Chapter 23
Rowan
“Holy shit.”
Sitting in my chair, I huffed, glaring at the mountain of pill bottles on my desk. Celia had been serious when she’d said she would bring me medications from several dragons… I didn’t know what I had expected, but the pile in front of me was much larger than I would have imagined.
Everyone who’d been struggling to heal had been taking some form of human medication, whether it had been orally or applied topically. To me, the answer to the horde’s pervasive health problems was glaringly obvious. So, why the hell was Jenkins so insistent?
Having completed my second day of patient appointments, I felt like I was repeatedly slamming my head against my desk. Despite the various issues, they all had the same concern. No one was healing in good time, and I would bet my left tit it was because of these damned drugs.
But I didn't even know how to approach the topic with the Alphas. In the past, any Alpha I’d discussed horde healthcare with had been receptive and open because they respected me. I was not feeling the same about this.
Bastian was many things—namely, a hardheaded ox—and I was pretty sure he didn’t respect me. Nix would blindly do whatever I asked him.
What about Orsen and Greylen…?
There was actually the chance they would take what I was saying seriously.
Despite his steely behavior, Orsen didn’t strike me as stupid.
He’d put the good of the horde above his pride.
And there was the sour candy he’d given me.
It had gone a long way to bridging the gap between us.
I still didn't trust him, but he was… acceptable.
“Hey, Rowan, sorry to disturb you,” Ma interrupted softly, poking her head around my half-open door. “Do you have time to see another patient?”
Taking a deep breath, I glanced up at her and nodded. Frankly, I was exhausted. I wasn't used to seeing patients like this—all day, for several hours—but I didn't want to leave anyone without proper medical care.
Especially since Jenkins had proven he couldn’t be trusted to deliver it.
Ma smiled thankfully and disappeared around the corner before swinging the door open to let an older dragon shuffle into the room.
His dark hair was going gray, his skin starting to sag with age.
But there was no mistaking the bright intensity behind his eyes.
Behind him stood a tall, well-built dragon with dark hair and bright blue eyes.
“Hi, there. I’m Rowan,” I greeted, standing and reaching out my hand to shake the older dragon’s.
“Alpha Cyrus,” he supplied gruffly, not bothering to take my hand as it hung between us, instead sitting in the chair at the front of my desk and glowering at me. “This is Tanner, my helper.”
I resisted the urge to comment on his crappy manners. If he was so unhappy to see me, he could have always gone to Jenkins. I was familiar with his type—intimately. Many older dragons didn't trust a young female healer, especially one they had no experience with, who was a human to boot.
Even in the world of dragons, misogyny was alive and well.
Tanner stood back and merely gave me a polite nod. Was this Celia’s mate? I was tempted to ask, but that would mean admitting his mate had been to see me.
“Alpha?” I cocked my head as the title of the older dragon sank in. As far as I was aware, there were four Alphas, and I knew all of them. Still, there were several reasons why a dragon would have that title.
“I stepped down and allowed my son to take over a few years ago.”
Oh… shit.
I took my time taking in the man’s features. He had the same deep blue eyes and that sharp jawline, which had softened only a touch with age. Similar bone structure, oh, and there was that attitude of his. Yes, the family resemblance was all there.
“Of course. You’re Bastian’s father,” I said with a short nod.
Succession in a horde was odd, hardly linear. Usually, a new Alpha came to power when the old one died, typically the former Alpha’s son. Every now and again, though, an Alpha chose to step down in their older years and retire, letting his successor take over.
That iron gaze glared at me. “And you are the human chit who’s been causing all the issues.”
My jaw immediately clenched, and I fought every urge to show how kindly I’d taken that remark. I had to do my best to keep a respectful smile plastered on my face. God forbid I upset this ancient dragon too.
Like father, like son, it seemed.
Old dragons really were the worst. It was like the more they aged, the more they thought manners were optional.
Particularly the men. Every older female dragon I'd come across had been an absolute sweetheart compared to these Alpha types. Sure, there were assholes in every gender, but there was definitely something about older dragon males. Hell, they’d get along great with the human ones. Boomers.
In the back of my mind, I remembered that I apparently had four male dragons to deal with for the rest of my life.
Lord, help me.
Keeping my chin high, I breezed past that remark without acknowledging it. I wasn't here to make friends with him. Bastian’s father was a patient, and he would receive the same care as everyone else.
“What can I do for you?”
He shuffled in his seat. “I usually go to Jenkins. I trust him. He's been healing my horde for many years. But he's gone out of town today, and I need the dressing on my leg changed.”
“Dressing on your leg?”
“I have a small abscess. I assume you take care of such things?” I didn’t miss the condescension in his tone, as if I couldn't handle a simple bandage change.
A small, petty part of me wanted to toss the blowhard out of my clinic and tell him to wait for his precious Dr. Jenkins to come back. Bastian already hated me; would it really change anything if I was rude to his dad? Did I care?
Ugh, yes. You do.
Jenkins might have been an ass. Hell, this horde might have been filled with them from top to bottom, but I had standards—for myself. I didn’t risk patient well-being because of personal issues. Medical degree or not, I still believed in the Hippocratic oath.
“I assure you, I know perfectly well how to clean and rebandage an abscess. I’m happy to help.”
Cyrus stared at me for a moment before nodding slowly. “Fine, you can do it, but I don’t want you putting any of that herbal bullshit on there. The doctor has me on a good, strong steroid cream, and I intend to keep using it. Understand?”
“Of course,” I said with an overly bright fake smile. “Why don’t you go take a seat on the table, and I’ll get some clean bandages.”
By the time I returned from getting several new bandages and a fresh set of gloves, Cyrus was up on the table, with his pant leg pulled up to expose the area.
Immediately, I was struck by the discoloration on the previously white fabric.
I approached the exam table, snapping on the gloves after setting my supplies out on the rolling metal table.
“All right, let’s take a look.”
When I pulled back the yellowing bandage, it took everything in me not to gag. I was a damn good healer, and I’d come across some downright horrific sights and scents in my time, but whatever was coming from Cyrus’s leg was revolting.
Acidic and sharp.
Holding my breath, I kept that polite smile plastered on my face as I quickly took off the old bandage and grabbed a cloth and water.
“No! No cleaning it,” Cyrus growled. “It’s got the doc’s medication on there. I trust him more than I trust you.”
He couldn’t be serious. Except, he was—outraged at the notion of cleaning and debriding the wound.
I wanted to scream at him. The abscess on his leg was easily three inches wide, angry, red, and swollen with pus seeping from it.
It was clearly infected, and it was no wonder since the old Alpha had admitted to never cleaning it. I had to assume neither of them had.
He could lose his fucking leg like this.
“I’m cleaning it with simple water. Nothing else,” I insisted through gritted teeth.
“No,” he growled again.
Taking a deep breath, I put the cloth down and grabbed the fresh set of bandages. Realistically, there was no point in even changing the bandages if he wasn’t going to let me clean it, but I didn’t have the strength to fight with him about it.
I’d have that conversation with Bastian, and he could be the unlucky soul to argue with his father.
You know, if he didn’t get sepsis and die before they could chat.
I made quick work of the bandage change; time flew by when I didn’t have to do any actual medical care and was just slapping fabric over a painful sore.
“You’re finished.” I nodded politely, but I wasn’t looking to stroke his ego any more than I had to.
“Good,” he commented gruffly, lightly shoving me out of the way as he got off the table.
I stumbled back, anger boiling my blood, but kept my expression neutral. Yet again, it occurred to me that he was going to suffer a lot more if he let his leg stay this way. As much as I didn’t want to, I offered one more piece of medical advice I knew he wouldn’t take. But that oath and all.
“When Jenkins comes back, you might want to talk to him about a medical debridement.”
I hoped using the unnecessary medical jargon may at least get the notion rumbling around in his thick skull. The Alpha just grunted, limping slightly as he wandered to the door.
As he turned to exit, he looked back at me. “When are you leaving? You’re causing quite the fuss, and not in a good way.”
“I’ll leave as soon as the Alphas want me to.” It was a pointed jab because, despite still using the title, he wasn’t the Alpha. His son and his clan were. Cyrus had no say in whether I left.
Worse, I knew that if I did stay long enough to be given clan member status, I’d outrank the surly old bastard. Clearly, he didn't believe I’d be staying, though. Or maybe he did, and he was just a raging misogynist pig who didn’t care about rank now that it didn’t serve him.
“They don't want you here,” he shot back roughly.
“As soon as I hear that from them, I will happily go.”
He glowered at me. While his son might have been in the mood to command me to leave, there was no way the others would go along with it. Even Orsen had said so. It was obvious that Cyrus knew that, and I could tell he wasn’t particularly fond of the fact I knew it too.
He didn’t say another word. He just stumbled out of the clinic as fast as he could. I usually liked being right, especially when it came to my job, but for now, knowing that the old Alpha was living on borrowed time, thanks to that infection, it didn’t feel great.
And yet again, it was something to blame Jenkins for.