Page 323 of Pucking Feral: Part Two

I tuck myself against his side and slip my arm through his. "Just follow me. You can keep your head down if you want."

We cross the lot at a pace that wouldn't even alarm a sleepwalking turtle. His boots scuff the asphalt with each step. He keeps his head angled down, his blue eyes stuck on the ground three feet in front of us, flinching slightly when a car door slams somewhere in the lot behind us.

I steer him toward the entrance with gentle pressure against his arm.

"Almost there."

The doors slide open and Margaret is standing behind the desk with a tissue balled in her fist, and the smile she gives Wraith is completely warm and sweet.

He lifts a hand from his pocket long enough to wave to her.

"Room three. Liz is going to take you back. She's new, but I promise, you're seeing Dr. Jackson today." She gestures to a young beta woman in teal scrubs already waiting by the hallway door, smiling and holding a clipboard against her chest. "You go right in."

Wraith nods a little and signs a quick thanks.

Liz pushes the door open and holds it wide, stepping to the side to give him the widest possible berth.

Completely unnecessary, but okay.

He heads straight down the corridor to room three, pulling his hood even lower against the bright white lights. He hesitates in the doorway before ducking in, already stiff and radiating anxiety like a wolf that just stepped into a cage.

At least the room is on the larger side, and the overhead lights are dimmed all the way down. There's a reclining exam chair in gray leather, and beside it, a rolling medical tray draped with a light blue paper covering what I'm sure are implements.

Wraith's eyes are locked on the tray.

"Since you were here so recently, we don't need photos this time," Liz says from the doorway, but I'm pretty sure he wouldn't agree to that anyway. "Dr. Jackson just wants to check you over, okay?"

Injections? he signs to her warily.

The nurse just blinks at him, opening her mouth. "Um… I'm sorry, I don't understand…" She points awkwardly back toward the waiting room. "I could get a translator⁠—"

"It's okay," I say, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. "I can translate. He was asking if there will be injections."

Liz breathes an audible sigh of relief. "Oh. Right. Yes, um, I think so? For the pain."

Wraith seems equally relieved and freshly nervous.

I squeeze his arm.

"She'll be right in," Liz says, still awkward, and slips out, pulling the door closed behind her.

We're alone now.

Wraith wastes no time tugging his mask down, the fabric pooling around his neck as he crosses the room and lowers himself into the reclining chair. The chair creaks under his weight and he settles back, stiff and upright despite the recline, his hooded head turned toward the covered tray the way you'd watch a snake.

I grab the rolling stool tucked under the counter and wheel it to the left side of the exam chair, right beside his arm. The stool is absurdly low compared to where he's sitting. I don't care. I park it, sit down, set my bag next to his legs, and reach for his hand.

His hand is ice cold even through the fingerless gloves. It closes around mine with a steel-bending grip.

"Ow," I squeak.

His eyes widen and he quickly loosens his grip on my hand, circling his free fist on his chest in a sorry.

"Better. But you can crush it all you want if you need to when you get shots."

He lets his head fall back against the headrest with a groan.

I turn his hand over in both of mine and stroke my thumb across his knuckles through the worn leather of his glove. His hand is so big mine barely spans the width of his palm. Petting his hand like this seems to relax him, so I keep doing it, humming softly to fill the silence.