Page 7 of Examining the Bond

It was a hard pill to swallow, but eventually I got over it.

I became more introverted, going out less and less until I stopped going out at all. Now, I spend the weekends alone, lounging around the house, kayaking on the lake in my backyard, or working out. It’s a simple life, but I enjoy every minute of it.

The drive to the office is short, and I’m still chugging my protein shake when I walk in.Right on time. The older secretary, with a perfect bun and narrow glasses, gives me a sly look and shoves a stack of folders to the corner of her desk.

“Good morning, Dr. Morales,” she says before her eyes slide back to her computer screen.

“Morning, Gwin.” I grab the folders, flipping through the top one without actually reading anything. “Any messages?”

“There’s a fax on your desk.” Her fingers vigorously slam across her keyboard. “No missed calls.”

The records.

A ripple of anticipation wiggles through me, and I nod my thanks before heading down the hall to my office.

It’s a large corner room with windows that overlook the parking lot; bright sunlight currently spills in through the open blinds, falling across my wooden desk. I cross to the tall cabinet in the corner and tug open the door, pulling out one of the crisp white lab coats hanging there.

Once it's on, I take a seat at my desk and look over the files of the morning’s patients.

Jacob Ladd, 40, alpha. Presents with a rut lasting more than fourteen days.

“Oof.” I grimace. Poor guy is probably miserable.

Stella Marks, 32, omega. Requests higher dose of pheromone injections.

I flip to the last one.

Riann Saunders, 19, undetermined. Preliminary testing.

My fingertips tingle as I read the word again.

Undetermined.

Seeing it in black and white hits harder than Dr. Song relaying the information over the phone. I’ve seen cases of undetermined designations before, but it’s usually nothing a blood test and hormone treatment can’t fix.

This is not that.

I browse over her blood tests, looking at the numbers and levels that all seem extraordinarily average. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing unusual to give me pause.

I’m stumped and eager to talk to her, to hear about the symptoms she’s been experiencing. Then, we can start trying to figure out what’s going on.

Unfortunately, she’s third on my roster this morning, so I’ll have to wait just a little longer.

I grab the top folder—the alpha with the unusually long rut—along with my clipboard and head for the door.

My first two appointments are a breeze. A couple of shots and a prescription later, I’m headed to my third patient—the undetermined female.

I pause outside her door and reach up to knock, but a scent stops me in my tracks. A mouth-watering, sugary aroma is bleeding out of the exam room, wafting into the hall. Curiosity pools low in my stomach as I inhale, letting the perfume invade my senses. I’m caught off guard by how foreign yet familiar it smells.

It reminds me of campfires and late summer nights laid out under the stars. Of whittling sticks into skewers and roasting marshmallows over an open flame.

It smellsdelicious.

Flipping through the chart in my hands again, I glance over the details I read earlier.

Riann Saunders, 19, undetermined.

I breathe in again, letting the sticky-sweet scent of marshmallows consume me until my mouth waters. In the five years I've worked at the specialty clinic, I've seen all kinds of curiosities, but it isn't normally hard to work out with a bit of testing. Omegas who need a special dose of hormones to boosttheir pheromone production. Alphas who require blockers to regulate mood swings.