Alphas *TO BE RE-WRITTEN*

Chapter 9: Stirrings

"Well, you are making a quick recovery," said Dr. Derriks as he examined the X-rays. He was an older man with a deep, story-teller voice that made me think of a father reading fairy tales to his children every night before bed. His intelligence was obvious, as was the fact that he was a werewolf like us. He had gentle grey eyes and a kind smile that relaxed me. Usually doctors made me nervous because of their sick obsession with sticking needles into my arm.

I nodded, relieved. Now time for my more pressing question. "When will I be out of these casts?" I asked, tapping my finger on the hard surface of my new cast.

Dr. Derriks looked at the X-rays, calculating. He chewed on his lip a little and then glanced at me. "Well, I would say in the next week or so. However, it's hard to tell. Werewolves heal rather quickly, but I've never had to deal with injuries so severe. Come back next week and we'll do a couple more X-rays," he explained, glancing up at Michael, who had remained scarily silent. His eyes were hard and emotionless, and his jaw was set slightly.

He nodded. "Alright," he said, his voice a little hoarse.

Dr. Derriks nodded and then left the room. Michael shifted a little and then turned to me, handing me back my crutches. I hated those things. They made me feel... weak. I was used to walking tall, dealing with any pain I felt, and not letting anyone know whether I was hurt. But with these, it was obvious I was in pain.

I took my crutches and followed him out of the room and to the elevator where we rode down to ground-level and then began our journey through the parking garage to Michael's car.

He helped me in, but said nothing. Then we rode in silence all the way back to his house. When we pulled up, I saw some unexpected company standing in front of the door. My father.

I froze and I saw Michael tense a little out of the corner of my eye. "What's he doing here?" I asked.

"I don't know," Michael replied as he unbuckled his seat-belt and got out. I let myself out this time because I sure as hell didn't want my father to see me getting assistance.

He sauntered over to the car as I positioned my crutches under my arms and tried to get past him. His brow knit together at the sight of me and he stepped in my path to look at me. "What happened to you, Ren?" he asked.

I narrowed my eyes and then maneuvered around him. "Obviously I had some kind of an accident," I replied. Michael was already at the front door, opening it. He stepped back and I entered first, my father following. "So what are you doing here?"

"I came to check on your progress," Dad replied.

I went over to the couch and sat down, then gave my dad an incredulous look. "My progress?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. I wanted to see how you were doing."

Michael gave me a look that told me to watch myself, but I wasn't sure if I could. I took a deep breath and chose my words carefully. "I am doing just fine, Father. I've made new friends, and I now know what it feels like to actually be part of a pack," I replied.

Dad's eyes narrowed. "I see the attitude hasn't dulled down any," he replied.

I balled my fists and Michael tensed. "My attitude is only here because you are. I was doing just fine before you decided to 'check on my progress'," I growled.

He turned to Michael. "You did wonderfully with her fashion sense, now you just need to control her temper and attitude. I'm sure a few good hits will get her to understand her place in the presence of an alpha," he snarled.

I opened my mouth to tell him to shut the fuck up, but instead, Michael spoke. "I would never hit Ren, Mr. Taylor. Now, I would like to speak with you in private for a few moments," he growled back.