Rain always woke the forest up.

Most people heard only the storm. Aiden Jourdan heard everything beneath it—the pines grinding against one another like old wolves trading warnings, a creek swelling with rain, something rustling through the undergrowth. Somewhere deeper in the timber, a young Pack wolf barked once before an older voice silenced him.

Good. He wasn't in the mood for idiots tonight.

A pothole jolted the truck, sending pain tearing through his shoulder.

"Fuck."

Blood had soaked through his thermal shirt and was steadily ruining his favorite flannel. Six winters, three bar fights, one kitchen fire—and it was dying because some trigger-happy asshole thought burying silver traps on public land was a good idea.

Christ, he hated silver.

The wolf healed almost everything. Torn muscle, broken ribs, even bullets if they missed anything important. Given enough time, it'd quietly stitch him back together. Silver was different. It lingered in flesh like poison, slowing everything until healing became frustratingly human.

His phone buzzed.

ELIAS

Aiden watched the screen light up, then go dark. It buzzed again.

He ignored it.

He already knew the questions. What happened? Were you alone? Why didn't you call? Owen would patch him up, Elias would tell the Alpha, and by breakfast the whole Pack would know he'd managed to step into a silver trap.

No thanks.

Another pulse rolled through his shoulder.

The Pack clinic was closer. So was the county hospital. One came with witnesses. The other came with questions, paperwork, and records that had no business existing. Tonight, he'd take his chances with the veterinarian.

He caught the scent before he saw the sign.

Bleach.

Wet dog.

Coffee.

A veterinary clinic.

Christ. Still better than Owen.

RIVERSIDE VETERINARY CLINIC Emergency Care Until 10 P.M.

He drove another fifty yards before sighing, turning the truck around, and muttering, "This is fucking pathetic."

He was really about to ask a veterinarian to treat a grown man. Owen was going to be insufferable.

The parking lot was nearly empty. He rested both hands on the steering wheel, weighing his options.

Go home. Dig the silver out. Wrap it. Sleep.

Another warm trickle slid beneath his ribs.

"...Fine."

Rain soaked through his hair before he reached the porch. Out of habit, he wiped his boots on the welcome mat. His mother would've boxed his ears for tracking mud into somebody else's building.

The bell chimed softly as he stepped inside. Heat greeted him first, followed by the scent of animals his wolf sorted automatically.

A sleepy orange cat looked up from behind the reception desk.

Aiden looked back.

The cat yawned.

"...Fair enough."

Footsteps echoed from the hallway.

"You'll want to keep his bandage dry for three days," a woman said. "And if he starts chewing the stitches again, call me before he convinces you he's innocent."

An older man laughed.

"He always looks innocent."

"They all do."

The man shuffled past as she rounded the corner and stopped.

Her gaze went to the blood before anything else, tracking the stain soaking through his sleeve before settling on his face.

"You've had a rough night."

Her voice stayed level, already assessing instead of reacting.

Only then did Aiden really look at her. Navy scrubs beneath a faded canvas jacket, sleeves rolled to her forearms, a stethoscope hanging around her neck, faint scratches crossing one arm, iodine staining one wrist.

She wasn't trying to impress anyone. She was simply doing her job, calm and unhurried despite the blood soaking his sleeve. There was something about that quiet competence that held his attention longer than it probably should have.

Don't stare, Jourdan.

Too late.

"I've had worse."

"You say that like it's supposed to reassure me."

"Hoped it might."

"It didn't."

A drop of blood landed on her freshly mopped floor. She glanced down, then back at him.

"I'd really appreciate it if you kept your bodily fluids inside your body."

A laugh escaped before he could stop it.