“I know that,” Rhett says. “But she doesn’t. Not really. Not yet. We have to show her. We have to prove that she’s safe with us. That we aren’t going to pounce on her the second she smells good.”
He’s right. If we storm in there, eyes black with instinct, she’s going to bolt. Or worse.
“Okay,” I say. “We go get her. We keep it professional. We act like protectors. Not predators.”
We jump into the truck. I drive. Rhett calls Knox, who meets us at the end of the driveway. He hops in the back, looking worried.
“What’s the plan?” Knox asks.
“We bring her home,” I say. “And we make sure she knows she’s in control.”
The drive to town is a blur. The rain hammers the roof. The tension in the cab is thick.
“She’s terrified,” Knox says. “She’s going to think we’re going to lose it.”
“Then we show her we won’t,” I say.
I pull up to the clinic. The lights are on in the front office. I jump out, not waiting for the others.
I burst through the door. The waiting room is empty. The reception desk is abandoned.
“Where is she?” I demand.
“Back here,” a voice calls out from the hallway.
Dot steps out. She’s holding a clipboard, and she blocks my path.
“Whoa there, cowboy,” she says. “You can’t go back there. Dr. Wyatt is with her.”
“I’m not leaving her,” I say.
“She’s in exam room two,” Dot says. “Dr. Wyatt is running some tests. You can wait here.”
“I’m not waiting in the lobby,” I say. “I need to see her.”
“You’re making a scene,” Dot says. “Sit down. We’ll bring you back when they’re done.”
“I’m not sitting down!” I snap. I’m aware of the irony—a big Alpha barking at an old woman—but I don’t care. Saramaria is in there. She’s vulnerable. I need to see her.
Dot steps closer to me. She looks up at me, her eyes sharp.
“Listen to me,” she says, her voice firm. “Saramaria needs space right now. She’s scared. She’s feeling out of control. You three barging in there, reeking of testosterone and anxiety, is not going to help.”
I glare at her. I look at the hallway. I can hear the murmur of voices. Dr. Wyatt’s low, soothing tone. Saramaria’s, high and thin.
“She’s our pack’s Omega,” I say. “We have a right to be there.”
“Oh, you’ve already make that clear,” Dot scoffs.
“Dot, please.” This time it’s Rhett who’s talking.
“Being a pack means you put her needs first,” Dot counters. “Right now, she needs to process this with her doctor. So sit. Down.”
She points to a plastic chair.
I clench my jaw and look at Rhett and Knox. They look as frustrated as I feel. But we know Dot is right. We’re outnumbered. And we’re not going to win a fight with the Matriarchs of Muddy Creek.
We sit. It’s the longest ten minutes of my life.
