George

“Are you sure that doesn’t need stitches?” My vet tech Lia craned her neck to peer at the towel I was holding around my forearm. “Because I think it needs stitches.”

I gritted my teeth against the intense sting. “It’s fine. I’ve had way worse.”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, I know you don’t like needles, but ‘I survived getting glared at by a basilisk’ does not negate ‘I might need stitches because a raróg tried to filet my stupid arm.’”

I shot her a look, and she countered with one almost as intense as that of the aforementioned basilisk.

Pointing sharply at my arm, she said, “Let me see it.”

There really wasn’t any point in arguing with her—as if that ever stopped me from trying—so I carefully loosened my grasp on the towel. She peeled it back, which had me hissing in pain, and she prodded at the wound with her gloved fingers. Apparently satisfied I wasn’t going to bleed out, she gave a curt nod and gestured for me to keep applying pressure.

“Fine,” she said tersely. “You win this time.”

“Oh yeah?” I pressed the towel against the gash again. “What do I win?”

“Not having me lecture you the entire time I’m suturing your arm.”

I shrugged. “You’re going to lecture me anyway.”

“I will, but I won’t be jabbing a needle into your skin to emphasize my various points.”

That made me shudder, which only made me realize how shaky I was from adrenaline and blood loss.

She sobered and touched my shoulder. “Why don’t you go sit? I’ll bring you some water and we can wrap that up properly.”

I nodded, and I retreated to my office across the hall. Sinking into my desk chair, I sighed, relieved to be off my shaky legs. This wasn’t that out of the ordinary. Getting clawed, bitten, stung, and burned came with the territory of treating exotics. Especially exotics people had no business owning. Everyone thought a raróg was so cute, and everyone who had one was so happy, but Jesus fuck, couldn’t people be content with a parakeet or something? They were about the same size, way lower maintenance, and—most importantly—less dangerous. Even at parakeet size, a critter that had aspects of both falcon and dragon could still fuck up someone’s world by biting, burning, or—as was the case of my patient Elzbieta—clawing the ever-loving hell out of flesh with her too-sharp talons.

“I guess I should’ve taken her to the groomer to get her nails trimmed,” the owner had said as I’d wrapped the towel around my arm. Yes. Yes, that would’ve been advisable. In fact, maybe we needed to update the clinic’s policies.

Eh. That could be dealt with later. My arm would heal. And at least I hadn’t been tangling with a basilisk this time. That had sucked.

“Secure the hood over her eyes,” I’d said.

“Make sure the hood won’t come loose,” I’d said.

Spoiler—it came loose.

The furious lizard had whipped its head, knocked off the hood, looked right at me, and…

That was the last thing I remembered. Good thing our clinic made sure everyone was up to date on using the defibrillators and we’d had a low-level necromancer on staff who could get my heart started enough for the defib to do its thing. Otherwise, that would’ve been it for Dr. Norton.

Stuff like that really did put an injury like a raróg scratch into perspective. Yes, it was deep. Yes, it hurt like hell. And yes, it maybe kind of might’ve benefitted from being sutured. But I hadn’t dropped dead on the floor this time, so it was all good.

As long as it stopped bleeding enough that I didn’t pass out or get blood all over the place, I probably wouldn’t even get too far behind on my appointments today. No, that was bound to happen when I saw my eleven o’clock, which was an incredibly foul-tempered hellhound named Muffin who was highly displeased about his cone of shame. That appointment was bound to be—

My office door flew open, almost startling me out of my chair as Julie, the receptionist, came in, her eyes wide.

“Dr. Norton, there’s—” She gasped as her gaze darted to the bloody towel around my arm. “Oh my God. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Looks worse than it is.” I smiled through the pain. “What’s up? You seem…” I inclined my head. I wouldn’t say she looked panicked, but something clearly had her off-balance. She wasn’t one to be rattled by emergencies, either, so to say I was alarmed would be an understatement.

“It’s your ex.” She swept her tongue across her lips. “He’s here, and he’s asking to see you, and…” Her brow pinched. “Something’s wrong.”

Horror shot through me and I jumped to my feet, but my adrenaline-soaked brain reined me back in. I wobbled a little as the blood loss caught up with me, and I grabbed the edge of the desk.

Julie appeared beside me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good. I’m good.” I sank back into the chair and willed the room to stop spinning. “And… my ex? Something’s wrong?” I peered up at her. “What do you mean? And are we talking about Silas?” I couldn’t imagine who else it would be—he was the only man in this city I’d ever dated.

“Yeah, it’s Silas.” She glanced toward the open doorway and shook her head. “He just came in, looking like he’d just seen something terrifying, and he said he needed to see you.”

I swallowed. “Tell… Tell him to come back to my office.”

“Okay.” She gave my arm another uneasy look, then headed back toward the lobby.

Silas? Here? And he wanted to see me? That didn’t make any sense at all. I couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of crisis would have him freaking out, never mind in any way that would make him want to be in the same room as me.

Someone came into the office, and my heart skipped.

It wasn’t Silas, though. It was Lia, her hands full of dressings and antiseptic ointment for my arm.

She halted and eyed me. “What?” With a cautious grin, she added, “Did you hear the basilisk in the waiting room or something?”

I groaned. “Oh, God. Not another one.” I didn’t have to treat them anymore, but it always made me nervous when they were in the building.

“Dr. Knowles is handling him. Don’t worry about it.” She turned serious again. “But you look like someone just put one on your schedule.” She continued across my office. “What’s going on?”

“Uh, well…”

I didn’t have a chance to say anything further, because a second later, Silas swept into my office, eyes wide and face pale.

Lia froze. So did I.

He looked at her. Then at me. “I need to talk to you.”

I gulped. “Uh.” I glanced down at my arm. “All right. I just, uh… We need to…”

“Oh shit!” His eyes widened and he came closer, hands out as if he wanted to help steady me or even cradle my injured arm. “Are you okay? What happened?”

The concern in his expression and his voice—not to mention him being this close to me all of a sudden—brought me up short. He actually sounded genuinely worried. The same way he always had when I picked up some kind of war wound at work.

The same way he always had in the past. Because those days were far behind us now, and I wouldn’t have been surprised at all if he’d told me I deserved it and he hoped I’d been bitten by something hellaciously venomous.

This? The way he was suddenly in his familiar mother hen mode? I didn’t know what to make of it.

You don’t give a shit about me anymore. What the hell is happening?

But I was worried about him, too, and I wanted to hear him out, so I just quietly said, “It’s fine. A raróg clawed my arm.” I exchanged glances with Lia. She was obviously uncomfortable in here, and she didn’t say a word as she started laying out everything to dress my wound. Hopefully this wouldn’t take long; she didn’t need to be caught in whatever crossfire was coming. I nodded to one of my guest chairs and told Silas, “Have a seat. We’ll just be a minute.”

He sat down, and no one spoke as Lia got started. I swore a few times from the antiseptic—Christ, that shit burned—but mostly, I surreptitiously watched my ex.

I had no idea how to feel about this. I was worried sick about him. I’d never seen him this freaked out before, and I had no idea what to make of it.

It also hurt like hell to see him. Just thinking about him these days made me queasy with guilt, and the few times I’d stumbled over a photo of him or tortured myself by looking at one on purpose, I’d been a mess for hours after. I missed him. I hated myself for ruining what we had, and not a day went by that I didn’t wish I could go back and undo all that damage. Even if I couldn’t save our relationship, there was literally nothing I wouldn’t do if it meant I didn’t hurt him like I did a year ago.

I wish I could tell you how sorry I am.

I wish I could tell you how much I still love you.

I wish there was even a single reality where I deserved a second chance with you.

It was just as well the antiseptic was burning my arm. At least then no one in this room would question why my eyes were welling up. Under normal circumstances, Lia would probably rib me about it, but I was pretty sure she’d keep that to herself this time. From the way she avoided my eyes and worked fast, she was trying to finish up and get out of here as soon as possible. If I had to guess, she’d have preferred being in a room with an angry hellhound or a Gulon with a toothache over staying in here with the two of us. Couldn’t say I blamed her.

Unsurprisingly, as soon as she’d finished taping the bandage, she booked it out of my office, closing the door behind her.

And now…

Now I was alone with Silas.

Silas, who was ghostly pale, sweating bullets, and from the looks of it, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating. Not very successfully, either.

I sat up, carefully cradling my bandaged arm. “Hey. Silas.”

I fully expected a glare. A snarled comment. Something. Now that there was no one else around, he’d let the mask drop and remind me of my place in his world.

But the response I got was worse than that. He met my gaze and stared at me, looking for all the world like he was about to break down, and not because I’d broken his heart.