The Pack Doctor Is My Mate

Less hope

Riley POV

I try pushing myself up again, but pain spikes through my stomach, my ribs, my legs everywhere. A sharp hiss escapes my lips before I can stop it.

“Ouch…”

I force myself to pause, to breathe, to ignore the way the world tilts for a moment. I know that if I don’t get up from this dirty clinic floor, if I don’t move fast enough, I’ll end up with even more bruises than I already have.

Waylen and the others don’t need a reason to hit me they just enjoy it. But if I give them even a small excuse? I’m dead.

So I push. Harder.

Eventually, after a few seconds of trembling and grinding my teeth, I manage to get my legs underneath me. My knees wobble, but at least I’m standing.

I grab the bowl of herbal liquid with shaky hands, knowing I have to clean the gaping wound on Waylen’s abdomen. My fingers keep trembling, not just from the fever soaking through my body, but from fear of how he’ll react once I touch him. His mood swings are unpredictable and dangerous.

“Do it gently!” Waylen snaps, raising his voice at me again.

Of course he does. He always does.

I swallow the urge to roll my eyes. When exactly will all of this end? When will I go one day without him shouting in my face?

Carefully...very carefully.I dab the soaked cloth against the wound. His muscles tighten instantly. He hisses, as if I’m hurting him on purpose. I’m not. I’m barely touching him.

I finish as quickly as I can.

“I had no idea you can do something as sensible as this,” Waylen sneers as he steps away, Nolan following behind him. They leave like they own the air in the clinic.

Honestly, the two of them together are a bigger pain in my ass than anything I’ve experienced today.

The moment their backs disappear through the door, the tension in my chest loosens just enough for me to breathe.

I move from bed to bed, treating the injured wolves one by one. Usually this takes a few hours. But today because I’m sick, feverish, freezing, exhausted, and because there are so many of them. it takes me almost an entire day.

And, as always, I’m not allowed to eat until everyone else has eaten.

And, as always, there’s barely anything left by the time I get to it.

Most days, I’m lucky if I get two bites of stale bread.

By the time I finish treating the last patient, the sun is setting. My hands ache. My back aches. My entire body feels like it’s on fire.

It’s just another day in my life.

***

I wait until I’m sure I’m alone, then quickly grab a few small bottles of medicine I made earlier.

My medicine.

Medicine I created.

Medicine that heals the wounded.

Medicine that saves lives.

Yet I’m not allowed to use any of it unless I steal it.

Imagine that—being a healer and still having to sneak your own treatment like some kind of criminal.

I slip them beneath my shirt and head to my room.

Cold slaps me the moment I step inside. My room doesn’t have heating. Or blankets. Or anything remotely comfortable. Only a tattered bed, a thin sheet, and four walls that barely hold together.

I sit on my ragged mattress, shivering violently. Fever prickles through my body, making my vision blur. The cold is unbearable, seeping into my bones like claws.

I clean and bandage my wounds as best as I can, biting down on my lip when the pain gets too sharp. When I’m finished, I lie back, staring at the ceiling, letting my mind drift somewhere else—somewhere that isn’t hell.

I wonder what life would have been like if my parents were alive.

Would I have warm blankets?

Would I go to school like normal kids?

Would I have friends?

Would I laugh?

Would I know what love feels like?

The truth is…I don’t even know what my parents looked like. I don’t know their names. I don’t know the name of my pack. I don’t know anything.

I was too young when the Midnight Pack attacked. Too young when they slaughtered everyone. Too young when they spared only me.

Too young to remember anything that could comfort me now.

My eyes grow heavier, my body sinking into an exhausted haze. Sleep begins to pull at me, and for a brief moment, I think I might actually rest tonight.

But of course, peace doesn’t exist for me.

A loud bang shakes the entire door, jolting me upright.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

I freeze. Not again. Not now.

The banging grows louder, angrier, until the weak door finally gives in and slams open.

Jasmine steps in first. I should’ve known. And right behind her, Waylen.

Oh hell no.

What are they doing here?

Waylen and Jasmine hate each other half the time. I know this. Everyone knows this. One minute he calls her useless, the next minute she’s chasing him like a stray cat in heat. Their relationship is more unstable than the damn clinic roof during a storm.

Yet here they are. Together. In my room. At night.

“Get out of that ragged bed, b***h!” Waylen thunders.

Before I can even react, he snatches the thin covers off my half-naked body. Cold air rushes over my wounds, making me gasp.

I never sleep naked. Ever. But tonight my clothes were drenched in blood and mud, and the wounds were too raw to keep fabric on them. I had no choice.

“Leave me alone… please,” I whisper, trying to cover myself with my arms. I hate being seen like this. Vulnerable. Bare. Exposed. Especially not in front of him, the public p***y fucker of the pack. My body is for one person only: my mate. I will never let anyone else touch me.

Waylen scoffs, eyes scanning my wounds with disgust. “What the f**k? What do you think you’re even hiding? Those ugly scars?”

Jasmine laughs. Loudly. Fake.

I glare at both of them, frustration burning beneath my skin.

“What do you two want?” I snap, a sudden burst of courage surprising even me. The same reckless courage I had earlier when I almost slapped the Luna this morning.

They both freeze.

Jasmine glares at me as if I spit on her. Waylen steps closer, eyes darkening.

“Do you know who you’re talking to like that?” he growls.

Kick.

Pain shoots through my stomach.

“Will you ever learn your place in this pack?”

Another kick.

I curl in on myself, refusing to cry.

“You exist to treat the sick. You exist to heal the wounds of wolves that matter. That’s all.” he snarls.

Slap.

My head snaps to the side, and tears finally spill from my eyes—not from the pain, but from the exhaustion. The endless exhaustion.

I grab the sheet beside me and pull it over my chest, sitting upright slowly, tears falling silently down my cheeks.

I’ve thought about ending my life so many times.

So many times.

If I ended it, all the pain would stop.

All the torment.

All the humiliation.

But every time I get close to the edge of that thought, I freeze. I don’t have the courage to end myself. And a small part of me… still hopes for better.

“Who gave you permission to hit my girlfriend?” Waylen demands suddenly.

I blink. Girlfriend?

His girlfriend?

Does he mean… Jasmine?

I look between them. Jasmine’s face glows like she’s just won a damn lottery. She actually smiles when he says it.

I almost laugh at the absurdity.

This morning he was deep inside a different girl. He’s insulted Jasmine countless times. He’s cheated on her right in front of her. And now suddenly he’s declaring her his girlfriend?

I swear, I will never understand the stupidity of these pack girls. What do they even see in him? Why do they follow him around like stray dogs? What does he have that makes them lose their dignity?

“Why are you even smiling?” Jasmine snaps, finally speaking.

She must have gone crying to him after I pushed her earlier, pretending she was in unbearable pain. She probably faked half of it. Maybe all of it.

Even if I’m about to get another beating, I don’t regret pushing her.

Not even a little.

For once, I felt power.

“Honey, she needs to get punished,” Jasmine says sweetly, leaning her fake-ass head against Waylen’s massive chest.

Waylen smirks. “Don’t worry. I have the perfect punishment.”

My stomach drops.

“She’s going to be the sole organizer of my birthday party tomorrow.”

No.Hell no, not that.

Hell no.

I’d rather be locked in a cage. I’d rather be thrown into the dark room again.

“But that’s not my job,” I say without thinking. “I work in the clinic.”

His eyes snap to mine.

And I instantly regret speaking.

Being the organizer means working all night. It means running around serving drinks while pack idiots grope me, touch me, bump into me, spill s**t on me. It means being a slave in front of the entire pack.

I hate it.I hate parties.I hate them touching me.I hate being watched.

I hate him.

I would rather be back in my dark room, starving, freezing, alone than be part of his stupid party.

But my opinion never matters here.

Not to him.Not to anyone.

Tomorrow, I suffer again.

Like always.