The doctor himself is standing next to the hospital bed I’m lying on. From the well-worn visitor’s chair, the hospital gown sticking to my sweat-soaked skin, and the IV drip connected to the cannula in the back of my hand, I assume I’m in one of the treatment rooms at his clinic.
“How are you feeling?” Doc P has a soothing voice, neat dark brown hair, and flawless white skin. He looks as young as Jet, but there’s a calm, ageless quality to him that makes me suspect he’s much older. I wish I could figure out what species he is, but his scent is so unique that none of the pack have come across it before, and no one in the city seems to know either.
I blink, trying to remember what happened. It’s difficult with the way my brain doesn’t seem to want to come fully online, and my tiger gives a low whine.
“Like I’ve been hit in the head by a battering ram. And there’s something wrong with my legs.” I try to move them to test how bad it is, immediately regretting it when agony shoots through the lower half of both, which are covered in neatly wrapped bandages.
“Take it easy,” he says gently as he covers my legs with a white sheet. “The worst of your head injury has been taken care of, and this should help with your legs.”
He picks up a small bottle of murky green liquid. I eye it with trepidation. I’ve not personally had to drink one of his healing tonics before, but that’s definitely where the stench is coming from.
“Do I have to? It smells like Jet’s socks after three days spent wading through a swamp.” I’m not usually a whiner when I’m injured, but that really does smell dreadful.
Doc P’s lips twitch. “It’ll take you a week to heal naturally. Or you can drink this and get ninety percent of the healing out of the way in the next two hours.”
When he puts it like that, I suppose I can suffer through a grimy-sock-flavoured drink. At my nod, he presses a button that raises the head of the bed, allowing me to be more upright with minimal movement on my part. I take the healing tonic from him and down the entire small bottle in one. Then I gag, because yech, that wasvile.
My legs immediately start to… knit back together. There’s really no other way to describe it. It’s like the skin is stitching itself back on.
My head starts to hurt less too, my thoughts becoming clearer. With the healing, memories start to filter back in. Bryn frantically warning me to get down. Being pressed to the floor as a blinding light and searing heat swept over me. Bryn’s hard body on top of me, shielding me.
Oh,shit. Bryn must have taken the brunt of the blast. My chest gets tingly and my breathing comes too fast as I try to sit up properly so that I can get out of this sodding bed. My tiger growls, urging me to find the dragon who protected us as fast as possible.
“Is Bryn alive?” I ask as I frantically try to get the sheet off.
“Yes, he’s alive.” Doc P manoeuvres me back down and covers me with the sheet again. “He’s injured, but his scales protected him to some extent. Dragons are incredibly resilient, Raj. He’ll make a full recovery.”
“How bad is it?” I struggle to sit up again. “I need to see him.”
Doc P easily pushes me back down. “His body is still processing the foreign magic from the explosion, which is generating a significant amount of heat—more than you can withstand, I’m afraid. He’s next door with his brother, so he’s not alone. I’m monitoring him from here and will check him over again when he’s able to shift back to biped form.”
I blink, trying to process how Bryn could be in his winged form in the next room. Both treatment rooms in this clinic are identical. There’s no space for a full-sized dragon.
“Did I hit my head? Because that doesn’t all make sense.”
Doc P’s lips twitch. “I’m sure it doesn’t. And yes, I believe something impacted the right side of your head. You’re showing symptoms of a severe concussion, which the tonic will help with. You’re fortunate that Bryn shielded you, otherwise your recovery would have been much longer.”
An invisible band constricts my chest, making it hard to breathe. I knew Bryn was attracted to me, but I never in a million years expected that he’d risk his life to protect me. Not being able to go to him, to thank him and take care of him when he’s hurt, makes tears prick my eyes.
“He doesn’t even know my real name.” My voice is small, but I can’t bring myself to feel embarrassed. I know I should be stronger than this—I’ve been injured in combat before—but I miss my pack. They’d normally be here.
“You’ll have plenty of opportunity to tell him, if you choose to.” Doc P sits in the visitor’s chair and gently touches my neck, scenting me for the first time ever. “Your entire pack are in a pub nearby, texting and calling me every five minutes for updates. The only reason they’re not here yet is the five cats and six wolves in my waiting room. Your cover is still intact if you need it to be.”
His scenting is different from that of my packmates. It’s fleeting, but leaves behind a warm, reassuring sensation that helps me calm down a little.
“How do you know about that?” I frown.
“It was the obvious conclusion when I arrived at the warehouse and was told your name was Dhiren Kaduva. I assume it’s connected to those four shifters you emailed me about last month.”
I nod, then immediately regret the movement. Dratted concussion. “Yes, they all worked at Far Out Freight. For that and other reasons, I’m undercover there.”
There’s no point being secretive about it when he’s already worked it out. He’s pack-adjacent, and we trust him completely.
“I’m sorry I was unable to provide you with any information,” he says neutrally.
“I understand your obligations around doctor-patient confidentiality. I knew it was a long shot.”
He stands. “I think you’re healed enough to have a visitor. Maybe that’ll clear out my waiting room a bit, and your pack can visit.”
