The Alpha's Medic

Chapter 3

ZARA:

The next day, I registered an application for the medic trainee position at the pack house clinic. It was a whole competition–of course it would be. Anyone would want a role that could potentially put them close to the Alpha.

Three days later, I received a letter inviting me to participate in the selection trials.

“Are you sure you don’t want to apply somewhere less intense?” my mother asked, her forehead creased with worry. “I heard one of the cleaners at the pack house ran back home in tears and begged her parents to let her quit after the Alpha looked at her with disdain.”

Xena and I got blonde hair from our mother, while our amber-green eyes from our dad who had brown hair.

"Your mom's right, hun." My dad said. "We all know you're a softie. You might not be able to handle the criticisms. The Alpha is… very demanding. One of the medics recently resigned after failing to meet his expectations during a routine check-up.”

“I’ll survive,” I said with a small, confident smile. “So what if he rejects people? I won’t give up, no matter what! I’m not a quitter!” The sudden heat in my voice even startled me.

“Yeah!” Xena cheered me on.

Our father chuckled. "That's my girl! Go show them what you've got!”

Like my plan to make Alpha Maximus pay. I would never give up on that unless I've lost every way possible.

I spent the next few days brushing up on medical procedures and revisiting the first-aid drills my father had taught us. I also looked into the medical history of the Alpha’s lineage, and also the clinic's protocols. I wasn’t about to step into the trials blind. If I wanted that position, I needed to fight for it—not with claws or fangs, but with precision and the will to win.

The pack house sprawled across nearly a hundred acres. The Blue Ridge pack was one of the largest in existence, its reputation stretching back centuries.

Several buildings dotted the large compound: the clinic and infirmary, the library and study rooms, storage facilities, the grand dining hall that connected to the guest quarters. At the far back of the pack house lay about five acres of open ground just for combat training and warrior drills. But today, that space had been lined with first-aid tents and triage stations– thirty applicants were about to compete for the position of the Alpha's medic.

The trials began with basic skills—bandaging simulated wounds, setting splints and taking vitals. Then came a timed CPR test using medical mannequins that could “bleed” and “breathe.”

Thankfully, my father had drilled these skills into me. He once served as a pack healer, working closely with the Pack's doctors during border skirmishes with the neighbouring Pack– The Ravensclaw Pack

More and more people kept getting cut off as each stage grew tougher until there were five of us left.

The final stage was a full-scale emergency simulation—an attack scenario. We had to treat an “injured” warrior volunteer, stabilize him for transport, and give a clear handover report to a senior medic.

Treating injuries was something I used to practice with my father during our occasional hunting trips. I thought this would be easy. Not until the Beta, Jordan De Winter, came forth and made an announcement. I lowered my head so he wouldn't recognize me, just in case Alpha Maximus told him about what happened between us. While my upper body seemed to hold composure, my legs were about to give up from fear.

“Each of you will receive a precise treatment protocol,” he announced, holding up sealed folders. “It’s the exact sequence the Alpha’s personal medic uses, a standard passed down from one of the old Lunas of this pack. Follow it exactly. The Alpha is away on business, so I and Dr. Barkley will be judging your performance. We’ll get back to you after we've made our decision.”

Immediately he was done with the announcement, sealed folders landed in front of us. Inside was a detailed checklist down to the finest centimeter. Everything had to be exact. There was no room to be sloppy.

We had twenty minutes to complete the scenario. Twenty minutes of pressure, twenty minutes of wrapping, checking, disinfecting, monitoring vitals, and giving verbal updates while my forehead beaded with sweat. At one point I almost smeared iodine on my own shirt sleeve—so much for not being sloppy.

I finished with the last step—administering oxygen and securing the patient for transport, just then, the timer went off.

“Time’s up,” the host announced. “Step away from your patients.”

I stepped back, but handing over my completed treatment chart to the staff felt like letting go of a lifeline. My teeth dug into my lower lip as I let it go.

“Thank you all for coming today,” the host said once our materials were out of sight. “The results will be out in three days.”

I changed back into my skirt and red shirt before heading home. All the way there, I prayed that my patient—fake or not—had been in better hands than the others.

"So how was it?" My mother asked as they all searched my eyes.

"Horrifying," I confessed. "The trials were nothing like I expected.” I groaned. “There was a precise treatment protocol, it was so detailed that I felt like if I missed a step I could lose."

"Are you kidding?" My father scoffed. "You're the calmest one in emergencies. I’ll admit, you’ve got a better head for it than I do." He faced my mother. "Isn’t that right, dear?”

"Your father's right hunny. You'll do just great." My mother softly encouraged me.

"Yeah. If you don't get it no one else should." My sister agreed.

I sighed. "You guys give me so much credit."

"It's because we know you. I've never seen you so determined to do anything." My mother smiled.

If only she knew the actual reasons behind my efforts.

Xena went for her interview the next day, and it wasn’t weird that it would take three days to pick a new medic trainee, but two days to pick a training guard's personal assistant.

On the third day, my sister and I kept pacing around the front porch waiting for the mail delivery man.

I groaned. "He's fifteen minutes late today. Of all the days to be late."

Frustration enveloped me.

"Calm down." Xena rolled her eyes. "We're both waiting for mail."

"You don't understand-"

"Mail for the Dos Santos." The delivery man's voice made us spin around faster than an electric fan.

"Yes!" I raised my hand and hurriedly put it down when I realized.

Our mailbox got destroyed so he did a good service of knocking on our front door and calling our names.

He handed us five envelopes. Two with the pack house stamp.

"Thank you!" We chorused before we sprang inside.

"It's here!" We summoned our parents with those two words.

We opened the first letter. Xena and I read the letter in mumbles, our eyes widening with each word.

"I got the job." Xena squealed in excitement, jumping up with the letter in her hands. "I’m officially a personal assistant!"

"Congratulations, Xena." I grinned widely.

My parents congratulated her.

Then it was my turn.

We read through the letter muttering each word. My heart hammered against my chest and my mouth hung agape while Xena did the talking.

"Guess who is now a medic trainee at the pack house clinic!" She squealed. "Miss Zara Dos Santos!”

My parents and I screamed at the same time.

"For two amazing daughters. We deserve a more elaborate lunch!" Dad declared.

"Yeah!" My mother, sister and I cheered simultaneously.

My first step was done and now my plan could be fully set into motion. The Alpha doesn't know what he has coming. I beamed within.