THE FABULOUS DOCTOR LUNA HE THREW AWAY?

SERA Run. That was the only word in my head. The only thing keeping my legs moving, my lungs burning, my bare feet slapping against cold forest ground. Run. Don't stop. Don't look back. But I looked back. I always looked back. And the fire was there, eating my home alive, swallowing everything I loved in bright orange and screaming heat. I could hear them. My mother. My little brother. Screaming my name. I reached for them, but the ground opened up and I was falling, falling into nothing, into dark, into I woke up gasping. My body shot upright in bed, my chest heaving, my skin soaked with sweat. The sheets were twisted around my legs like they had been fighting me all night. Maybe they had. I didn't remember. I pressed a shaking hand to my chest, feeling my heart slam against my ribs like it wanted out. Like it wanted to run too. My apartment was quiet. The clock on the nightstand read 4:47 AM. I wasn't going back to sleep. I never did after that dream. "Great," I whispered to the dark room. "Another beautiful morning." I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower. I stood under water so hot it turned my skin red. I didn't care. The heat was the only thing that made the numbness go away, even if it was just for a few minutes. By the time I got to the hospital, the sun was barely up and the emergency ward was already chaos. Sera Valentini was not my real name. At least, not entirely. Valentini was my mother's maiden name. My real last name was something I buried six years ago, along with everything else. My wolf. My identity. My family. I was Dr. Valentini here. Just a trauma surgeon with quick hands and a sharp tongue. Nobody knew what I was. Nobody knew about the wolf that lived curled up inside my chest, silent and still, like it had given up on me a long time ago. And that was fine. I preferred it that way. "Dr. Valentini!" A nurse rushed toward me, eyes wide. "We have a gunshot victim. Multiple wounds. He's losing blood fast." I grabbed my coat and moved. My legs carried me to the operating room before my brain fully caught up. That was how it worked with me. The body moved. The mind followed. I couldn't afford to think too much. Thinking led to remembering, and remembering led to places I couldn't afford to go. Not here. Not now. The man on the table was big. Built like a fighter, covered in tattoos that disappeared under the blood soaking through his clothes. Two bullet wounds. One in the shoulder, one dangerously close to his spine. "Who brought him in?" I asked as I snapped on my gloves. "Two men," the nurse said, her voice shaking. "They carried him in and left. Didn't give a name. Just said to save him or there would be problems." My hands paused for half a second. Then I kept moving. Problems. Right. "Clamp," I ordered. "And someone get me more light. I can't see a damn thing." The surgery took three hours. Three hours of blood and focus and my heart beating so loud I could hear it in my ears. But my hands never shook. They never did during surgery. It was the only time I felt in control of anything in my miserable life. The man survived. Barely. I stripped off my gloves and stepped out of the operating room, my legs heavy, my body running on nothing but coffee and spite. I needed to sit down. I needed five minutes of silence before the world decided to throw something else at me. I almost made it to my office. Almost. "Dr. Valentini." The voice came from behind me. Deep. Calm. The kind of calm that was more dangerous than any scream. I turned around slowly. Three men stood in the hallway. All of them tall, broad, dressed in black like they just walked out of a funeral. Or were about to create one. The one in the middle was the tallest. Silver hair, cut short. Eyes so pale they were almost white. A scar ran from his jaw to his ear, thin and clean like someone had drawn it there with a razor. He smiled at me but there was nothing warm about it. "The man you just operated on," he said. "He belongs to us." Every instinct in my body screamed at me to run. My wolf, the one that had been dead silent for six years, stirred. Just barely. Just enough to make my skin prickle. I didn't run. I learned a long time ago that predators chase prey that runs. "Good for him," I said, keeping my voice flat. "He's alive. You can send him flowers." The man's smile didn't change but something shifted in those pale eyes. "Funny." "I'm not trying to be." He took a step forward. I didn't step back. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But my feet stayed planted and my mouth stayed stupid. "We need to know he will be taken care of," he said softly. "Properly. No police reports. No questions. You understand?" "I'm a doctor," I said, my jaw tight. "I save people. That's what I do. What I don't do is take orders from strangers in my hospital." The hallway went quiet. The two men behind him shifted, their hands moving to their sides. The silver haired man stared at me for a long moment. Then he reached into his jacket. My heart stopped. But he didn't pull out a gun. He pulled out a card. Black, with a single phone number printed in silver. He held it out to me. "In case you change your mind about taking orders." I didn't take it. He placed it on the windowsill beside me, gave me one last look that lasted far too long, and walked away. His men followed like shadows. I didn't breathe until they turned the corner. I looked down at the card. My fingers were trembling. I should throw it away. I should forget this ever happened. I should go home and pretend that the world I escaped from wasn't creeping back into my life. I picked up the card and shoved it into my pocket. Stupid. So damn stupid. TWO WEEKS LATER I stepped into my apartment and locked the door behind me. Three locks. Always three. I kicked off my shoes and dropped my bag on the floor. "Miss me?" I said to the empty room. "Because I sure as hell missed you." Talking to my apartment like it was a person was probably a sign I needed more human interaction. Or a cat. But people annoyed me and cats were too judgmental. So the apartment it was. I made it two steps before I stopped. The air was wrong. It smelled different. Not bad. Just different. Like cologne. Expensive cologne. And something else underneath it. Something that made my blood turn to ice in my veins. I knew that scent. I knew it like I knew my own heartbeat. Like I knew the sound of my own name. I had slept next to that scent for three years. I had loved that scent. And then I had learned to hate it more than anything in this world. My hand found the light switch. And there he was. Sitting on my couch, legs crossed, looking at me like he had every right to be there. Like he still owned me. Dmitri Volkov. My ex-husband. The man who broke me in ways I didn't know a person could break. He stood up slowly, and the room shrank around him. He was bigger than I remembered. Broader. His dark hair was longer, pushed back from his face, and his jaw was sharper, harder. But his eyes were the same. Grey like storm clouds. Cold like winter. Those eyes looked at me now, and something flickered in them. Something that almost looked like pain. But I knew better than to believe that. I had believed his eyes once. It cost me everything. "Hello, Sera," he said, his voice low and rough, like he hadn't used it in a while. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. My wolf, the one that had been silent for six years, the one that barely stirred when those men showed up at the hospital, suddenly woke up. And it howled.