The wolfless doctor

"Mary? Wait. You think I'll have anything serious to do with a wolfless omega?"

I froze just outside Derek's office door, my hand hovering over the handle. My heart stopped beating for a second. That was Derek's voice. My Derek. My mate.

"But she's your mate and you gave her flowers for Valentine in front of everyone," another voice replied. Tricia. Of course it was Tricia.

"She put me up to it," Derek laughed, and the sound cut through me like a scalpel. "She said she wanted to feel loved. She even borrowed money to buy the flowers herself. And besides, I never accepted the mate bond."

The world tilted. My vision blurred with tears. Without thinking, I shoved the door open so hard it banged against the wall.

"Liarrrrr!" I screamed, my voice breaking. Tears poured down my cheeks, hot and angry.

Derek jumped back from where he'd been leaning close to Tricia. "Mary." His eyes widened. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here?" I could barely breathe. "What are YOU doing? You told me you loved me. You said the flowers were because I was special."

Derek adjusted his white coat, his face hardening. "Mary, you're being delusional. How can I, Derek Morrison, have anything serious with a wolfless omega who can't even handle a simple scalpel? You're naive if you thought this was real."

Tricia giggled beside him, her perfectly manicured hand covering her mouth. "Oh sweetie, did you really think he'd choose you? A girl without a wolf at twenty two? How pathetic."

I stumbled backward, my chest tight. I couldn't breathe. I turned and ran, their laughter chasing me down the corridor. My vision blurred with tears as I pushed through the hospital hallways, not caring who saw me crying.

I found an empty corner near the staff room and collapsed against the wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the cold floor. My whole body shook with sobs. Three months. Three months of thinking I'd found love, found my place. All a lie.

"Code blue! Emergency in ward seven! We need all available staff now!"

The announcement over the intercom made me look up. Nurses and doctors rushed past me toward the emergency ward. I wiped my eyes and stood on shaky legs, following them without thinking.

The emergency room was chaos. A middle aged man lay on the gurney, his face gray, monitors beeping frantically around him. Three nurses crowded around him while Dr. Stevens, the resident on duty, barked orders.

"Where's Dr. Owen?" Dr. Stevens demanded. "This patient needs surgery now. He's been waiting for the Alpha surgeon."

"I called him," a nurse replied, her phone still pressed to her ear. "He said he'd be here in an hour. There was an accident on the highway."

"We don't have an hour to wait. The patient can't survive that long. Is there no other surgeon available?"

"I'm sorry but Dr. Owen is the best surgeon for this case. The patient specifically requested him. It's an aortic dissection with complications."

The monitor suddenly shrieked. The patient's body went rigid, then began convulsing violently. The nurses rushed forward.

"He's crashing!" Dr. Stevens shouted. "His blood pressure is dropping. We need to do something now. Call someone. Anyone!"

"I'll do it."

The words came out of my mouth before I could think. Everyone turned to stare at me. My own voice sounded strange to my ears, deeper somehow. More certain.

"An intern?" Dr. Stevens looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "Mary, this isn't a simulation. This is a real emergency."

But I was already moving. My feet carried me forward like I was being pulled by invisible strings. I grabbed surgical gloves from the supply cart and snapped them on. Everything felt distant, like I was watching myself from outside my body.

"Out of the way," I said, and the authority in my voice made the nurses step back.

"Mary, this is a critical condition," Dr. Stevens grabbed my arm. "You're just an intern. You don't even know the situation of the patient and you've never performed surgery alone."

"Type A aortic dissection with pericardial tamponade," I heard myself say. The words came automatically. "He needs an emergency Bentall procedure with composite graft replacement. If we don't operate in the next ten minutes, the dissection will extend and he'll die from cardiac rupture."

Everyone froze. Dr. Stevens' mouth fell open.

"How did you know that?" he whispered.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because I had no idea how I knew. I turned to the nurses. "I need a cardiothoracic surgery kit, stat. Prepare for open heart surgery. Get me a ventilator, blood for transfusion, and prep the cardiopulmonary bypass machine."

They just stood there, staring.

"Now!" The word cracked through the room like a whip.

They jumped into action. Within minutes, everything was ready. I felt my hands moving with confidence I didn't possess, making the incision with steady precision. Every step of the procedure flowed through my mind like I'd done it a thousand times.

Sternotomy. Pericardiotomy. Exposure of the ascending aorta. My hands knew exactly what to do even though my conscious mind was screaming in confusion. I could see the tear in the aorta, the blood pooling in the pericardium.

"Suction," I commanded. "Clamp the aorta. Initiating bypass."

Time became meaningless. There was only the surgery, the rhythm of the procedure, the patient's life hanging in the balance. My hands moved like they belonged to someone else. Someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

"Anastomosis complete. Checking for leaks." I examined my work with eyes that seemed to see more than they should. "Clear. Coming off bypass."

The monitors stabilized. The patient's heart beat strong and steady behind his newly repaired aorta.

"Closing now."

As I tied the final suture, something snapped. I gasped, suddenly back in my own body. I stared down at my hands, covered in blood, holding surgical instruments. My knees went weak.

What just happened?

"The patient is stable," Dr. Stevens announced, his voice filled with awe. "Vitals are normalizing. Heart function is strong. The surgery was successful."

The emergency room doors burst open. Dr. Owen Prescott strode in, already dressed in surgical scrubs, his face set in determined lines. Everyone turned to look at him, then back at me.

My heart hammered. Panic flooded through me.

"I'm sorry," I stammered, backing away. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know what came over me. I shouldn't have done that. I just..."

I couldn't finish. I ripped off my surgical gloves and mask and ran from the room, my vision blurring with fresh tears. Behind me, I could hear the confused voices, Dr. Owen's deep rumble asking what happened.

I didn't stop running until I reached the women's locker room. I collapsed on a bench, shaking. What was wrong with me? How did I do that? I was just an intern. I'd never even assisted in a surgery that complex, let alone performed one myself.

"Mary Hart."

I jumped. Tricia stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, a smirk on her perfect face.

"Dr. Owen has called for a board meeting in two hours for all interns and working nurses." She looked down at me like I was dirt on her shoe. "Try not to be late. Though I'm sure you'll find a way to embarrass yourself again."

She turned on her heel and left, her laughter echoing in the hallway.

I buried my face in my hands and cried.

"Sorry, excuse me, coming through!"

I rushed down the corridor toward the conference room, my heart pounding. I was thirty minutes late. Thirty minutes. Dr. Owen was going to kill me. After everything that happened with the surgery, being late to his meeting was probably the final nail in my coffin.

I'd spent the last two hours hiding in the locker room, trying to make sense of what happened. My hands had stopped shaking, but my mind still spun in circles. How did I perform that surgery? Where did that knowledge come from?

I reached the conference room door and took a deep breath. Through the small window, I could see Dr. Owen standing at the front, addressing the room full of interns and nurses. I carefully turned the handle and slipped inside, trying to be invisible.

The door creaked.

Every head turned toward me. But I barely noticed them. Because Dr. Owen looked up, and our eyes met, and everything else disappeared.

He was tall, maybe six foot three, with dark hair that fell slightly over his forehead. His jaw was sharp enough to cut glass, covered with just a hint of stubble. But it was his eyes that stopped my heart. Deep brown, almost amber in the fluorescent lights, intense and intelligent. He wore his white coat over a black button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms.

My wolf, who'd been silent my entire life, suddenly purred inside my chest. The sound shocked me so much I almost stumbled. Heat flooded through my body, pooling low in my belly. I'd never felt anything like this before.

Dr. Owen held my gaze, and something flickered in his eyes. His nostrils flared slightly, like he was scenting the air. The moment stretched between us, electric and alive.

"I'm sorry," I managed to whisper. "I lost track of time."

"Miss Hart." His voice was deep and rough, and it sent tingles racing across my skin. Every nerve ending came alive at the sound of my name in his mouth. "I believe you must have heard that I don't tolerate late coming, especially from interns."

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Owen. It won't happen again. I was just..." I trailed off. What could I possibly say? I was hiding because I mysteriously became a surgical genius for twenty minutes?

"Take a seat, Miss Hart."

I nodded and started toward an empty chair in the back. But my legs felt weak, unsteady. Because Dr. Owen's eyes followed me with every step. That amber gaze tracked my movement like a predator watching prey. I could feel the weight of his stare on my skin, hot and heavy.

My foot caught on absolutely nothing. I stumbled, barely catching myself on the back of a chair. Heat flooded my cheeks.

From the front row, Tricia's giggle rang out clear and mocking.

I finally made it to my seat and sank down, my face burning. I couldn't look up. Couldn't meet anyone's eyes. Especially not his.

"As I was saying," Dr. Owen continued, his voice filling the room, "emergency procedures require not just skill but judgment. Today's incident proves that point."

I forced myself to look up. Big mistake. He was staring right at me. Our eyes locked again and the air between us seemed to crackle. My breath caught in my throat.

He cleared his throat and looked away, but not before I saw his jaw tighten. "Interns are here to learn, not to take unnecessary risks. The hospital has protocols for a reason."

He was talking about me. About the surgery. But his tone wasn't entirely disapproving. There was something else there. Curiosity maybe? Interest?

I couldn't stop watching him. The way he moved, confident and powerful. The way his hands gestured when he talked, strong and capable. Those were surgeon's hands. Hands that saved lives. I wondered what they'd feel like on my skin and immediately felt my face heat up even more.

Stop it, Mary. He's your boss. And probably way out of your league.

But my body didn't listen. Every time his eyes drifted toward me, which happened more often than it should, my pulse jumped. Once, he was mid sentence about proper chain of command when he glanced at me. Our eyes met and he completely lost his train of thought. He stood there for a full three seconds, just staring, before shaking his head and continuing.

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a scalpel.

I noticed Tricia shifting in her seat in the front row. She adjusted her skirt, crossing and uncrossing her legs, leaning forward to give Dr. Owen a better view of her cleavage. She smiled at him, batting her eyelashes.

"That bitch," I muttered under my breath.

"In conclusion," Dr. Owen's voice cut through my thoughts, "unauthorized surgical procedures will be dealt with on a case by case basis. Meeting adjourned."

Everyone stood, gathering their things. I grabbed my notebook and headed for the door, desperate to escape before I embarrassed myself further.

"Miss Hart."

I froze. That voice sent shivers down my spine.

"I need you in my office in thirty minutes. We need to talk."

I turned slowly. He was watching me with those intense eyes, his expression unreadable.

"Okay, sir," I managed to say.

As I turned to leave, I caught sight of Tricia glaring at me like I'd stolen her last meal. She hissed under her breath and stormed past me, her shoulder deliberately bumping mine.

I walked down the hallway in a daze. Dr. Owen wanted to see me. Alone. In his office. My stomach did flips. Was he going to fire me? Reprimand me? Or was this about something else? The way he'd looked at me during the meeting didn't feel like anger.

"Mary! Hey, Mary, wait up!"

I turned to see Derek jogging toward me, his face flushed. I immediately wanted to punch him.

"What do you want?" I kept walking.

"I've been trying to reach you." He fell into step beside me. "How did you do it?"

"How did I what?" I didn't look at him.

"The surgery. Everyone's talking about it. An intern performing a successful Bentall procedure? That's incredible. I heard Dr. Stevens say it was textbook perfect."

"Are you done?"

"Hey, I just wanted to say you were amazing." He touched my arm and I jerked away. "Look, what do you say to dinner this evening? At my place? We could celebrate."

I stopped walking and turned to face him. "Some of us have better things to do, Derek."

"Come on, I know you're still mad about what happened with Tricia." He smiled that charming smile that used to make my heart race. Now it just made me nauseous. "Look, Tricia is a bitch, okay? I don't even love her. It's always been you, Mary. You have to believe me."

I laughed. Actually laughed. "Go puke on yourself, Derek."

I left him standing there and walked toward Dr. Owen's office. With every step, my heart beat faster. I stopped outside his door, staring at the nameplate. Dr. Owen Prescott, Chief of Surgery.

I swallowed hard and knocked.

"Come in."

"Sit."

I stepped into Dr. Owen's office and the door clicked shut behind me. The room smelled like him. That intoxicating scent of pine and something darker, muskier. My knees went weak.

He sat behind his desk, looking at his computer screen. When he glanced up at me, the world stopped. Those amber eyes locked onto mine and heat flooded my face, my neck, my entire body. I felt like I was burning up from the inside.

"Sit," he repeated, his voice stern.

I sank into the chair across from his desk, my hands gripping my knees. Don't stare. Don't make it weird. Act professional.

He opened a file on his desk. My file. "Mary Hart. Twenty two years old. Graduated top of your class from Westbrook Medical Academy. Started your internship here three months ago. Excellent academic record but minimal practical experience." He looked up. "Until today."

I bit my lip, saying nothing.

He stood up and walked around the desk. My breath caught. He leaned back against the desk, right in front of me. So close I could smell his cologne. So close I could see the gold flecks in his eyes. My mind went completely blank.

All I could think about was how much I wanted to reach out and touch him. To run my hands over that chest, to feel those arms around me. To taste his lips. God, what was wrong with me?

"So tell me," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "how did you perform one of the most difficult surgeries in modern medicine?"

"Um." My voice came out as a squeak. I cleared my throat. "I guess it was just luck, sir. Maybe the adrenaline rush."

"Hmm. Interesting." He tilted his head, studying me. "Adrenaline doesn't go to medical school, Mary. You were reckless. You could have made the situation more critical. That patient could have died on your table."

"But he didn't." The words came out sharper than I intended.

His eyebrow raised. "No. He didn't. In fact, he's doing remarkably well. Dr. Stevens said your technique was flawless. Almost too flawless for someone with your level of experience."

The way he looked at me made my stomach flutter. Like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Like I was something fascinating and confusing at the same time.

"And this thing you've been doing since the board meeting," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "what's that about?"

"What are you talking about?" I tried to sound innocent, but my voice shook.

"Don't play dumb with me, Miss Hart." He leaned forward slightly and I nearly melted into the chair. "Looking into my eyes all through the meeting like the road to your house is mapped in there. Smiling with that messy hair of yours. Do you have any idea what you did? You made my wolf restless."

Oh god. Oh god. He caught me. My face burned so hot I thought I might spontaneously combust. His wolf? He felt it too? That pull between us?

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," I lied. "I was only paying attention to the meeting."

His lips curved into a slight smile. It was devastating. "Really? Then tell me, what was the last instruction I gave at the meeting?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. My mind was completely blank. I'd been so focused on watching him, on the way his mouth moved when he talked, on the way his eyes kept finding mine, that I hadn't heard a single word after I sat down.

"Um. You said..." I bit my lip, trying desperately to remember. "You said... um..."

"That's what I thought." He straightened up, and the small smile remained. "I'm not complaining though. But be careful, Mary. I don't do interns."

"I'm not trying to 'do you,'" I shot back, using finger quotes.

"Your body language says otherwise."

Before I could respond, before I could even process what he'd just said, there was a sharp knock on the door.

"Dr. Owen, we have a case. Ward twelve. Possible cardiac arrest. They need you immediately."

"I'll be there shortly," he called out.

He looked back at me, and for a moment, something soft flickered in his eyes. Something that made my heart squeeze.

"You're dismissed, Miss Hart."

I stood on shaky legs and headed for the door. My hand was on the handle when his voice stopped me.

"Mary."

I turned back. He was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Intense. Hungry almost.

"You know..I like it when your hair is messy."