Page 59 of Full Moon Frenzy

The smile he gave her was slow and considering, his lips tight, as if he were sizing up an opponent and found her amusing. If Trapp’s family thinks they can intimidate you, they picked the wrong fucking one.

“It would seem that I split my knuckles. Doctor . . . ?”

“Dr. Brunelli. Well.” She gave him a tight smile of her own, pulling over the rolling stool. “Let’s take a look at that hand.”

His knuckles were split across his metacarpals, almost down to the bone. The swelling of the injury was likely hiding fractures to the delicate phalanges, but Adriana knew from experience there was nothing to do about that. She would offer to tape his fingers, but the next turn would take care of it.

“Looks like you hit something pretty hard here.”

“Mhm. The side of my brother’s thick head. Like a brick wall.”

Adriana swallowed again, deciding it would be more professional to simply not acknowledge his words. “Well, you’re definitely going to need stitches on these metacarpals. You probably have some finger sprains, potentially even some fractures, but the swelling of this injury—”

“I’ve broken my fingers before,” he interrupted with a little shrug. “They’ll be fine after the next turn.”

It was her turn to give him another tight smile. “Exactly.”

He said nothing as she cleaned the wound. She could tell it was hours old from the way the blood had crested to the gauze. Adriana wanted to ask why he hadn’t permitted either the nurse practitioners to see him, or even Shileen to clean his hand, but her coyote crouched low within her, staying small, staying hidden. She recognized a predator when she saw one. It was better not to speak.

“We had a cocktail hour for members of my wedding party last night,” the man said conversationally, as Adriana lined up what she would need to suture the wound. “My kid brother has always been a hothead, especially when we were young. But he’s usually pretty good at controlling himself here in town. Gotta keep up appearances at all that.”

It was a struggle to keep her face impassive. Keeping up appearances. Always who you know, and not how good you are.

“But there were these two wolves; you could tell they’d already had too much. Started discussing a woman in less-than-polite terms. And my brother, ever the hero, went sailing in to defend her honor. Even though she wasn’t even there. Even though she’s had him over a barrel at work the last month. Even though he claims he can’t stand her. All because these wolves we barely know called her a pack bitch. Why do you think he would do that, Dr. Brunelli?”

Adriana flinched instinctively at his words, drawing back. His expression was unreadable, his eyes fixed on hers, head slightly tilted.

“Who are you?”

At that, he laughed, seeming genuinely amused as he leaned in over the small table separating them.

“Sweetheart, you’d better figure it out, real fuckin’ quick.”

Her hands bunched into fists, lungs tightening, but his next words brought her up short.

“Why would Trapp do that? For you?”

His words caught her under the ribs, making her hunch against their force. Trapp. He’d hit someone? Because of you?

“You’re his brother?”

“Mhm. Can you do that teddy bear stitch?”

Her mind was reeling, barely able to keep up. She blinked rapidly, forcing herself to stay in control of the situation. Trapp. She wanted to know if his wolf sniffed her out during the moon. Wanted to know if he had been thinking of her since the day he’d stormed out of her house the way she had thought of nothing but him. She could not be someone new when he was here. She hated him. There was no one like him. She wanted to tell him she was sorry for her long-ago crime against him. She would rather die than grovel for his forgiveness. You contain multitudes. And that’s okay.

“Teddy bear stitch? I-I don’t know—”

“I don’t know what it’s called. I just know they use it on teddy bears. I don’t want to risk a scar.”

This was his brother. Her mind quickly caught up, kicking aside her confusion, refusing to allow herself to be talked down to by this obnoxious asshole of a wolf. This was Trapp’s brother. He had specifically come to the clinic to have his hand sewn up, and would only see her. And he’d hit Trapp?!

“You mean a running subcuticular closure. It’s called a ladder stitch in lay terms.”

“Sure. I’m not the doctor, am I?”

A burst of laughter escaped her throat, not expecting the over-the-top level of snideness. Something changed after that. The huge man sat back in his chair, her head still cocked, the corners of his lips slightly turned up. “What did you do to him?”

She stiffened slightly, shaking it off a breath later. “I can’t do a ladder stitch on your knuckles, unfortunately. This will require basic straight suture for movement. But it shouldn’t scar. We’ll keep it nice and straight; the turn should take care of the rest. And I don’t know what you mean. Paramedic Hemming and I—”