Page 16 of Midnight Mate
“She senses my wolf.” Bayne kept scratching, finding the spot that made Princess Butterscotch’s back leg kick. “You like that, girl?”
Room two housed a rabbit the size of a throw pillow, gray and white with eyes like black marbles. Its owner, Mrs. Chen, clutched the carrier like it held nuclear codes while explaining in rapid Mandarin-accented English about sneezing and appetite loss.
“Let me take a look.” Clint’s hands were gentle as he lifted the rabbit, checking eyes and nose with practiced efficiency.
Bayne stood back, trying not to take up too much space in the cramped room. Easy enough until the rabbit caught his scent. Its whole body went rigid, nose twitching so fast it blurred.
“It’s okay, Mochi.” Mrs. Chen reached for her pet, but the rabbit was already scrambling, claws scrabbling against Clint’s arms. “What’s wrong with him?”
“He smells my wolf,” Bayne said without thinking then glanced at Mrs. Chen. “My pet wolf…at home. He stays in the backyard…in a huge doghouse.”
Clint shot him a look that could’ve meant anything from
“stop talking” to “what the hell,” but his hands never stopped soothing the rabbit. “Some animals are more sensitive than others. Bayne, maybe wait outside? It seems your backyard wolf is scaring Mochi.”
Right. Normal people didn’t announce they were shifters to random pet owners. Bayne stepped into the hallway, catching Mrs. Chen’s suspicious look as he left. Great. Now she probably thought he’d rolled in roadkill or something.
Through the door, he heard Clint’s voice, calm and reassuring, explaining about respiratory infections and antibiotics. The man had good hands. Steady. The kind that could stitch up a wolf in the middle of the night without shaking.
Three more patients came through. A cat with a urinary infection, who hissed at Bayne from across the room, a golden retriever who tried to climb into his lap despite weighing ninety pounds, and a hamster that Clint warned him not to handle.
“Why?” Bayne peered into the small carrier where a ball of brown fur huddled in cedar shavings.
“Because Mr. Whiskers is Satan incarnate.” Clint pulled on thick gloves that went up to his elbows. “Last time, he bit through Janet’s thumbnail.”
Bayne rolled his eyes. “It’s just a hamster.”
“Famous last words.”
Clint reached into the carrier. The hamster launched itself at his hand like a furry missile, teeth bared. Even through the gloves, Clint winced. “See? Satan.”
“Let me try.” Before Clint could protest, Bayne stuck his unprotected hand into the carrier.
Mr. Whiskers froze, tiny nose twitching. Then, instead of attacking, he sniffed Bayne’s finger with interest. The hamster’s whiskers tickled against his skin, tiny feet padding across his palm as it explored.
“Are you kidding me?” Clint stared as Mr. Whiskers settled into Bayne’s cupped hands like they were old friends. “That thing has drawn blood from every employee in this building.”
“Guess he likes me.” Bayne lifted the hamster to eye level. Tiny black eyes stared back, oddly intelligent for something that looked like a dust bunny with feet. “Or he recognizes an apex predator and knows better than to—”
Teeth sank into his index finger. Not a nibble. A full commitment to violence that had Bayne jerking his hand back while the hamster dangled by its jaws like a fuzzy piranha.
“Shit!” He shook his hand. Mr. Whiskers held on, presumably out of spite.
Clint’s laugh started as a snort and evolved into something that shook his whole body. “Apex predator, huh?”
“Get it off!” Blood welled around the hamster’s teeth. His wolf took notice but went back to salivating over Clint. The bite hurt like hell. Who knew hamsters were so vicious?
Still laughing, Clint grabbed the hamster’s scruff, gently working its jaws open. “An apex predator should’ve known better than to trust anything that stores food in its cheeks.”
Mr. Whiskers released Bayne’s finger with obvious reluctance, leaving two perfect puncture marks. The hamster looked smug as Clint placed it back in the carrier, as if it had proven some important point about the food chain.
“You need a bandage.” Clint was trying to look serious, but his mouth kept twitching. “Can’t have you bleeding all over my exam room.”
“I’m fine.” Bayne sucked on his finger, tasting copper. Hell if he was admitting he got punked by a hamster. “It’s not even bleeding.”
“Humor me.” Clint pulled him to the sink, running warm water over the bite. His thumb pressed against Bayne’s palm, steadying his hand, and that simple touch sent heat racing up Bayne’s arm.
Standing this close, Bayne could smell everything. Coffee on his mate’s breath, the lavender detergent from his shirt, and, underneath it all, something warm and purely him. Like cedar and rain and home all mixed together. His wolf wanted to lean in, to bury his nose in the curve of Clint’s neck, and just breathe.
