Page 110 of Hoofin’ It

The hospital protested using their precious CT scanner on me, an animal, starting a second battle with the CDC, one Dr. Yasolovic had obviously planned to have happen all along. When his colleagues arrived, they brought a suitcase, one filled with forms—the type of forms I’d seen too many times in the recent past. Although Ernesto was present, I decided the doctor was the most intimidating—and possibly dangerous—sentient in the room.

We would have to wait an hour, but instead of an x-ray, I was scheduled for a full MRI since the hospital’s CT scanner was already booked for use. That pleased Dr. Yasolovic enough he put away his forms, although he kept the briefcase handy and left me in the care of the exotic species specialist, Dr. Valentine. She took no shit from anyone, and only had to snap a single clipboard in half to teach the obstinate hospital staff the meaning of fear.

She wasn’t a werewolf or a shifter, which I deduced from the conversations around me. Whatever she was, she scared the piss out of the staff, who bolted from the room as though the devil himself chased them. The resulting smell offended my sensitive nose so much I yipped curses at them.

Dad sighed, pinched his nostrils closed, and breathed out of his mouth. “It might be more efficient if we flew him to Lincoln, called in Dr. Harting, and asked her to handle this.”

“Patience,” Dr. Valentine murmured, stroking her hand down my back. “An MRI is our best option. Even though he shifted, I’ll be able to evaluate his injuries from the attack, which I can record for a trial, should there be one.”

Mom canted her head to the side, crouched with her hands flat on the floor, a position Dad used when he wanted people to think he wasn’t a threat. In reality, if my mother wanted to attack someone, she was in the best stance for a strong leap. Werewolf legs were strong, and werewolves often pretended they were demented, living springs, jumping distances normal humans could never hope to match.

From my perch on the examination table, I had a good view of Dad keeping a close watch on my mother, his ears pricked forward while his tail twitched. The tail twitching bothered me. It meant one of two things.

He could be struggling to contain his good humor, or he could be fighting his more violent tendencies. With Mom’s posture and tense muscles, I bet on the latter.

Ernesto and his two children waited by the door, tense and on guard. Against whom I wasn’t sure. I thought they liked my parents, but with Mom in the midst of her first shift, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they considered her a threat.

I certainly did.

Dad broke the silent standoff with a huff and shook as though ridding his fur of water. His glare settled on the closed door. “This is the hospital that treated Shane.”

“According to his medical file and our own research into the matter, his eye truly couldn’t be saved. They did a better than average job on the scar mitigation as well, and while the false eye is inferior, the measurements were excellent.”

“They’ll treat his woman well?”

“Dr. Yasolovic will ensure she receives the best care. It would reflect rather poorly on the CPD if an FBI agent received anything other than the best. I expect he’ll insist she be transferred to a different medical facility, one either associated with the FBI or in a different city. I’ll recommend against a different city unless your son goes with her, as he wouldn’t react well to separation.”

Dad huffed again. “Why?”

“Because Asian small-clawed otters are a monogamous species. Miss Peterson is in for quite a surprise when she learns his bite packs a great deal more of a punch than hers. Her species is not monogamous, but I’m sure she’ll readily adapt.”

My mother rose, resting her hands on her knees. “What’s her species?”

Laughing, Dr. Valentine shook her head. “That would ruin the fun. You’ll discover it soon enough on your own, I’m sure. Most shifters are, by nature, shy about their second forms. In part, this is due to being mistaken for lycanthropes. When she wants you to know her species, she’ll tell you—and she’ll do so in an amusing fashion.”

I thought about what Dr. Valentine had said, then sucked in a breath at the memory of the stuffed animal Marian had used to hide the Rugers. Chirping, I hopped across the table, snatched up Dr. Valentine’s pen, and struggled to find the best way to hold it in my hand-like paws. With a chuckle, she flipped over a sheet of paper and held it still for me.

Badger?

I tapped the paper to indicate I wanted an answer and hoped she wouldn’t judge me for my wretched scrawl. I should’ve been happy I could write at all since normal otters couldn’t as far as I knew.

“Indeed. Now, keep that to yourself, Mr. Gibson. She’d appreciate having the chance to reveal it—or not—to the others.” Dr. Valentine ripped the paper into tiny pieces, and to ensure no one cheated and taped it back together to learn Marian’s secret, she ate it.

“So our son is an Asian small-clawed otter?” Mom asked.

Dr. Valentine picked me up, holding me with one hand while she gestured at my head with the other. “His species is the smallest of the otter family, although he’s rather small for an adult. Interestingly, his species spends the vast majority of their time on land.”

Mom flattened her ears. “Are otters even compatible with other shifter species?”

“If your motivation behind that question involves grandchildren, I assure you there will be no problems in that department. Genetically, they’re human. Miss Peterson will be advised to exercise caution unless she wants to single-handedly increase the birthrate of their state of residence.”

The glee in my mother’s grin disgusted me. “Excellent.”

“Patsy, you will not hide our future daughter-in-law’s birth control, nor will you interfere in any way with their decision on when—or if—they have children.”

I truly had the best father.

Pierina clucked her tongue. “At least give Gibby a chance to marry the woman first. He was trying so hard to court her, then someone went and ruined his efforts.”