The Hellhound's Mate

Chapter 25

Meanwhile, in an abandoned basement of the house where the noise complaint was listed, Jordan was barely conscious as he leaned against a set of industrial shelves, claw mark perforating his chest as he bled out, his shirt and jacket in tatters. His eyes were barely cognizant as he reached for his radio, his chest in agony as he moved.

"Dispatch.... Officer... Officer down," he called but the only response he received was static as his radio fell from his shoulder.

So, this is what Angie felt like. All the pain he felt from her when she was injured fighting Berserkers or demonic ninjas, was only a fraction of the pain she was actually in because she'd been clawed like this, and he'd never felt pain that bad. Yeah, he had even more respect for her for enduring all she had.

It may have been the blood loss, but he was pretty sure that his wounds were steaming almost.

Though, what he saw next, he desperately hoped wasn't an illusion.

Angie stood before him in a blue sundress, the dress she wore when he took her out on their first proper date to a carnival - though she wore shorts underneath because she half expected something to attack them. One of the few times she actually wore dresses was on their dates and though she looked gorgeous in everything, Jordan savoured the look of her stunning legs in the few dresses she did have.

"Jordan?" a voice called but it was eerie, like it was far away. "I'm here. I'm right here," she promised as she knelt at his side and he swore he could feel her hand on his chest, except it didn't feel as warm as it usually did.

"I'm sorry," he exhaled as his eyes began to droop.

"Stay with me. I'm almost there," she pleaded as she seemed to lean in towards his lips and his eyes began to close willingly, having no idea what she was talking about but finding peace in the sound of her voice.

"Parrish?!" another voice called, jarring him from his fantasy because Angie never called him by his last name. "Parrish?!" came the Sheriff's voice again before he was aware of the torch shining on him.

"Jordan!" Angie cried as she rushed to his side. "You're gonna be ok. I've got you," the real Angie promised as she turned back to her father. "We gotta get him to Deaton! Or Melissa! We gotta help him, dad," she sobbed.

"We will," he promised as he holstered his guy. "Grab his arm."

And as Jordan passed out completely, they hauled him to his feet and out to their car, the Sheriff driving crazily and with the sirens on.

Melissa was the one who answered her phone, so they were taking him to the hospital, more specifically the morgue seeing as they couldn't exactly admit him.

"You said you were keeping him on desk duty," Melissa pointed as they laid him down on a metal slab, Angie holding his face as she willed him to be ok, choosing to ignore Melissa's words.

"It was just a minor noise complaint," Noah defended.

"He's not on fire, is he?" Melissa asked as she inspected the wounds that were still smoking.

"Not that I know of."

"Maybe it's part of his healing process?" Melissa suggested.

"But he's not healing. He's not bleeding but he's not healing," Angie pointed out as she moved to clutch his hand instead.

"He's supernatural. He healed from the fire, and he protected you from it, so we just have to trigger his healing process," the nurse deduced as Angie lifted their conjoined hands up and covered them with her other hand.

"Let me take some of his pain before we put him through more on a hunch," she said as she closed her eyes, and her veins began to turn black. But the second they did, Jordan sat up bolt right before jumping to his feet, slamming Angie into the mortuary cabinets as his eyes glowed a fiery orange.