But I didn't even know how to approach the topic with the Alphas. In the past, any Alpha I’d discussed horde healthcarewith had been receptive and open because they respected me. I wasnotfeeling the same about this.
Bastian was many things—namely, a hardheaded ox—and I was pretty sure he didn’t respect me. Nix would blindly do whatever I asked him.
What about Orsen and Greylen…?
There was actually the chance they would take what I was saying seriously. Despite his steely behavior, Orsen didn’t strike me as stupid. He’d put the good of the horde above his pride. And there was the sour candy he’d given me. It had gone a long way to bridging the gap between us. I still didn't trust him, but he was… acceptable.
“Hey, Rowan, sorry to disturb you,” Ma interrupted softly, poking her head around my half-open door. “Do you have time to see another patient?”
Taking a deep breath, I glanced up at her and nodded. Frankly, I was exhausted. I wasn't used to seeing patients like this—all day, for several hours—but I didn't want to leave anyone without proper medical care.
Especially since Jenkins had proven he couldn’t be trusted to deliver it.
Ma smiled thankfully and disappeared around the corner before swinging the door open to let an older dragon shuffle into the room. His dark hair was going gray, his skin starting to sag with age. But there was no mistaking the bright intensity behind his eyes. Behind him stood a tall, well-built dragon with dark hair and bright blue eyes.
“Hi, there. I’m Rowan,” I greeted, standing and reaching out my hand to shake the older dragon’s.
“Alpha Cyrus,” he supplied gruffly, not bothering to take my hand as it hung between us, instead sitting in the chair at the front of my desk and glowering at me. “This is Tanner, my helper.”
I resisted the urge to comment on his crappy manners. If he was so unhappy to see me, he could have always gone to Jenkins. I was familiar with his type—intimately. Many older dragons didn't trust a youngfemalehealer, especially one they had no experience with, who was a human to boot.
Even in the world of dragons, misogyny was alive and well.
Tanner stood backand merely gave me a polite nod. Was this Celia’s mate? I was tempted to ask, but that would mean admitting his mate had been to see me.
“Alpha?” I cocked my head as the title of the older dragon sank in. As far as I was aware, there were four Alphas, and I knew all of them. Still, there were several reasons why a dragon would have that title.
“I stepped down and allowed my son to take over a few years ago.”
Oh… shit.
I took my time taking in the man’s features. He had the same deep blue eyes and that sharp jawline, which had softened only a touch with age. Similar bone structure, oh, and there was that attitude of his. Yes, the family resemblance was all there.
“Of course. You’re Bastian’s father,” I said with a short nod.
Succession in a horde was odd, hardly linear. Usually, a new Alpha came to power when the old one died, typically the former Alpha’s son. Every now and again, though, an Alpha choseto step down in their older years and retire, letting his successor take over.
That iron gaze glared at me. “Andyouare the human chit who’s been causing all the issues.”
My jaw immediately clenched, and I fought every urge to show how kindly I’d taken that remark. I had to do my best to keep a respectful smile plastered on my face. God forbid I upset this ancient dragon too.
Like father, like son, it seemed.
Old dragons really were the worst. It was like the more they aged, the more they thought manners were optional. Particularly the men. Every older female dragon I'd come across had been an absolute sweetheart compared to these Alpha types. Sure, there were assholes in every gender, but there was definitely something about older dragon males. Hell, they’d get along great with the human ones.Boomers.
In the back of my mind, I remembered that I apparently had four maledragons to deal with for the rest of my life.
Lord, help me.
Keeping my chin high, I breezed past that remark without acknowledging it. I wasn't here to make friends with him. Bastian’s father was a patient, and he would receive the same care as everyone else.
“What can I do for you?”
He shuffled in his seat. “Iusuallygo to Jenkins. I trust him. He's been healing my horde for manyyears. But he's gone out of town today, and I need the dressing on my leg changed.”
“Dressing on your leg?”
“I have a small abscess. I assume you take care of such things?” I didn’t miss the condescension in his tone, as if I couldn't handle a simple bandage change.
