Page 212 of Nyx

"I'm here for a wounded woman," the nurse says from behind a wheelchair.

"And I'm here for the deceased," a man says with a blank expression, his palm resting on a gurney.

Nyx pulls me to the side, giving them access to leave the elevator.

"She's injured," he tells the nurse before looking at the other man. "You can head over in that direction. Talk to anyone with a gun or a mean look on their face, and they'll direct you on what to do."

"I'm not—" I begin, but he's already gently guiding my shoulder so I'll turn around and sit in the wheelchair.

I glare up at him, but the mild irritation fades when he gives me one of those little grins that probably looks a little demented to other people.

"And you, sir?" the nurse asks, noticing the cuts on his knuckles.

"I'm fi—"

"He's injured, too," I rush to say before he can finish.

His smile grows wider, making me grin as well.

The ride up is silent, but Nyx stays close, his hand resting on my shoulder. The touch is comforting, and if it weren't for the wounds on his hands, I'd roll my head to the side and press my cheek against it.

The hospital is busier inside than it seemed it would be, given the parking garage's emptiness when I first arrived. I'm wheeled into a small triage area, the curtain being closed just as another nurse is wrapping a blood pressure cuff around my bicep. I look up at Nyx, only to catch his back as he disappears on the other side of the curtain.

"Blood pressure is a little high," the nurse says.

"She was just attacked in the parking garage," another nurse says. "Of course it is."

I don't argue that I was feeling fine until I saw him leave because it doesn't seem relevant.

"The cut on her neck is minor," someone says. "Let's get it cleaned and bandaged."

I lift my hand to check the injury, but one of the nurses stops me. I knew I had something there. It had stung on and off since Graham had been dragged away, but I was more concerned about Nyx than a minor injury.

"We have to get pictures of the injuries," someone says, as my head is moved to the side. "Now your hands."

I hold my hands out, flipping them over when directed.

"Any other injuries?"

I shake my head. "Not that I know of."

I wince as antiseptic is applied to my neck as the wound is cleaned. When it's bandaged, they step aside.

I keep my eyes locked on the curtain, waiting for him to come back, but someone fills my vision, drawing my attention.

A kind-looking nurse crouches in front of me, her elbows resting on her thighs, gloved hands clasped together as she looks up at me.

"You've been through a lot tonight," she says softly, and I understand immediately why they chose her to be the one to do this.

She seems nice and compassionate. I inwardly wonder how many women who have come through Juniper House have met her before their arrival.

"Yes," I whisper.

"My name is Rachel Evans," she says, pressing her palm to her chest.

"Juliet Mercer," I say.

"Nice to meet you, Juliet. We're going to need to check you for injuries," she says. "Would that be okay with you?"