Page 55 of Fool Moon First Aid

His nod is reluctant as he inspects the inflamed skin around my stitches with a clinical detachment that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’d prefer the redness to subside first,” he admits, then pauses, a flurry of unsaid thoughts brewing behind his gaze.

“Out with it, Brody.”

The words spill out, hesitant yet heavy with implication. “I could give you some of my blood. It might help with healing.”

The offer stops me, the weight of its significance sending a shiver down my spine. “That sounds disturbing. Explain,” I quip, setting my coffee aside to gauge his seriousness.

“It’s unusual, I admit, but our blood has healing properties that go beyond human medicine. It’s not a common practice nor widely accepted, but it could help.” His fingers trail a light path over my leg, reminding me I’m in nothing but one of their shirts.

“And the catch?” My voice is wary. His blood? It feels like it would only deepen a bond we are all unsure about.

“Only a bite has the power to turn. My blood can heal. It’s a lesser known truth among the spiritkin,” he clarifies, his assurance doing little to quell the storm of questions in my mind.

“Huh,” I mutter, the simplicity of my response belying the whirlwind of my thoughts. “Let’s table that idea for now and see how the antibiotics fare.”

He doesn’t press, though disappointment flickers briefly in his eyes. “Eat up, Ava,” he encourages, then strides across the room, leaving silence in his wake.

“Where are you off to?” I call out, a twinge of something akin to separation anxiety coloring my tone. I don’t want him to go.

“Missing me already?” His laughter echoes back, light and teasing. Returning with my phone, he tosses it onto the bed. “Thought you’d want this.”

“I do,” I admit, the device a lifeline to some semblance of normalcy. “And you? Where to now?”

“Just grabbing my laptop,” he calls over his shoulder. “Seems like you might need some company today.”

Damn wolves and their uncanny ability to make me feel like the center of their universe, even when I’m trying to push them away. Liar. I want him to spend the day with me.

Ignoring Brody’s concerned glance, I hastily dial Eloise, who frustratingly doesn’t answer the first time. Tension curls in my stomach as I call the clinic directly—still no answer. My frustration blooms into full-blown anxiety, making me glare at the phone as if it’s personally responsible for my current bedrest.

On my third attempt, Eloise finally picks up, her voice wrapped in that overly polished, customer service tone she reserves for particularly difficult situations. “Dr. Martinez,” she greets, and I can almost see her with a professional smile plastered on, ready to deal with whatever shenanigans is unfolding on her end. She never uses my formal title unless she has to.

“Oh no,” I murmur, a sense of dread washing over me as I sit up straighter in bed, the sheets pooling around my waist. The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow on everything it touches, but the beauty of the moment is lost on me. “What happened?” I press, bracing for the worst.

“Well, I have an inspector here called by one Mr. Thompson,” Eloise replies, each word making my heart sink further. Mr. Thompson, my father, is the last person I want involved in any aspect of my life right now, especially not here, not with my clinic.

“What the hell is my dad doing there?” I hiss into the phone, my voice barely a whisper of fury.

“He brought inspectors with him,” she answers, and I hear the irritation lacing her words. I can almost picture her standing in the clinic with her arms crossed, the epitome of frustrated professionalism. “He’s reading a magazine in the waiting room…whistling to himself, I might add.”

As Brody walks back in, laptop under one arm and a coffee cup in his other hand, his raised eyebrow silently asks a thousand questions. Deciding he might as well be privy to the full conversation, I switch the call to speakerphone, letting Eloise’s strained voice fill the room.

“The office is cleaned up?” I ask him, a glimmer of hope piercing through the dread. Brody gives a single nod before he settles on the other side of the bed, the breakfast tray sitting between us.

“Yep, smells like bleach in here, among other things.” Eloise’s voice strains through the speaker, her attempt at maintaining her customer service façade barely holding. “Mr. Thompson threatened to shut us down.”

Anger and fear coil tightly within me, my whole body tensing as if preparing for a fight. “What game is he playing?” I mutter more to myself than to Brody or Eloise.

“Oh, I have a suspicion.” Eloise’s tone lightens, but it’s with forced cheerfulness. “Does dinner ring a bell?” she hints, and it’s like a punch to the gut.

I curse under my breath, the pieces falling into place with a clarity that I wish I didn’t have. “He wants me to play a part, and that doesn’t include my clinic,” I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. The threat of tears pricks at my eyes, but I fight them back, unwilling to break down now.

“Good thing the inspector is from Mystic Falls,” Eloise says, a note of triumph in her voice, “and he is fae.”

Relief washes over me, even as I sag back against the pillows, exhausted by the mere thought of dealing with my father. The clinic, my dream, teeters on the edge of human and spiritkin worlds, vulnerable to the whims of those who wield power carelessly, those like my father, who want me to do what he wants of me.

“Ms. Harper.” The smooth, lyrical voice interrupts my spiraling thoughts, and it’s unmistakably fae. “Everything here is up to code. Not a single trace of spiritkin—not that it matters, mind you, but should you treat spiritkin in the future, you’d need to apply with the medical board.”

“We only treat pets here,” Eloise snaps back, and I can hear the grind of her teeth, her frustration so palpable, it’s almost a physical presence in the room. “Ava, I have to go.” The phone disconnects, leaving me to stare at a blank phone screen.

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