The Awakening Aidan - By Abby Niles Page 0,1
have to put up with whatever his friend threw at him. This—whatever this was—wasn’t normal. He slid his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the number on the card. It rang three times before a young female voice answered with, “Dr. Avgar’s office. This is Pam. How may I help you?”
“May I speak with Dr. Avgar, please?”
“I’m sorry, but she’s in a meeting right now. May I take a message and have her call you back?”
In a meeting. The typical rebuttal for someone screening calls. How many times had he blown off someone with the same excuse? “This is an emergency.”
“I understand, sir, but she’s in a meeting.”
Aidan clenched his jaw. “Dsershon is at stake here. I don’t have time to wait.”
Silence stretched on the phone. The woman was either a half shifter and knew what the word meant or thought he was talking in some cryptic code that only Dr. Avgar would understand. It didn’t matter to him which one it was, as long as she got the doctor on the phone.
“One moment, please.” She didn’t even wait for his response as classical music assaulted his ears.
He studied Liam. His friend still hadn’t moved. Nor had the vacant expression left his face. Had there been any warning signs? Yeah, he’d stopped mid-sentence a couple of times, had gotten this confused, disoriented look, but he’d always blinked it away and picked right back up where he’d left off. Aidan had chalked it up to stress. Idiot! Why hadn’t he insisted Liam see a specialist? He’d tiptoed around the subject. But every time he brought the topic up, Liam went ballistic.
“Dr. Avgar. How can I help you?”
“This is Aidan O’Connell. I have a friend—”
“Mr. O’Connell. While I appreciate your thinking of me, I no longer practice in that area of psychiatry. I can refer him—”
“I need someone now. He’s sitting here like he’s in a trance or something.”
The silence on the other end of the phone allowed the squeaking of her chair to come through the phone. “How long?”
“I don’t know for sure. He was like this when I walked in the door ten minutes ago.”
“Listen to me carefully. Place one hand on his shoulder and snap your fingers in front of his face. Do not release the pressure from his shoulder. He’s lost in her and needs stimulus from his surroundings. Continue snapping and calling his name until he comes around.”
Aidan put the phone on speaker, placed it on the arm of the chair, then gripped his friend’s shoulder. “Liam.” He snapped his fingers three times in quick repetition. He didn’t even blink. “Liam,” he said his name more forceful, snapping his fingers again. Nothing. Damn it. “Liam!”
“It’s not working,” he directed to the phone. “What the hell’s the matter with him?”
A whispered “shit” came through the speaker before she said, “He’s in Bahrraj. Has he had no therapy at all?”
“None. He’s refused.”
“Stubborn damn shifters. I swear to God… Where are you?”
He gave her directions.
“It’s going to take me at least thirty minutes to get there, and that’s making all the lights. I’ll get there as quickly as I can. Don’t stop trying to reach him. The longer he’s in Bahrraj, the harder it’s going to be to get him out.”
The phone went dead.
Aidan continued doing what Dr. Avgar had instructed. Desperation twisted his guts as his friend’s gaze failed to focus on him. He grabbed both Liam’s shoulders and shook—or tried to shake. It was as though Liam were made of stone. His head didn’t wobble, didn’t even sway with the motion. His entire upper body moved in unison. He had no doubt if he pushed Liam over into the floor, he’d stay in the exact same position.
This was all Ava’s damn fault. She better hope Dr. Avgar could bring Liam around, or there’d be hell to pay.
…
Jaylin tapped her palm against the steering wheel as she willed the light to change. Carnal Ridge, North Carolina, was one of the top ten shifter-populated towns, evident by the sharp, musky scent of wildness lacing the air.
A smell that should’ve reminded her of home. Instead, it made her question her sanity.
Why had she agreed to this?
She should’ve referred Mr. O’Connell to…to whom? The next closest therapist specializing in Dsershon was three states over. Thankfully, the condition was rare. In her eight years as a therapist, she’d only had five cases.
Only five cases. She shook her head. One case had been one too many. She could’ve gone her entire life