Page 5
Up close, he’s… smaller than I expected.
Not short—most people are short compared to me—but lean. Even beneath his white coat and forest-green scrubs, I can make out the definition of hard-earned muscle. His black hair is longer on top, the curls carefully shaped, while the sides are trimmed into a neat fade. His sienna-brown skin gleams in the fading sunlight, his copper eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses.
“Oh.” He blinks up at me as though he wasn’t expecting me to actually answer the door. “Um… hello.” He clears his throat. “I’m Micah. Or, uh… Dr. Wolfhart. Mystic‑animal veterinarian.”
He extends a hand. I take it, immediately noticing how completely his slender fingers disappear inside my own.
“Lucan.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, quickly withdrawing his hand and tucking both of them into his coat pockets. “Um… I was wondering if I could get your opinion on something.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That depends. On what?”
He rocks back on his heels, chewing nervously on the inside of his cheek. “It’s… hard to explain.” He gestures over his shoulder toward the clinic across the street. “It might be easier if I just showed you.”
I frown. “Show me?”
“Yes, I…” He rubs the back of his neck, his gaze darting everywhere except my face. “I’d really appreciate it. I promise I won’t take up much of your time. I know you’re busy.”
I study his face for a moment.
He’s unmistakably flustered. His lips remain slightly parted, and a warm mahogany blush spreads across his cheeks, creeping all the way to the tips of his ears. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
I sigh quietly. “Very well, then.”
Relief floods his face. His shoulders finally relax, and the smallest smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“Thank you.” He lets out a breath. “Follow me, please.”
He hurries down the front steps and crosses the cobblestone street, forcing me to shorten my stride so I don’t accidentally walk into him. A little brass bell jingles as he unlocks the clinic door and holds it open.
Warm air scented with herbs, cedar shavings, and antiseptic greets me.
The clinic is surprisingly cozy.
Jars filled with dried plants, powders, and tinctures crowd the shelves lining the walls. Mortars and pestles sit beside neatly organized medical instruments, while bundles of lavender and rosemary hang drying from the ceiling beams.
Micah leads me through a swinging door into the treatment area. “This way.”
The sounds reach me before the room comes into view.
Soft chirps.
A distant bleat.
The flutter of wings.
Rows of spacious kennels line the walls. My gaze drifts over a sleepy moss hare with antlers no larger than twigs, a one-eyed pegasus foal dozing beneath a damp blanket, and a raven with a bandage wrapped carefully around its beak.
Micah stops in front of the largest enclosure.
“I need your opinion about… her.”
My stomach drops at the sight in front of us.
Curled in a nest of wool blankets is a baby dragon.
Her scales gleam a rich ruby red, glimmering like garnets beneath the lantern light. Tiny horns, no longer than my thumb, peek through darker crimson frills. Her eyes remain peacefully shut, warm breaths drifting from her nostrils in little puffs of smoke as she sleeps.
