Dumped Omega? Now Their Alpha King Begs at My Feet novel Chapter 6

Valerie's POV

The SUV pulled up to the brightly lit, chaotic entrance of Central Wolf Hospital.

The air that hit me when the door opened was thick with the smell of panic and antiseptic, a combination I knew all too well. People rushed in and out of the sliding glass doors, some crying, some bleeding, their faces etched with fear and pain.

It was a place of desperation, a stark contrast to the silent, controlled suffering of the Blackwood mansion.

The driver, Elias, got out and opened my door. He did it with an efficiency that suggested he'd done it a thousand times.

"I will wait here for you, Lady Valerie," he said, his voice a calm anchor in the storm of the ER. He stood by the door, a silent, imposing guardian, his presence a clear sign that no one should bother the vehicle.

I gave him a nod and slipped through the automatic doors. The noise hit me immediately, a physical wave of sound.

It was loud, a chaotic symphony of medical jargon being shouted, pained groans from gurneys lining the walls, and the frantic squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the polished linoleum floor.

I kept my head down, navigating the crowded hallway, weaving through clusters of worried-looking pack members and families huddled together.

I bypassed the main reception desk, a chaotic mess of frantic people and overwhelmed staff trying to manage the influx of patients. I knew another way, a shortcut I'd used many times before.

I slipped through a familiar staff entrance near the loading docks, the heavy door sighing shut behind me, instantly muting the chaos. This back corridor was quieter, smelling of bleach and stored linens.

I was headed for the quieter, less-trafficked wings of the hospital. I needed to see my friend David first, before visiting my foster-grandmother.

I found David in his small, cluttered office on the third floor. It was a tiny, windowless room filled with stacks of medical journals and old textbooks, a forgotten corner of the hospital where he could work in peace.

He looked exhausted, with dark circles under his eyes, staring intently at a patient's chart on his computer screen. The glow of the monitor was the only light in the room, casting long shadows on the walls.

He looked up as I entered, and a small, relieved smile broke through his bone-deep fatigue.

"Valerie," he said, his voice a low whisper, as if we were sharing a state secret. "Thank the Goddess. I was hoping I'd see you."

Our conversations were always like this, quiet and hidden. He was the only doctor in this entire hospital who knew what I could really do, the only one who trusted the old ways of herbal medicine over the sterile, often ineffective, modern treatments.

We'd met a year ago when he had a patient the whole hospital had given up on, a young wolf with a fever that wouldn't break. I'd offered him a remedy I'd learned from my mother's books, and in his desperation, he'd tried it.

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