The Lycan Hunter

Chapter 8

The door slid open, and her wolf—wait, her what?—entered the room carrying a tray with a thermos, a glass, and a black doctor's bag.

"How are you doing, Hunter?"

"Alexis."

He smirked at her. "That's not my name. Not even close."

Alexis sighed and rubbed her temples. "What do you want, wolf?"

"I have to do a quick examination, and then you can eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Too bad. You'll eat even if I have to feed you myself."

That shouldn't have appealed to her, but it did.

She'd never been taken care of the way the Lycan was willing to do. No injury had been too great—and there had been many—to warrant her parents doing anything beyond tossing a disdainful nod in her direction. She wanted more...Of what she didn't exactly know. Well, maybe she did, but getting what she wanted could very well cause more problems than it would solve. A complication that neither of them needed. Then again, who would know if something happened? It wasn't like she would tell.

The wolf waved his hand in front of her face.

"Hunter, did you hear me?"

"What? What did you say?"

"Relax your arm." He sat on the edge of the bed and checked her vitals.

In the silence that spanned, she focused on his face. Closer inspection showed that the perfection she'd seen earlier was marred with tiny scars. One cut through his eyebrow and another close to his left eye. She wanted to ask him how he got them, but his entire demeanor repressed the urge.

She jumped when his warm hands lifted the gown she wore and began palpating her stomach. He then checked the red ridge that marked the center of her marred torso. She caught his gaze as he glanced up from examining the scar that ran up her left side—a parting gift from her earlier years when she hunted the lion-form Lycans known as Alesers. He made no comment about the scar, instead returning his attention to her newest wound by placing a new bandage on it before he rose from the bed.

"You should be ready to go home in two days, maybe less. Can Hunters get infections?"

"Yes."

The wolf reached into his bag and pulled out an amber bottle.

"Here." He handed her a large white pill. "It's an antibiotic. Take it after you eat. The wound looks good, so it's more preventative than anything."

"Thanks."

He put up all his supplies and turned back to her. "Tonight you will have soup and some crackers."

"Ugh."

He laughed. "I know. You can try and eat real food tomorrow."

"Fine."

"Now," he said as he let his hands rest on his hips. It was a very doctor-like pose. "Am I going to have to feed you or are you going to be a big girl and do it yourself?"

She smiled. "Shut up, and get the food."

He brought over the tray, one of the nicer ones with legs, so she didn't have to worry about balancing hot soup on her lap. She watched as he poured her soup. Part of her wanted to protest, as she had always been forced to do for herself, but the woman who never felt like she mattered relished being taken care of. No one, not even her dead brother, had ever taken care of her when she'd been injured. Tough love was an understatement of her childhood reality.