Page 219 of Knot Their Soldier: Part Three

The infirmary sits at the far end of the keep, and we’re heading there for more than a checkup.

I managed to convince Everlyn to run a weekly Blood Lust clinic because Blackgate is full of active-duty Alphas, and Blood Lust is as dangerous to our own fortress as any Human raid. It grows out of a life steeped in violence until an Alpha tips over into a berserker state and can no longer tell friend from foe. I know what the Fathim military used to do with men in that condition. They put them down when they were too far gone, and I refuse to let that become our answer here.

So now, every seven days, Everlyn screens our Alphas for early signs: elevated heart rate, blown pupils, rancid scent, restlessness, and anger riding close to the surface. Anyone flagged gets pulled from duty and put on a recovery protocol before the illness can dig in deeper. Viper and I help because my Command can settle an Alpha already starting to slip, and because Viper is living proof Blood Lust does not have to end in an execution.

Halley, healer of the emotionally constipated.

Viper, dead man walking.

Not exactly the careers I pictured for us, but here we are.

My amusement fades a little as memory brushes up against the present. Barkrood Base rises in my mind, all harsh lighting and sterile walls, with Viper half feral strapped to a gurney and me walking toward him anyway because nobody else could reach him. If I hadn’t intervened that day, Viper would’ve been executed no matter how much Shade begged for his life.

Now I’m draped over his back, and together we're on the way to help other Alphas before it reaches the point of no return for them.

I'm struck by a wash of affection for my big, tough but sweet Alpha, and I press a kiss to the side of his neck, tightening my arms around him a little.

"It can’t wait," I assert. "That’s the whole point. The Alphas flagged by their Prime Alpha as at risk need to come to this Blood Lust clinic every week without fail, no matter what. We have to set a good example."

He grunts, and I interpret the sound as understanding because we both know what happens when warning signs are missed.

"I hate that you have to spend your afternoon babysitting volatile Alphas," he mutters.

I smile against his skin. "Lucky for them, I have a lot of experience with one particular volatile Alpha."

He grunts. "I walked into that one."

"You really did."

He crouches so I can slide off his back with at least a scrap of dignity. The second my boots touch the floor, his hand settles at my waist, steadying me before I can pretend I don’t need it. By the time we reach the infirmary, Viper’s steps have slowed to a trudge, but he still doesn’t complain.

The infirmary corridor is already full.

Ten Alphas wait along the stone walls, some sitting on benches, some standing with their arms folded, all of them trying very hard to look like they're not pissed off about being referred for mandatory medical supervision. It would be funny if I didn’t know exactly how dangerous pride can become when fear gets trapped underneath it.

Still, this is progress.

I recognize those who have been to the clinic before. Alpha Wrecker has a mug of what smells like chamomile tea clutched in his big hands. Alpha Bleak is steadily mending a torn glove with careful darning stitches. And Alpha Cipher, who last week flipped the examination table when he was told he was off active duty, is sitting quietly reading a battered paperback with a level of concentration that says he is trying very hard not to think about why he’s here.

The nearest Alpha, a new attendee, catches sight of me and straightens a little, relief flickering across his face before he tries to hide it.

I still haven't gotten used to the way these Alphas, who can fold steel with their bare hands, look at me like I'm the one thing that will personally drag them back from the edge if they start to slip.

I mean, they're not wrong. I will if I can. I'll always step up to use my Omega Command for the greater good.

The infirmary door swings open, and Everlyn appears with her sleeves rolled up and a datapad tucked against her hip. She takes one look at me, then narrows her eyes.

"You look like you should be my patient, not my assistant."

Her gaze lingers, and I know she isn’t only assessing my exhaustion. She has been waiting for me to bring up the negative pregnancy test result, but I look toward the Alphas filling the corridor before she can ask. I'm not in a rush to confront my complicated feelings regarding my fertility. It's taken me a decade to accept my infertility, and now I'm granting myself the time needed to process the fact that I can get pregnant.

Besides, she's not wrong. I'm a mess. My fatigues are streaked with dirt and blood that is not mine, and if I look as exhausted as I feel, then her worry might be justified.

I shrug. "I can multitask."

She purses her lips. "Fine, but you sit. I won't have you fainting on my watch."

Viper’s hand flexes at my waist. "The Command was clean and short, but it's drained her. We should try to keep this short so I can get her back to the nest for a nap."