“Let’s go.” I grab his shoulder and steer him toward the nurse before he can officially declare war.
The treatment area is somehow even more depressing than the waiting room. Curtained cubicles line both walls, and the smell of antiseptic barely masks the stench of a nearby lich with some kind of infection. The nurse leads us to a bed in the corner and gestures for Sean to sit.
I settle into the plastic chair beside him and return to the clipboard. “Okay. Middle name.”
Sean blinks at me. “Don’t have one.”
“What?”
“My parents ran out of names by the time they got to me.” He shrugs like this is perfectly normal. “I just pick a random initial for paperwork. My favorite is X. Doesn’t get enough love.”
I stare at him for a long moment, then groan and write “X” in the appropriate box. Sean Brewer, middle initial X.
Sure. Why not.
Nothing about this day makes sense anyway.
The nurse returns and gestures for Sean to step on the scale. He does, and when the numbers settle, he stares at them for a few seconds, then pats his stomach with his good hand.
“Just too good of a cook,” he announces.
“Debatable,” I mutter.
Sean gives an indignant cry that echoes off the walls and makes the nurse clap her hands over her pointed ears in agony.
“My nachos are fuckinglegendary, bro!”
“Your nachos gave Killian food poisoning.”
Sean opens his mouth to argue, but then closes it like he’s considering this.
The nurse is checking Sean’s vitals now. Blood pressure, temperature, the basics. Sean, being Sean, starts drumming on his knees. A rapid, irritating rhythm that fills the small space.
The nurse pauses, cuff still on Sean’s arm. “Do you mind?”
“Oh, sure.” Sean stops the drumming to add an air cymbal. “Ba-dum, dum,tsss.”
The nurse closes her eyes for a brief moment. When she opens them again, her expression has achieved a level of blankness that probably took years to develop.
“The doctor will be in soon,” she says, handing Sean a fresh compress for his eye. “Keep this on the wound.”
She leaves. The curtain swishes closed behind her.
Sean presses the fresh compress to his face and immediately winces. “Shit. That stings.”
“Leave it on, Sean.”
The wait goes on forever, but then again, five minutes away from our mate feels like an eternity under the best circumstances. I can feel Sean’s anxiety beneath all the jokes and deflection.
He’s worried about Killian.
We both are. The thread connecting us to our pack alpha feels thin and distant, muffled by whatever the fuck Villeneuve did to put him in stasis.
And now, he and our mate are in a literal dragon’s lair.
I thought not knowing what Villeneuve was made him more unnerving.
Knowing is way worse.
