I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon/emperordragon
________________________________________
Lucas's Perspective
The drive into town passed in a strange kind of silence—the kind that wasn't exactly peaceful, but not entirely tense either. The only sound that cut through it now and then was the soft, uncertain whine of the wolf-dog in the backseat. Each ti, Jenny turned around to soothe him, her voice no louder than a whisper. She spoke gently, like she was trying to hold him together with words alone—promises that everything would be alright, that he wasn't alone, that help was close.
I kept my eyes on the road ahead, both hands steady on the wheel, though my awareness never strayed far from the backseat. I could feel the animal's anxiety radiating outward like heat. His discomfort filled the car—he didn't trust the confined space, the unnatural slls, or the engine's low grumble beneath us. It wasn't just fear, but also unease—like his instincts were pulling him in every direction but forward. Still, he didn't lash out or try to escape. That was all Jenny. Whatever bond had ford between them was enough to hold him together—for now.
When we pulled into the small lot of Beacon Hills Animal Clinic, Jenny leaned forward between the seats. "We're here. It's okay."
I parked close to the entrance, shut off the engine, and stepped out into the late evening air. The mont I opened the back door, the wolf-dog tensed. His muscles coiled like springs, his instincts screaming at him to run. I didn't rush. I kept my movents deliberate, unthreatening. I crouched and t his eyes, letting the quiet between us settle into sothing solid.
You're safe. I've got you.
He didn't relax completely, but he allowed to slide my arms underneath his body. He was heavy—easily over a hundred pounds—but in my arms, he felt light.
Jenny was already holding the door open for us by the ti I reached the clinic's entrance. The small bell overhead chid as we stepped inside.
The waiting room was nearly empty. A woman sat behind the counter, flipping through paperwork, her glance flicking toward us before returning to the pages in her hands. She didn't ask questions. Just took us in and went back to her work.
Behind the desk, Dr. Deaton appeared, his expression calm as always.
"What do we have here?" he asked, voice low and steady.
Jenny jumped in before I could speak. "He's hurt. His back leg. He needs help."
Deaton nodded once. "Alright. Let's take a look."
We followed him into one of the small exam rooms. I gently laid the wolf-dog down on the tal table, careful to support his weight so nothing jarred the injured leg. Even after I stepped back slightly, I kept one hand resting on his side—connection, grounding, sothing familiar.
The mont Deaton approached, the change in the animal was imdiate. A low growl began deep in his chest, his body going rigid. His ears flattened, his eyes wide.
"It's okay," I murmured, pressing my palm against his fur. I didn't use words, not really. Just intent. Assurance. A push of calm. The growls softened, but the fear didn't vanish.
Jenny stood close, stroking the thick fur of his neck. "It's okay, boy. You're safe. We're right here." Her voice wavered once, but she steadied it quickly. Brave girl.
Deaton moved with the kind of patience you only learn after years of working with scared animals. He checked the dog's ears and eyes first, gauging his responses, then finally focused on the injured leg. His hands were careful, thodical, parting the fur to expose the wound beneath. It was bad—angry, swollen, and definitely infected.
Jenny bit her lip, tears brimming, but she didn't cry. Instead, she rubbed the dog's head, whispering, "You're strong. You can do this."
When the exam was finished, Deaton's expression hardened slightly. I caught it. Jenny didn't.
I placed a hand on her shoulder. "Stay here with him," I told her. "Keep him company."
She looked at , uncertain, but nodded. I followed Deaton into the hall.
"The wound is deep," he said quietly. "And infected. Local anesthetic won't cut it—we'd normally need to sedate him to clean it properly."
"And you can't."
Deaton shook his head. "Not safely. He's been in the wild. Underweight. Malnourished. Stress has his blood pressure elevated. If we sedate him, his body may not handle it."
I took a breath and nodded. "Then I'll handle it."
Deaton studied for a long mont but didn't argue. He trusted .
Back in the room, Jenny was crouched close, still whispering reassurances. I stepped beside her, slid my hand down the wolf-dog's shoulder, and wrapped my fingers gently around his paw. His body tensed at Deaton's approach, but I gave him what I'd given before—a silent vow of safety.
When Deaton began treating the wound, the pain struck hard. I felt it, sharp and raw, flooding into as if the claws were tearing my flesh instead of his. My jaw tightened, but I didn't let it show. The wolf-dog's whimper cut off as the weight of it passed through him into . His breathing steadied, his muscles loosened.
Jenny blinked in surprise. "He's… calm. He's not even flinching."
I kept my focus on the dog, letting the pain sear through without reaction. It was nothing compared to what I'd endured before. Nothing I couldn't handle.
Deaton worked quickly, cleaning the infection, dressing the wound, and wrapping it with firm, practiced movents. When it was done, he stepped back, nodding once.
"All finished," he said.
The wolf-dog blinked up at , blue eyes clear and steady for the first ti since we'd found him. Jenny stroked his muzzle, relief flooding her face. "You're going to be okay," she whispered.
I released his paw slowly, the last of the pain fading from my body. He didn't move away. He stayed still, watching , like he understood. Like he knew.
Reviews
All reviews (0)