Page 39 of Full Moon Frenzy

“Adriana, do you know why I hired you?”

Dr. Marsh interrupted her thoughts before she could give them voice, grateful her hands clutched the tablet instead of clenching into fists at her sides. He paused, but Adriana only shook her head, afraid of what she might say if her voice reignited. Her temper had gotten her into trouble before, and she couldn’t allow that to happen now.

“I wasn’t just looking for someone who could diagnose cellulitis or close lacerations. Every physician who walks through this building can do those things. But you’ve spent the last decade making life-and-death decisions in one of the busiest emergency departments in the Midwest, one with an unusually high number of nonhuman patients, and I wanted that judgment in this clinic. We are at a critical time in nonhuman care. Our partners next door are dealing with a record number of patients because the gap between the care they receive in human-run hospitals and our own has never been greater. So if an orc walks through these doors having a myocardial infarction instead of the heartburn the human doctor in the city told them they had three days ago, the heartburn they think they’re coming in for, I already know I’m going to sleep better knowing you’re here. They’re going to get the care they deserve.”

He leaned forward, bracing himself on his elbows as he contemplated her.

“So I’m here to find out what the hell is going down here. Because I already know you’re an excellent doctor. But what I can’t figure out is why you’re letting a personal vendetta with one of our paramedics cloud your professional judgment so thoroughly.”

The tablet fell from her grasp, her fists balling. Fucking Trapp Hemming. “My judgment has never been compromised—”

“Then explain to me why three of the patient complaints came from mothers here with children you saw immediately after an EMS drop-off?”

Her mouth opened, jaw moving, but her voice had fled.

“I am assuming you were familiar with a procedural chain of command at your last department?” Dr. Marsh went on, his voice having lost a fraction of its warmth. “Why, then, did I find out an incident report had been filed against the paramedic in question from this building without my knowledge? What is the purpose of you auditing the EMS run sheets? Is there not enough to do? Because my suggestion would be to start spending more time with your patients if you’re having trouble filling the hours of your day.”

She was unable to draw breath. Eyla must have said something about the report she’d had the nurse run. Patients were unhappy with her bedside manner. This was supposed to be a new start, a real home.

“Look.” Dr. Marsh sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told Trapp last week. And in the spirit of transparency, yes, I did see him. No, I don’t have a personal relationship with him, but I am close friends with his brother. This is a personal vendetta. You’re both behaving childishly, and now it’s compromising patient care under my roof. And it ends today. You’re a good doctor, Adriana. Don’t get fired for something so stupid.”

The silence between them stretched for too long, but she was unable to make her voice work without the threat of tears heating her face. “Now what?” she scraped out at last, expecting a formal reprimand. You’re still brand new. Probation, if you’re lucky. An expensive townhouse you won’t be able to afford if you’re not. Shouldn’t have spent so much money on that stupid goose.

Dr. Marsh grinned, sharp and without humor. “I’ve been thinking on it. My main concern, Adriana, is that if you bring an emergency department mentality to this building, you’re not going to find relief from the burnout that led you to apply for this position in the first place. You’ll never be happy here if you recreate the same stressors, and you won't stay. I’m looking out for my own interests.” He shrugged unapologetically. “Your success is the practice’s success. I want a minimum forty-minute throughput for every patient. Ask one more question than you feel is medically necessary for treatment.”

She blinked rapidly, waiting for the rest of the imprecise directive, squirming when it seemed the rest would not be forthcoming. She disliked instructions for which there was no established policy, and “ask one more question” occupied an irritating middle ground between crunchy philosophy and hospital protocol. What question? There was no billing code for it, no clinical guideline she could follow, no measurable outcome by which she could judge whether or not she’d succeeded.

“As far as you and Paramedic Hemming . . .”

She sucked in a breath, teeth pressing into a flat line. Her hands had refound the tablet on her lap, clenching around it.

“You’re going to complete a forty-eight-hour field rotation. A clinical ride-along. We have a new CNP from upstairs starting down here next week, so there will be enough slack in the schedule.”

She was shaking her head before he’d even finished. “No. That-that’s a direct conflict of interest. He and I . . . We have an established personal rela—”

“You have a personal war,” Dr. Marsh cut her off, all traces of warmth gone. “And I’m ending it. The two of you are treating intake like a hostile border crossing, and it’s finished. A forty-eight-hour clinical ride-along. And if the two of you can’t figure out how to get along by then, we’ll have to readdress the issue. But I should warn you, Adriana — I will personally document your lack of institutional cooperation for the state licensing board. I don’t want that to be our outcome, but I won’t jeopardize patient care.”

She stayed in the office long after Dr. Marsh left.

She was furious. She was chastened. She was going to sit in an ambulance with Trapp Hemming, seeing him, smelling him, twisting in his presence every single day, and getting along with him was now a direct job requirement.

And all the while, the moon grew ever fuller.

Part 3

Trapp

The doors of Medic Forty-three didn’t slam shut. Instead, they sealed with a heavy, pressurized hiss, muting the snare drum of raindrops outside the bay and amplifying the sound against the fiberglass roof within.

Trapp didn’t jump out into the rain to offer her a hand up into the rig, nor did he help her pull the heavy door shut, all things he would have done just a month prior without a second thought. He didn’t adjust the AC vent that was currently blowing a steady stream of air directly at her collarbone, and he didn’t remove his water bottle from the second cup holder, necessitating that she clutch her own between her knees.

But neither did he have her stretched out on the patient cot in the back, legs wrapped around him as her nails scored his shoulders, his knot sealing them together while she moaned in his ear so . . . all things considered, Trapp felt certain this was the safest possible outcome.

“Are you sure you don’t want me in the back?”

Her voice was smaller than he was expecting, completely absent of her normal brash aggression. Trapp gave her a sidelong look. Adriana looked undersized in the rig; a station polo over her own navy blue chinos and a crisp, water-resistant utility jacket with the station’s logo, albeit one that smelled aggressively of warehouse storage. Gone was her perfect white lab coat. There was no stethoscope hanging like a medal of accomplishment around her neck. She was quiet and tense, her fingers curled around the nylon strap of a tactical trauma pack, as they had been since her arrival at the station.

He was going to put Shay Marsh in the fucking ground the next time he saw the shifter’s smug, oily smile.