Chapter 1 #3
“I’ll let Noah know you’re waiting for him,” Jackson offers. “I’m guessing Dr. Mercer forgot to mention you were coming today. Probably better if Noah has a little warning.”
Something in his tone makes me glance up sharply. “Anything else I need to know?”
Dr. Reed’s expression turns diplomatic. “Noah is... exceptionally skilled. Brilliant physician. Trained at top facilities before returning home.”
Eyebrow raised, I wait for the but that hangs unspoken.
“He can be demanding. Expects perfection.” Jackson’s eyes crinkle with what might be apology. “Don’t take it personally if he seems... abrupt.”
Great. Another drill sergeant attending who thinks they’re season one Miranda Bailey from Grey’s Anatomy.
“I’m used to meeting high standards,” I say, keeping my voice confident. I didn’t graduate top of my class by shrinking from challenges.
“I’m sure you are.” Jackson smiles. “There should be an orientation packet there on the desk if you want to take a look. Good luck, Dr. Chang.”
For some reason, I get the distinct impression he thinks I’m going to need that luck.
I settle at the desk, flipping through the orientation packet. The clinic layout is simple enough—five examination rooms, one trauma bay, and a modest laboratory. More than the average small-town clinic because the nearest hospital emergency room is a three-hour drive away.
The staffing schedule shows only two nurses and one medical assistant, with Dr. Mercer and Dr. Klinkhart providing emergency coverage in a rotating schedule with the local wilderness response service.
And now me. Assuming I can stay on both their good sides, it shouldn’t be hard to get my hands on any interesting cases that come through here.
I’m already dreaming of altitude sicknesses, extreme cold injuries and the traumas you only get when a human sends their body hurtling down a mountain for sport.
My phone buzzes with a message from my fellowship director:
Weekly case reports required. Documentation of sufficient emergency cases essential for wilderness medicine certification. Please submit in a timely manner.
I close my eyes briefly. Everything I’ve worked for comes down to the next six weeks in this remote mountain clinic. Four years of medical school, three years of residency, countless nights studying while my classmates partied, all this careful deception about who I really am.
The wilderness medicine fellowship is my ticket to freedom—remote locations, minimal colleagues to question my suppressant regimen, and the independence to practice without alpha physicians hovering over my shoulder. Just one more year of hiding, of careful medication management, of—
“Who the hell approved ordering only half the standard emergency antibiotics?”
The voice cuts through the clinic like a blade—deep, commanding, and unmistakably furious. My spine straightens automatically, a response I’ve spent years training myself to suppress.
I turn slowly, and my carefully constructed composure fractures.
Standing in the doorway is the most terrifyingly beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Six-foot-something of broad-shouldered intensity, with dark blonde hair swept back from a face that looks carved from marble—high cheekbones, firm jaw dusted with stubble, and piercing blue eyes currently narrowed in anger.
My inner omega—the designation I’ve buried under suppressants, both traditional and contemporary—stirs with interest for the first time in years.
Alpha. Undeniably, powerfully alpha.
His scent hits me next—pine needles after rain, mountain air, sharp as a wild storm. My medication regimen should block my ability to detect scents this clearly. The fact that I can only means one thing—he is an exceptionally compatible alpha.
Maybe even a scent match?
Except no, scent matches don’t actually exist. No matter what lovesick omegas might declare to the contrary. I’m probably just smelling the antibacterial gel in pump dispensers on every wall of the clinic.
He hasn’t noticed me yet, still glaring at a supply manifest. The white coat he wears stretches across shoulders that seem built for carrying burdens, his presence filling the small office space like a storm cloud.
My gaze lingers on the bright orange hoodie he wears under the coat, completely incongruous to the setting but somehow doing nothing to distract from his aura of command.
I force my breathing to remain steady, my posture neutral. I’ve managed four years of medical school surrounded by alphas without giving myself away. I can handle one more, no matter how the instincts that shouldn’t even exist might be screaming at me.
This is Dr. Noah Klinkhart. He has to be.
I edge toward the end of the desk, fighting the urge to get up and run away from what my hindbrain screams is an agitated alpha male. Maybe it’s best if I wait to introduce myself. Three more steps and I can slip into the hallway. Two steps. One—
My hip catches the edge of the desk, sending a stack of plastic irrigation trays cascading to the floor with a spectacular crash. The trays bounce and skitter across the linoleum like oversized poker chips, the noise amplified in the small space.
Perfect.
The alpha’s head snaps up, those piercing blue eyes locking onto me with laser focus. I freeze, caught in his gaze like a specimen pinned to a slide.
“Who are you?” His voice drops an octave, the question more demand than inquiry. He stands completely still, assessing me with clinical precision.
I straighten my spine, summoning every ounce of professional confidence I’ve cultivated.
“Dr. Holly Chang.” I extend my hand automatically, then immediately regret it.
Close contact means scent exposure. The last thing I need is the smell of him lingering on my skin.
Shoving both hands in the pockets of my lab coat, I rock back on my heels. “Your new resident.”
I cringe at my choice of phrasing. I’m not his anything.
His eyes narrow fractionally. “No one informed me a resident was starting today.”
“Dr. Mercer should have mentioned—“
“Mercer barely manages his own schedule, let alone mine.” Dr. Klinkhart crosses his arms over his chest, glaring down at me. “But I suppose that means, you’ve now become my problem.”
Unease and irritation battle for dominance as I try to decide how to respond. “I confirmed my start date over a month ago, but I apologize for any inconvenience—”
“What’s your specialty interest?” He cuts me off again, his gaze sweeping over me in detached assessment.
“Emergency medicine with a focus on wilderness applications.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I graduated top of my class—“
“Top of the class means nothing on the mountain.” He steps closer, and I resist the urge to back away.
“Textbook medicine falls apart when you’re treating hypothermia in a blizzard with limited supplies or trying to stabilize a trauma patient that can’t be transported for hours because of weather conditions. ”
The dismissal stings. I’ve worked too hard to be dismissed by some small-town alpha, no matter how intimidating.
“I spent a month volunteering at a clinic in rural China with no running water and intermittent electricity as an undergrad.” I meet his gaze directly, challenging his assumption.
“I’ve treated snake bites with hand-mixed antivenom and set bones without X-rays.
I’m more than just my textbooks, I assure you, Dr. Klinkhart. ”
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe even the barest hint of approval—before his expression hardens again.
Noah’s jaw tightens. “We treat injuries you almost never see in the city here, Dr. Chang. Frostbite that turns fingers black. Animal attacks that leave people with their insides trying to become outsides. Skiing accidents where bodies hit trees at sixty miles per hour.”
“I’m up for the challenge,” I reply, proud that my voice stays even.
His voice drops lower, each word precise as a scalpel. “This clinic is the closest medical facility to the base camp of Heat Mountain. When climbers fall, they don’t gently tumble. They drop hundreds of feet.”
He steps closer, towering over me, his scent overwhelming my senses despite my herbs. My inner omega wants to submit, to appease the clearly agitated alpha, but I force myself to stand my ground.
“Understood—”
“I’ll believe you’ll make it when you see the result of a hundred foot fall without losing your lunch—bones sticking from every direction out of the trash bag full of tomato soup that used to be a human body.”
His eyes lock with mine, assessing.
“Until then, keep your mouth shut and stay out of my way.”
He strides away before I have the chance to think of a response.