“I don’t like it,” Derrick complained to his surgeon as he lay face down on the table. He’d grown to gruffly respect the older fellow, a doctor who seemed to think if they could remove that last bit of metal in his spine, he might, just might, get some use of his legs back. Or the operation would fail horribly and leave him a human potato head with no movement at all.

With that kind of fifty-fifty chance, he hesitated. Life was hard enough now. He couldn’t imagine it getting worse.

“What’s not to like? I saw the new doctor when she was getting set up with her access badge. She’s a cute thing. I wonder if she’s as fiery as her hair.”

The growl rumbled without thought on his lips.

The doctor misconstrued his agitation. “You don’t like her type? Sure, she’s a little curvy, but personally, I like a plump lady.”

So did Derrick, but that wasn’t why he growled. He didn’t appreciate the fact the doctor noticed her in the first place. If he didn’t know better, he’d accuse himself of jealousy.

Because she’s mine.

Oh no she wasn’t. She couldn’t be, and yet, the certainty lingered, a certainty that came from deep within. It emerged from the wilder part of him, a part that since his incarceration seemed to think he could express himself whenever he liked. At times, the loss of control frightened Derrick. His wolf wasn’t supposed to be able to push past his psyche and react. His wolf shouldn’t constantly try and nudge him aside to take over.

Perhaps if you let me out, I wouldn’t shove so hard, was the thought his beast retorted with.

Let his wolf out and risk never getting back into his skin? Derrick hadn’t dared shift, not since the accident. It wasn’t just his dominating wolf that worried him, but the fact that the violence of the change might shift the last bit of metal in his body.

He fidgeted on the examination table, realizing the doctor still waited for him to reply. “I don’t have a problem with her looks.” On the contrary, he liked them a little too much. “It’s what she’s here for that bugs me.”

“And why do you think she’s here?”

“To make me a happy, smiley asshat who pretends he doesn’t give a fuck he’s a cripple. Why the fuck can’t people just leave me alone? I’m handling my shit the best I can.”

“Are you?” the doctor questioned.

“Have I missed any appointments with you or my physio dude? Nope. Not a single one. And just ask Ben. He’ll tell you I work like a fucking dog. I’m not slacking, and I’m way ahead when it comes to doing the things I have to in order to drag this useless body around.”

“Your body is not useless. You are perfectly capable of leading a full life, even with your injury.”

“A full life that involves pissing through a fucking tube. An awesome life watching porn instead of making it. Yeah…” He uttered a bitter laugh. “My future is so freakn’ awesome.”

“And with that kind of attitude, you really have to wonder why they sent you another clinical psychologist.”

He did wonder, and he did chafe. Surely a man was allowed to wallow a little bit in self-pity, and he’d earned his right to some anger.

“Did you feel that?” the doctor asked.

“Feel what?” Still face down on the table, wearing only his briefs, the only thing he felt was the light breeze coming from the air vents, teasing along the skin of his back.

“What about this? And this?”

Derrick had to peer over his shoulder to see that the doctor pressed various parts of his legs and feet, seeing if anything reacted. Nope. Nothing behaved as it should below the waist, not since the explosion.

Broken. Howl. He didn’t let the insanity inside his head pass his lips.

He faced forward again as the doctor kept palpating his dead flesh.

“How are your bowel movements going?” the doctor asked.

Long used to these types of questions, Derrick knew better than to avoid them. “Fine. So long as I keep to my schedule, I haven’t had any accidents.” Instead of resorting to a diaper, Derrick chose other methods to void himself of waste. Yet another reason to not let friends or family get close. No one needed to know about the hour he spent each morning and night on the toilet doing what came naturally to everyone else. No one needed to know the indignity of the catheterization he had to endure several times a day so he wouldn’t wet his pants.

The threading of the tube in his flaccid cock each day only served to remind him how dead he truly was. More than a few times, he’d slapped his dick and screamed at it, angry that it too betrayed him. Life would surely suck less if he could at least jack off.

I’m an impotent male in his thirties who is a step away from wearing diapers, and that stupid head shrink wonders why I can’t go back to my old life.

Shame was a powerful thing.

So was desire, yet even his interest in the red-headed doctor wasn’t enough to get a rise. Not even a twitch, goddammit.

Perhaps he should count that as lucky. Most shifters who met their mate entered something more commonly known as the mating fever. It meant they had to have intercourse with their one. If they didn’t, then their desire would turn them wild. Literally wild. A horny predator looking for some pussy wasn’t something the world needed to see.

What surprised him was the smack of recognition when he saw the curvy doctor. With his cock more useless than tits on a bull, he would have thought himself immune from the mating urge. What stupid fate would pair a broken man with a nubile woman?

“Have you given more thought to the surgery?” the doctor asked. “Your latest x-rays show that the fragment has shifted. I’m afraid if we don’t do something soon, it will do more damage.”

“Care to remind me of my odds?”

The doctor sighed as he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know I’m not going to lie, Derrick. It’s not looking good, whether you do the surgery or not. If you do, then there’s the chance your condition will worsen, and if we don’t…”

“I’ll get worse. Or die.” Was it wrong to hope for the second part?

He couldn’t bring himself to do the brave thing and kill himself. Just couldn’t. But at the same time, he couldn’t take the chance of surgery leaving him even worse off. At least now, he had a semblance of life. He could, as folks kept reassuring him, rejoin the populace at large and eke out an existence.

Or go on a killing spree. If only they would let him have a gun.

But they didn’t. Assholes.

“Do me a favor, Derrick, and at least think about the surgery.”

As if he did anything else. He’d thought about it, long and hard, but in the end, his fear of becoming a quadriplegic emerged stronger than his optimism it would work.

Fear proved to be a powerful force when left unchecked. It had him hiding the next morning from the doctor.

I don’t want to see her. Didn’t want the reminder of what he couldn’t have.

Unfortunately for him, and despite her human nose, she tracked him down.