Page 13 of The Infirmary for Dragon Burns and Midair Mishaps

“Do you think you’ll need me?” Nisse asked. “If not, I’ll head down to the pub and save you a seat. It’s always rammed during the migration.”

“It’s a straightforward dressing change, so I shouldn’t need any extra hands,” I said. “I just want to make sure it’s not getting infected.”

She nodded, following me back to the door. “Take whatever you need from the store cupboards in the apothecary. Disinfectant is on the shelf above the jar stand. Everything else is labeled.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you in a few.” I waved as she disappeared down the path. When she was out of sight, I exhaled, touching that bag of dragon scales in my pocket.

The relief didn’t last long, though. Not with the wrangler waiting for me.

* * *

“Took you long enough,” a voice growled as I cut through the apothecary and into the waiting room where Vaela stood, cloaked in the hungry shadow of dusk.

She turned to me, arms crossed and lips pursed. Displeased didn’t even begin to cover it. As she stepped in front of the window, her expression was kissed by the golden light of sunset, and I couldn’t help but notice the way those gray eyes flashed. They were like sparks cast off lit firewood, and I would have stared until the light disappeared if not for the way she huffed.

I wrenched my eyes away, carrying my supplies to the exam table. “Last time I checked, the hours of operation are posted on the door,” I said evenly, trying not to think about how a scowl could look so damn good. “It’s not my problem that you can’t adhere to them.”

“A dragon wrangler’s schedule doesn’t adhere to your hours of operation,” she bit out, coming closer. “If I were in desperate need of medical attention, I might have bled out by now.”

“Which is why you should remember to bleed out during business hours,” I quipped.

Judging by the way her nostrils flared, she wasn’t amused.

“Oh, come on,” I said, giving her a flat look. “The hours weren’t even set by me. They’re Gunther’s. If you have a problem, take it up with him.”

“Gladly,” she said. Her tone said anything to avoid dealing with you, and I had to admit, I agreed. Vaela’s gaze flicked about the room. “Where is he, anyway?”

I shrugged. “There’s a blockade.”

Her scowl shifted, confusion tugging those thin, dark eyebrows closer together. “A blockade of what?”

“Dragons.”

“What does that mean?”

“How should I know? You’re the dragon wrangler.”

She snorted, the sound more amused than vexed. “I don’t wrangle blockades.”

“No, you just manage the influx of dragon activity in small mountain communities and almost get your hand chewed off.”

I watched a muscle in her jaw flicker. “It was a nip. So save the dramatics. My hand is perfectly fine.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” I lit a lantern for an extra bit of light, then patted the exam table. “Hop on up.”

Vaela’s gaze dropped to the table, lip curling back like it had personally offended her. I patted it again, more firmly this time. With a roll of her eyes, she turned and sat down.

Something thunked when she did. Something metallic. I glanced down to see if I’d dropped a piece of equipment, but there was nothing there.

Nothing but Vaela’s boots, dangling against the table leg.

Hmm. I put the thought from my mind, reaching out. “Hand.”

Vaela hesitated, those gray eyes studying me. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle to life, like someone had run a finger over my bare skin. But she hadn’t even touched me.

Not yet.

“Hand,” I repeated, the word thick in my throat. I didn’t know why she unnerved me so much, but I certainly wasn’t going to let her know that she did. “Don’t make me ask again.”