Geez, I sure can pick a hiding place, can’t I? First, I’m dodging life-sized killer fans, and now, I’m trapped in the bathroom of a pissy Chuchunya. Listening to their problems does calm the roiling in my guts. As long as he’s yelling at her, my stupid body thinks I'm safe. She seems to be handling him just fine, too. Priestess or accountant, she’s stronger than the fiercest werewolf women I’ve met.
“How do you think I got an IUD in the first place?”
“Your past, before our mating chase, is your own. What happens to you while in my care is—”
“Barbaric, stupid, chauvinistic—”
“Protective, supportive, compassionate—”
“Possessive!”
“Hell yeah, I’m possessive. You’re the best thing to happen to me, babe. The thought of another touching you makes me feral. You know that. I love you too much to have someone else steal you. Before you, I wandered the tundra with an empty heart…certain that I’d never find someone who could stand me long enough to fall in love. You’re my miracle.”
“And you’re mine,” she says in a much sweeter tone. “Thank you for mangling your balls for me. I’m sorry, I don’t want babies.”
“I don’t care about babies—you know that—I just want you to myself.”
When gross kissy noises deepen into moans, my heart rate accelerates. They must have forgotten I’m in here, despite my frequent flushes. Living in the pack, public sex—not involving me, ever—is a normal occurrence. The closer to the full moon, the fewer places to hide from the constant rutting. Even the feral growls and grunts in the next room wouldn’t phase me if a human wasn’t one of the participants. I can count on my fingers the number of humans I’ve met…and none of them were having sex with a monster.
If I got caught peeking, I’d die of embarrassment.
The hot water scalds my fingers as I wash my hands at the speed of light. Oh, how I would love to stay and use their shower! They seem busy. Would they care…or even notice? The scent of hospital soap would make fantastic camouflage…but that would mean surrendering my clothes. The chuchunya’s gowns are massive… I could tie one between my legs to make the backless gown into a cute romper…
“Oh yes, spank me, Serik!”
I turn on the shower full blast to cover my giggles. They have definitely forgotten about me. As I step under the spray, the couple grunt and scream with reckless abandon. Someday I’ll have someone to make me scream like that…but I won’t find him in the werepack. My type is decidedly human, which is kinda a blessing since the shifters my age have no interest in me.
They see me as weak and sickly—a total turn-off. Maybe someday, I’ll have a male like Serik…okay, maybe a less fuzzy version of Serik. He will see my delicate body and quiet demeanor and fall head over heels in love. I won’t be the virgin hiding in the bathroom, but the confident lady who is mistakenfor a priestess, like Kaitlyn. One thing’s for sure, I’m more likely to meet my Mr. Right in Haunted Health than in the pack. He could be in one of these rooms, wishing for me to find him.
A girl can dream…
Chapter 5
Frank
“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” I say to the stack of towels before I bury my face in them. “Why do I want to save them all? Why aren’t my successes ever enough?”
My cold facade crumbles as I openly sob into the scratchy terrycloth. I guess all the founders of Haunted Health get their release in these supply closets. When we renovated the building, who knew that walk-in storage on every floor would be the key to our success? How many times have I come here and punched stacks of sheets or knocked over stacks of metal trays after losing a patient?
There’s something soothing about voicing my faults in this dark room. It’s like a confessional booth where men who play god can admit their humanity. The sheets and towels don’t judge me for indecision, panic, or self-doubt. In this closet, I can be confused and make mistakes. I can admit that caring for my patients isn’t a weakness but a natural part of being human. My choices don’t have to be rock-solid hills I’m ready to die upon. In here, I don’t have to be Dr. Stein the Miracle-working Monster; I can be Frank the Tries-His-Best Human.
Today, nobody died, but I likely sentenced those Fae twins to death. Bracken wasn’t exaggerating when he said nobody else can deliver them safely. Magmell doesn’t haveeducational infrastructure like medical schools—hell, most of it doesn’t have electricity. That poor fairy will be lucky if some wizened crone doesn’t treat her for evil spirits when her water breaks. I just hope the herbal remedy isn’t moldy or poisonous. What if there’s a potentially fatal complication? Like…what if she tears and they don’t have the anticoagulants to keep her from bleeding out?
That’s on me.
Was I right to turn them away? We could kill the family as easily as a midwife. The difference is that we would know instantly what killed them. If anything iron or derived from iron touches the inside of a Fae, they’ll die in seconds. My stainless-steel instrument fingers, which have saved thousands of lives, would be their werewolf’s silver bullet. When I bought replacement retractors, I asked the alloys of the composite metal—chromium, molybdenum, and, you guessed it, iron. Bracken, Drake, and Landyn would be on their own. Could they pull off the C-section if there were complications?
“Did my ego just kill that family? I didn’t go into medicine to kill anyone! Why can’t I save them all?” I shout as I pummel the stack of towels. The clanking of the wobbling steel rack fuels my fury. I shake the shelves until a pile of linens covers my feet. My feet kick and stomp on them as if stomping out my shortcomings. I know the answer to my first question; I just don’t want to admit it. I’ve lost my faith in my friends. In my head, the same friends who brought me back from the dead can’t be trusted with Fae.
“Why am I like this? Nobody can save patients but me…because I’m what? A god? Yet I don’t trust myself to find a plastic alternative or to coach my friends from the sidelines. I can’t trust that they can handle any problem that comes up. There would benothing I could do but watch them struggle, and I can’t do that. Sometimes I hate myself!”
I plant my foot against the metal rack and kick it into the next rack in a fit of temper. The racks clash hard enough that both tip over, starting an avalanche of linens and plastic-wrapped projectiles. In seconds, the pristine room is a disaster area with ten floor-to-ceiling racks angled forty-five degrees. They would all crash to the floor if the furthest one wasn’t embedded in the wall.
Knock. Knock.“Is everything okay in there? The door’s locked. We heard a crash,” shouts Bridget, the charge nurse, from the hallway.
“Just fine,” I shout without opening the door. “I found what I was looking for, that’s all.”
Luckily, she leaves me in peace with only a few muttered curses. I huff a sigh of relief that I can clean up this mess alone. They already gossip about my violent temper, so this is nothing new. If only they saw my temper for what it truly is, a release valve for the pressure they put me under.
