behind us.