SAbrINA
The memory of the carnage after Dean Nightfang’s battle with his brother still haunted me. The air had stunk of blood and torn flesh. That moment cemented my decision. I was done with the violence, the posturing, the endless cycle of dominance and submission.
When Gladys from Discreet Talent Connections called, her voice was like a hand reaching out to me with a lifeline.
“Angel Spring,” she said. “Remote mountain town. They need a doctor.”
“What’s the catch?” My fingers tightened around the phone.
“No catch. Just a forgotten mining and timber town. And a man willing to pay handsomely for your services.”
I didn’t need to hear more. The city suffocated me, its streets choked with exhaust and constant chaos. Angel Spring sounded like a fresh start, somewhere I could breathe without city wolf pack politics crushing me.
But as I stepped onto the cracked pavement and the airport shuttle pulled out of town, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d traded one chaos for another. The mountain air was sharp and clean, but beneath it lingered something acrid and chemical. Unsettling, like ozone before a storm.
I adjusted my duffel bag strap and scanned the town.
Rustic didn’t cover it. The buildings around the center of town stood weather-beaten, their sun-faded wooden walls flaking with chipped paint.
Wind kicked up dust clouds, and the boarded-up windows at the town’s only gas station stared at me like empty eye sockets.
Even though it was midday, I was the only person outside.
A low rumble of an engine cut through the desolate quiet. A sleek black SUV with tinted windows rolled to a stop beside me. The driver, broad-shouldered in a tailored suit that screamed money, stepped out and opened the door with practiced precision.
“Dr.Wu? Mr.Song sent me to escort you to his estate.”
I arched a brow but slid into the car. The plush seats hugged my body, and the scent of leather filled the space. It was worlds away from Angel Spring’s dusty decay outside.
The door shut with a click. No turning back now.
The SUV drove out of town before it climbed a private road uphill.
I leaned forward, my breath catching as Logan’s estate came into view.
The timber mansion sprawled across the ridge, a perfect blend of rugged wilderness with sleek modern design.
Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the fading sunlight, and a wraparound deck hovered over the valley.
I imagined that the view of the valley from up there was breathtaking.
“Impressive,” I murmured to myself.
The driver grunted in agreement, but I barely noticed. My fingers dug into the seat edge as the house loomed closer, both inviting and intimidating. I opened the window a crack. The smell of pine and damp earth filled my nose.
“First time in the mountains?” the driver asked, eyes flicking to me in the rearview.
“First time in a place like this,” I admitted, gaze fixed on the estate. The structure screamed power, wealth, and isolation all at once.
Anticipation and unease coiled in my gut. This wasn’t just a house. It was a fortress, and I was about to step into the wolf’s den. The vehicle rolled to a stop at the entrance, and I stepped out onto the brick driveway. The place towered above me, more of a fortress than a home.
High-tech security cameras whirred, lenses tracking me. I squared my shoulders, refusing to show intimidation. The front door opened, revealing a dimly lit foyer that stretched forever.
The moment I stepped inside, the scent of cedar and leather wrapped around me. Silence greeted me, heavier than any noise in the city. I moved forward, each step on the gleaming wooden floor beneath me taking me further inside. Somewhere in the shadows, I felt him watching. Waiting.
The foyer blended raw wood and polished metal.
It screamed wilderness and the wealth it took to control it.
Elk antlers and other hunting trophies hung above me on the wall.
And there he stood, Logan Song, centered like he owned the mountains itself.
His height alone made me pause, but his eyes locked me in place.
Deep brown, almost black, with amber flecks.
They were sharp, cutting through the room and pinning me like prey.
“You’re the doctor?” His voice rumbled like a low growl. The hairs on my arms stood on end.
He moved like the woods had shaped him, fluid but deliberate.
Too silent. Too deadly. His presence filled the room, pressing against my skin and sending a rush of awareness through my body.
I’d met plenty of alphas, but something about this man felt different, wilder, more primal.
The air between us crackled with electricity, and even as a human, I fought the irrational urge to bare my neck.
Instead, I lifted my chin higher, refusing to be intimidated.
I took a step toward him. His nostrils flared, and his pupils definitely dilated.
I had too many years as a shifter physician to miss the obvious.
My new patron, the reason I’d come to Angel Spring, was a wolf shifter.
Great, just fucking great. I’d moved across the country to escape warring wolf packs, and here I stood in the middle of nowhere, working for another wolf.
The irony stung. I’d left Huntington Harbor to escape the politics, the violence, the endless posturing of alphas who thought fangs and claws solved everything.
Yet here I was, staring into the eyes of a man who radiated dominant wolf energy.
Logan Song wasn’t just a shifter. He was the kind of alpha who carried his pain like a weapon, sharp and unyielding. I’d spent years stitching up broken wolves, but this one? He wasn’t just broken. He was a locked vault, and I doubted I had the tools to crack him open.
I straightened my shoulders, refusing to let him rattle me. “Sabrina Wu. And you must be the man who thinks he’s too important to see a doctor in person.”
His jaw clenched, irritation or maybe surprise flashed across his face. “I don’t need a doctor.”
“Funny,” I shot back. Another step closer. “Because your stance tells me you’re in pain. And if you hired me, I’m guessing it’s bad enough you can’t ignore it anymore.”
His eyes narrowed as a low rumble escaped his chest. “Bold words for someone who just walked into my territory.”
“And you’re stubborn for someone clearly hurting. So, are we going to argue, or will you let me do my job?”
His glare should have sent me scrambling.
Instead, it made me more determined. Men like him, all growls and pride, were exactly why I’d sworn off alpha types.
But the way his fingers gripped the doorframe?
That wasn’t dominance. That was a man clinging to control by his fingernails. A predator afraid of showing weakness.
His scoff rumbled low and gravelly as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. The movement built a deliberate wall. His biceps flexed under his sleeves, corded muscle straining against fabric. “I don’t need a doctor. You’re here for the town, not me.”
I tilted my head, a small smile playing on my lips. “Well, I’m here now. Might as well make the best of it.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t speak, just gave a curt nod and gestured for me to follow with a flick of his hand. “Fine. But you better pull your weight. I’m not going to pick up your slack.”
I matched his stride, the air between us filled with unspoken words and his resistance.
“Good,” I shot back. “I’ve never backed down from a challenge.”
He glanced at me, his jaw tightening, but I caught the faintest flicker in his gaze. Curiosity, maybe.
We passed by a study. I paused near the open doors and glanced at the bookshelves lined with expensive leather-bound and hardcover books. Pretentious or obsessive? Hard to tell.
Then I saw it. A massive map of the valley covered half the wall, dotted with green and red pins and scribbled notes. Some clustered near the creek, others by old mining roads. The pins radiated out like a spreading infection. And at the center? The mountain where the Roberts Mine stood.
Logan’s shadow fell across it before I could look closer. “Later,” he growled, steering me away.
I memorized the pattern anyway. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to hunt.
Logan pushed open the guest suite door, his broad shoulders blocking most of the doorway. I stepped inside, my boots sinking into plush carpet that smelled like lavender. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed snow-capped pines, while a fire crackled inside a stone fireplace.
“This is amazing,” I gasped, taking in the room.
“Not much,” he grumbled, shoving hands into his pockets.
I dropped my medical bag onto a loveseat next to the four-poster bed and ran a hand over the hand-stitched quilt. “You call this not much? My Huntington Harbor apartment could fit in here.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “You’ll want for nothing here.”
Logan’s shoulders stiffened as I stepped toward him. He smelled of leather and smoke, but most of all, flesh and blood from the unhealed wound he was hiding. His jaw worked, the silver streaks in his hair catching the dim light. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
I kept my voice steady, though my fingers itched for my stethoscope. “Good. Because I’m not here to babysit.” The words hung sharp as mountain air. “This town needs a doctor. And from how you favor your left side, I’d say you do too.”
His jaw ticked, but his sharp inhale told me this wasn’t just an injury. It was something his body couldn’t heal on its own. A wolf shifter’s metabolism should have healed anything other than a fatal wound in days. Whatever festered beneath his shirt wasn’t following nature’s rules.