Lycan Legacy - 4 - 5 - 6: Princess - Progeny - Paladin: Book 4 - 5 - 6 in the Lycan Legacy Series

by Veronica Singer

  “Yes, but that’s what werewolves do.”

  She looked at her pad. “Isn’t Kuga your ‘pack ally?’ Doesn’t that mean she can’t disobey you?”

  “It doesn’t really work like that. The pack link saved her life, she’s still free to do as she wishes.”

  “And Naomi?” Dr. Patrizia looked at her notes. “Didn’t she tell you that her loyalty would always be to her family?”

  “But that’s okay,” I said. “She knows my loyalty is to my pack— “I hesitated a moment— “and my friends.”

  “Why do you think you might have a problem making friends?”

  “I don’t have a problem! I have too many secrets, secrets I can’t share with anyone. If my pack or Mom knew about the magic side of my life, they’d kill me.”

  “So you have to hide part of your life from those closest to you?”

  “Wait! There’s Mike. He’s human. Well, mostly. He knows I’m a werewolf who can do magic.”

  “Doesn’t he owe you his life?”

  “Well, yes. But it doesn’t mean…” Was Mike’s attitude influenced by me saving his life? “Anyway, he’s saved my life several times. We’re almost even.”

  “Okay. Mike and Mason. Your husband and your former patient.”

  I nodded in triumph. “See? I have friends.”

  “Do you have any woman friends?”

  Anger flared and I tamped it down. “No. It’s hard to have friends when you’re the boss. Everyone wants something.” I took a calming breath. “What does this have to do with conflict resolution?”

  “Perhaps if you had friends, instead of pack or employees, you might learn to resolve conflicts in a healthier way.”

  She was writing again. I resisted the urge to snatch that notepad out of her hand.

  “I can’t afford to have friends. My life is too dangerous.”

  She stared at me with a peculiar gaze. When had I seen that before? Crap. That was the look she had when she made the prophesy that had saved Mason’s life.

  “You need friends, Luna.”

  “And?” I waited a long ten seconds. “Come on. I know you’re having one of your flashes.”

  She shook her head. “You know I can’t tell you more than that. If I tell you more, it changes things. You wouldn’t believe me, anyway.”

  “Just a hint?” I pleaded.

  “Make friends, Luna.”

  Another long pause and I knew she wouldn’t budge. “Okay, I’ll try. Maybe I’ll call up my friends from high school.”

  “Maybe you should stick closer to home, Luna.”

  Was that another hint? I opened my mouth to ask for more details, but she smiled and shook her head. "Anyway, our time is over. Please work on finding friends and coming to peaceful resolutions."

  I stood up and stepped over the pentagram. Strong enough to hold a demon or a magician, it was like a soap bubble to a werewolf.

  "May I have a cookie?" I rubbed my belly. "The twins are craving sweets."

  "Of course, Luna. Help yourself."

  My father's office was across the hallway from Dr. Patrizia's. I ate the cookies quickly, ran to the bathroom, and returned to his office. I knocked on his door out of politeness—I owned the building and could go wherever I wanted. But he was still my dad and deserved some respect.

  "Good afternoon, Dr. White," I said as I entered.

  "Hello, Luna. How are you feeling?" He rose from the desk and hugged me and rubbed my belly. I felt the tingle of magic as he tried to probe. It was useless; my unborn were keeping their secrets from both magical and mundane tests. I didn't even have one of those cute sonograms of the kids.

  Dad's office was laid out like a standard examination room. A height-adjustable exam bed sat in the center, with a paper roller to provide clean surfaces for each patient. There was an array of instruments that could be rolled over to the patient. I recognized most of them from my studies—in the same way a computer programmer would recognize an abacus. With our healing abilities, most of these were useless to Dad and me.

  The floor was tiled, for easier cleanup. The tiles contained a geometric design that hid the fact that the examination table was centered in a pentagram.

  "So, why did you want to have this meeting?" asked Dad.

  "There are lots of new things going on at the hospital," I said. "We just received an endowment that will enable us to expand. I've decided to go ahead with the VIP rooms on this level."

  Dad made a sour face and said, "I don't want to spend time fixing up spoiled assholes whose only contribution to humankind is that they can play with balls. Or with narcissist stars who want an untraceable facelift."

  Too bad Dad wasn't pack; I couldn't just order him to take on these patients. I tamped down my anger and thought, How would Briar Frostroot handle this?

  "Don't you want to help more people?" I asked.

  "Yes, that's why I became a doctor." Dad shook his head forcefully. "Anyway, I don't have enough magical energy to take on extra patients, no matter how much money they have."

  "What if we could provide you with more energy?"

  "How? My soul is like a jigsaw puzzle with some pieces missing. I can't store any more energy."

  "You need not store energy. Mason and I could provide the energy. You could provide the skill."

  "You want us to work together? Like a witches' coven?" He scrunched his face up in disgust.

  "We're not a coven, Dad. We're pooling our resources." I searched for an analogy. "Just like when you operate; you have an anesthesiologist, surgical assistants, other doctors on standby. Isn't that a better way to ensure the best care for your patient?"

  "Maybe, but that's just teamwork. Combining magic like that is, is…" He shuddered at the thought.

  "I know you don't like to mix with other magicians," I said. "That's why I'm here. I can add my magic to yours, and channel Mason's energy to you."

  "I still don't like the idea. There are good reasons magicians don't work together."

  "But doctors work together. Isn't your Wiccan anesthesiologist a part of your team?"

  "Yes, but that's different." He insisted.

  "Just try it once. I think you'll be more than happy with the results." I reached out and touched his hand. "We can help so many more people if this works."

  "It's not just that," Dad said. He looked down, as if afraid to look in my eyes. "Magicians have a need for magic. We don't work together because it's almost impossible to resist the urge to drain the magic from anyone who opens himself to us."

  Oh, so that's why magicians acted like lone wolves.

  "But I'll be channeling the magical energy. I'm your daughter; you won't risk my life or the lives of your grandchildren, no matter what the temptation. You won't endanger Mason or me."

  "I don't know that. It's better not to risk it."

  "Dad, I'm a werewolf. You can't take anything that I don't willingly give. I'm the perfect safety switch between you and Mason."

  Dad was stubborn, but the need to help overcame his reluctance. "Okay, we can try it."

  Two days later, we performed our first surgery. The patient was a famous basketball player who had a severely damaged knee.

  Mason waited outside the OR, ready to feed magical energy to Dad through me.

  I had to be closer, so was in the OR. Gowned and masked, in accordance with protocol, even though I was classed as an observer. Dad had made up some excuse about the hospital administrator having to observe a certain number of surgeries to show compliance with the oversight board.

  I had never realized just how crowded a surgery suite would be for something as minor as a knee rebuild. It had only been Mason and me for Mike’s complete upgrade.

  Here we had Dad as the lead surgeon, another surgeon observing, Dr. Sameer, and multiple surgical nurses.

  Dr. Deshondra Sutton was the African-American Wiccan anesthesiologist. Even through the mask I wore, I could tell she was a witch and a vegan. I decided not to hold it against her as
Dad had said she was the best.

  Our patient was a huge African-American basketball star, if standing he would have been seven feet tall. Here an extra-large bed had been set up for his surgery.

  Dr. Sutton was paying particular attention to her gauges and dials. I checked with magician vision and saw that she was using more than human senses to track the effects of her anesthesia on the patient.

  She noticed my look and explained, “Larger men are hard to regulate. When they’re off the charts like our patient here,” she paused to smile through her mask, “we have to be very careful to monitor closely.”

  Did she suspect I could sense her use of magic? Or was she just offering an explanation to the nosy administrator?

  The surgery proceeded. Dad operated quickly and expertly, every move precise and sure. It was a virtuoso performance, a combination of surgical skill and magical healing. He opened the skin over the knee, removed splinters of bone, smoothed and strengthened the bones, reattached the torn ligaments, and revitalized the meniscus.

  Dad’s skill was so good that he only had to draw on a small portion of the magical energy that Mason and I could provide.

  The surgery team, with the exception of Dr. Sutton, were unaware of the use of magic. It was as if their eyes glazed over when something impossible occurred.

  I mirrored the repairs Dad made to our patient’s left knee on his right knee, using no instruments or cuts. To non-magical vision, it appeared that his right leg was merely twitching under the surgery drapes.

  Dr. Sutton noticed. “So you think his other knee will need the same surgery, Dr. White?”

  “No, it appears to be in much better shape than this knee,” said Dad.

  I gave silent thanks to Dad for covering my use of magic. As far as the mundane team was concerned, Dad was performing surgery. As far as Dr. Sutton was concerned, Dad was duplicating the surgery magically on the other knee.

  I took a quick scan of the patient. He was in incredible shape, with only a few issues. While Dad continued with the knee surgery, I surreptitiously smoothed ligaments in his shoulders, elbows, and wrists. He had a lot of inflammation in his right elbow, which I eased. The cause was an irritated nerve sheath.

  If he kept playing, the issues would come back eventually, but our intervention would give him several more years at his prime.

  I avoided any of the upgrades I had given Mike. Both because it wouldn’t be fair to the other teams in the league, and it would be too noticeable. Having a two-hundred-ninety pound athlete suddenly gain a six-foot vertical leap would be hard to explain.

  The only hitch was that the surgery lasted several hours. I had to pee badly after three hours. Dad was at a point where the surgical assistant was closing the incision. “Dr. White, I really need to leave now,” I said.

  “No problem, we’re just wrapping up.” His smile wrinkled his mask as he spoke. “Thank you for assisting.”

  I pushed out through the two curtains and the doors, waved to Mason in the hallway, stripped off the gown and mask and raced to the bathroom.

  Ten minutes later, I rejoined Mason in the hallway. Mason popped up one of his privacy bubbles before he asked, “So we need to hang around? I thought your dad would need a lot more magic than that to complete the operation on that man’s knee.”

  “We did both knees,” I said. “Dad is an expert at doing the most healing with the least energy I’ve ever seen.”

  “So the famous basketball player got a twofer for his surgery?”

  “Yeah, too bad it was unnoticeable. We can’t even charge for the second knee.”

  Mason and I had coffee in the hospital lounge. I was too keyed up from the surgery to eat, so just nibbled at a few donuts to go with my fruit juice.

  “No more surgery today?” Asked Mason as he sipped his coffee.

  “Not today. But now that we know our system is a success, we can schedule a few more.” I looked at him, judging how much this surgery had drained him. Magical sight showed he was a bit dimmer than normal. “Could you power two surgeries a day?”

  He had that far away calculating look, balancing the drain of powering Dad against his other self-imposed tasks. “Two per day should be feasible,” he said. “As long as we have weekends off and I can recharge at Hoover Dam.”

  “Okay, I’ll set up a schedule.”

  I nibbled and sipped, waiting for him to ask. Finally, I sighed and said, “Aren’t you going to ask me how much he paid?”

  “How much?”

  “Five million dollars.” I pulled up the accounting app on my phone to show Mason the transfer, then froze.

  “Luna, what’s wrong?”

  “The cheap bastard only transferred four-million-five-hundred-thousand dollars.”

  I was standing, ready to run off, when Mason asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to break both of his legs,” I snarled. Nobody screws with the alpha.

  “Don’t do that, Luna.” Mason’s calm tone halted me. “I’m sure he didn’t make that decision. He has agents, accountants, and other people working for him.”

  A deep calming breath. Mason had a point. Better to be sure before unleashing violence. “You’re right,” I said. “You go and recharge at Hoover Dam and I’ll investigate this accounting error.”

  I halted outside the VIP room and listened. Dr. Sutton was saying, “I told you that you wouldn’t remember because of the anesthetic, but you did promise to take me out.” Followed by a giggle.

  Our patient, Levron, laughed along with her. “Well, I never dated a doctor before. But if you insist—”

  “Doctor’s orders,” she responded.

  I hesitated to enter, but then I heard other voices.

  I stepped into the suite and announced myself. “Hello Mr. Gaines. I’m Luna White from the admin office. I hear your surgery went well. Are you up to discussing some admin details?”

  “Call me Levron, miss. He waved at a short dumpy man standing in the corner. “Lenny is my manager. He handles all the paperwork.”

  “Well, Lenny, if you’ll join me in my office, I’m sure we can straighten this out.”

  Five minutes later, we were seated in my office. I gritted my teeth and smiled at Lenny, the agent. Lenny was short and sallow, but his eyes darted around as he absorbed all the details of my office.

  “Well, Lenny, there seems to be a discrepancy between the agreed amount and the amount deposited. I’m sure Briar Frostroot gave you the correct amount. Perhaps you could explain?”

  “No, the amounts right. Five million, minus my percentage.”

  “Your percentage?” I forced my hands to unclench.

  “Yeah. I get ten percent of everything that Levron touches.”

  “Really? That seems excessive for this extensive surgery that will return your client to his prime. Won’t you stand to make much more from Levron’s extended career than you would gain from shorting my hospital?”

  Lenny peered at me through narrow eyes. “For a werewolf, you’re pretty good with numbers.”

  Subtracting ten percent from five million was ‘pretty good with numbers?’ Was he trying to insult me?

  “Since you seem to be aware that our surgery was enhanced by the metaphysical, you should also be aware that cheating healers and werewolves will have consequences.”

  “So sue me,” Lenny said with a shrug.

  “You know we repaired Levron’s other knee at the same time. We should be charging you ten million.”

  “Thanks. That was nice of you. But you rescheduled the surgery by a day. Levron’s time is very valuable.”

  He seemed overconfident, so I took a closer look. There it was. A silver dagger hidden in his belt buckle. Barely three inches long, it was still enough to cause a normal werewolf to pause.

  Take a breath, Luna I thought. Beating up a swindler wouldn’t help the patient or the hospital.

  Instead of grabbing him by the throat and shoving that blade up his ass, I said, “We prefer no
t to get human authorities involved.”

  My claws extended to slashing length and I started tapping impatiently on the desk. Lenny’s face paled as he watched the razor-sharp implements click. His hand stroked his belt buckle and his eyes darted toward the door.

  I retracted my claws and smiled, no fangs. “As you mentioned, Levron’s time is valuable. Let me make an offer that will help all involved.”

  I lowered my voice as Briar had done. “Let’s ask Levron to spend time in the children’s ward. I hear he has a lot of young fans. Get him to sign some basketballs, take some photos with the fans, cheer up the patients. It’ll be a win-win for all involved.”

  “Not a bad idea. Levron loves kids. But I’ll need another ten percent for the signatures. Levron doesn’t sign anything for free.”

  Briar must be better than me at convincing people. Time to try another technique.

  “Doesn’t Levron need a release from his surgeon before he can return to playing?” I asked, using my quizzical expression. Then I followed it up with a nasty smile. “You know the hospital doesn’t sign anything for free.”

  Lenny opened his mouth, then closed it abruptly. I gave him my calm smile while he fumed.

  “Two hours with the brats,” he spat.

  “Three hours, with lots of autographs and a hundred signed basketballs.”

  Lenny opened his mouth to object, then shut it abruptly, looking like he had swallowed a lemon. “Deal.”

  “It’s a good deal, Lenny. Levron will have an extended career doing what he loves, you’ll have a champion with the knees of a teenager as your client for those years, and the kids get a thrill.”

  “And what do you get out of it? A few million dollars isn’t enough for you?”

  “The hospital gets the money, yes,” I conceded. “We use those funds to support the children’s clinic, as well as the rest of our charitable efforts.”

  “Well, if it’s for the kids, I’m all for it.” Lenny said with false enthusiasm.

  “I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”

  “Can I get that release now?”

  “It’ll be waiting for you after the visit to the children’s ward.”