“I’ll believe you’ll make it when you see the result of a hundred foot fall without losing your lunch—bones sticking from every direction out of the trash bag full of tomato soup that used to be a human body.”
His eyes lock with mine, assessing.
“Until then, keep your mouth shut and stay out of my way.”
He strides away before I have the chance to think of a response.
TWO
HOLLY
I spendthe rest of my orientation day doing exactly what Dr. Klinkhart asks.
Which mostly involves avoiding his direct line of sight.
Though I hate the way it feels like his voice slithers down my back like a physical touch every time he snaps at someone. There is something about the particular timbre that makes it impossible not to notice every time he speaks, even from behind the closed doors of patient rooms.
Luckily, the mountains of paperwork from human resources keep me at an ancient desktop computer and mostly out of his way.
By the time the day ends and he disappears, it feels like an electrical storm has finally dissipated but still leaves the air buzzing with static. My hands tremble slightly—a physiological response to alpha pheromones, nothing more. I press my palms against my scrub pants, focusing on the cool scratch of fabric against my skin as a distraction from my own thoughts.
I barely have enough energy to drag myself to the little administrator’s office at the back of the clinic, despite the factthat I spent most of the day in a chair at the nurse’s station completing training modules.
A plump woman with silver-streaked hair waves me into the office with enough enthusiasm that I immediately want to pretend I forgot something at the desk and do an about-face.
“You must be Dr. Chang! I’m Greta, clinic administrator and your official welcome wagon.” Her handshake is warm and lingering.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Let me look at you—such delicate features! We don’t get many girls with looks like yours up here.”
I offer my practiced professional smile, though it’s probably more than a little brittle around the edges. Microaggression aside, her observation is obviously meant to be a compliment. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Your scent is so...muted. I would have pegged you as an omega from a mile away, but maybe I’m getting old.” Her nostrils flare slightly. “Are you a beta, honey?
Where I’m from, asking about designation within a minute of meeting someone is on the same level as asking where someone isreallyfrom. But Greta’s smile is full of sincere innocence, so I don’t really have a choice but to let it slide if I don’t want to make her feel bad.
Is this really what it’s going to be like here? Eight weeks of small-town curiosity and proving myself to people who won’t even give me a chance before passing judgment.
My stomach feels like a lead weight, but the lie flows smoothly after years of practice. “Guilty as charged. People make that mistake a lot, but I’m just really short.”
“Huh…well, don’t be surprised if you encounter more of that mistake around here.” Greta shuffles papers on her desk, her gaze lingering a touch too long. “And no mate yet? Pretty thing like you?”
Jesus.
“I was a little busy with medical school and residency, you know how it is,” I offer, fighting to keep the smile on my face. “About my accommodation assignment…I was told to get my keys from you?”
“Yes, of course,” she says, finally breaking eye contact to rummage in a nearby drawer. “We have you at the Whitesong Cabins just on the north side of town. There aren’t many other visitors here since it’s the low season, so it should be fairly quiet up there. People usually describe it as peaceful. Though there might not be all the amenities you’re used to coming from a place like New York City.”
She waits a beat, obviously intending for me to fill the conversational gap with…something.
Unfortunately, I have no idea what that should be. Small talk isn’t exactly my forte. I have a tendency to swing wildly between two extremes: missing all social cues and freezing up like a deer in headlights or vomiting up a pile of nonsense that I only realize nobody wants to hear when I see their horrified expressions.
So instead of explaining to this woman that I didn’t come all the way to rural Alaska for peace and quiet—more blood, guts and bone—I give her the most sincere smile I can muster and hold my hand out for the keys. “I think I’ll be okay, thanks.”
Greta dangles the keys just out of reach. “I feel like I should warn you—that cabin gets pretty isolated when the snow really comes down. Cell service goes in and out. Power, too.”
I maintain my smile, though it’s getting harder by the second. “That’s not a problem.”
