mind, but he was still too keyed up.
At the door, one of the mortal social workers, Lina, greeted him. “Glad you showed up.”
After a month of daily visits, Raphael had managed to be accepted by the adults running the youth homeless shelter. He hadn’t had any luck in befriending the kids, but not for lack of trying. “Heavy shift?”
Shoulders slumped, Lina massaged her arm. “Same old story. A new girl arrived tonight—” She shivered.
Despite he had been sweating only a moment ago, Raphael felt cold too. His heart, already beating fast from the breakneck ride, doubled its pace, until he could barely hear what the social worker was saying.
“She was covered in blood, the poor thing. So small. Barely sixteen…”
Without a word, Raphael sprinted past Lina, leaving the Mattatoio main gate behind and heading toward the infirmaries. After it had become clear that Luisa wasn’t there, Raphael had kept visiting the place hoping she would one day show up. Soon, he found himself volunteering alongside the doctors who performed miracles on a daily basis.
“Where is she?” He looked around the large room with the green walls. The light fixtures hanging from the high ceiling were rocked by a gust of wind, and he felt like he was being swayed, underwater. Most of the beds were empty, but a small crowd hung in the far corner. He didn’t dare move. “How’s she?” In the surreal silence, his voice was carried over by the chilly gust.
Roused by his question, the crowd parted. A young mortal doctor he had seen once or twice before—volunteers from the neighboring hospital changed every week—looked up from a bed. The man sat on a rickety chair and held a small hand in his, covering the rest of the patient with his hunched body. Raphael saw the blood coating both the doctor’s scrubs and his hand. A breath later, he saw the cuts on the small wrist and his heart stopped beating.
While hyperventilating, a random tidbit about the place came unbidden to him. The building that housed the social center had once been an ancient municipal butcher shop, and according to legend, its walls had been painted with dozens of layers of green to cover the red sprayed everywhere.
Cursing the image away, Raphael forced his legs to cover the distance to the corner, but every new step was heavier than the previous. By the time he approached the bed, his boots anchored him down as if made of concrete, for all the strength it took him to walk the last meter.
The horrifying sight of one hand, so little and still, its white skin marred by red, froze his heart altogether.
“Luisa—?”
Chapter Four
His question dispersed the crowd. The three nurses and the two paramedics all gave Raphael a glance, then occupied themselves nearby.
“Do you know her?” the doctor asked, leaning back against the chair.
Centimeter by centimeter, the still form came into view, revealing how small the girl was, how her body was swallowed by the narrow hospital bed. How her hair was red and curly, and not Luisa’s.
His nose had known right away she was a werewolf, but not his mate. Yet, he had needed his eyes to confirm the girl wasn’t Luisa. A snarl escaped Raphael’s mouth and soon morphed into a choked cry. His knees sagged.
“Is she your friend?” the doctor had dark circles under his eyes and his speech was slow. “We need to contact her family.”
“Sorry, I don’t know her.” Free to breathe again, Raphael walked all the way to the doctor’s side. “What happened to her?” At a closer distance, the faint blue marks on her pale skin stood out, telling part of the girl’s story.
“She tried to kill herself, but someone must have found her and dropped her by the gate.” The doctor passed a shaking hand through his matted hair. “I don’t even know how she’s still alive. The loss of blood, and her injuries—”
A commotion at the entrance diverted the doctor’s attention. Two teens dragged a third into the infirmary. With
Learning to Kill: Stories