Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 232

Ch. 5

Noah

I’ve rescheduled this appoititment twice and I’m pretty sure Dr. Lukas is going to murder me before I can die of whatever’s ailing me if I don’t show up this time.

To be fair, I really did have a legitimate conflict the first time-the Alpha can’t just walk away and be gone for two hours in the middle of an active dispute. But the second time may have been less duty calling and more just being an outright pussy about it. I had nothing scheduled. I just didn’t have the balls to deal with bad news.

Because at this point, there is no denying something is legitimately wrong with me. When I sit down at my desk, reach for my pen, and can’t remember for a moment which hand I write with, I can’t play that off as anything remotely normal.

It only lasted three seconds, maybe four before the muscle memory came rushing back. But those three seconds were fucking scary. So when it happened again, and another time after that, I finally called Dr. Lukas and made an appointment I intend to keep.

Dr. Lukas has been Ironwood’s pack physician for six years, which means she knew me as Beta before she knew me as Alpha, which means she doesn’t perform deference she doesn’t feel. She’s at her desk when I arrive, finishing a note on a previous patient.

“Sit down,” she says without preamble, doesn’t even look up. “Thirty seconds.”

Twenty-eight seconds later, she closes the file and looks at me.

“You look tired,” she states flatly, no pleasantries.

“Good morning to you too.” I greet in return.

“It’s an observation, not a greeting.” She opens the assessment form on her tablet and spits questions at me rapid -fire. “Appetite?”

“Normal.”

“Sleep?”

“Adequate.”

She writes something. “Define adequate.”

“I’m sleeping.”

She blows out an exasperated sigh and pins me with a glare.

“Noah,” Her omission of my title doesn’t go unnoticed but I know better than to comment. “I can’t help you if you don’t elaborate. How much are you sleeping each night on average?”

“Five, maybe six hours.” I shrug.

“Why so little?”

I pause, debating how much to say, then decide she’s going to drag it out of me anyway. “I get cold. You know, shivery, like I have a fever. It wakes me up at night.”

She writes something else. “Exercise?”

1/3

+15 Bonus

“Daily. Running, some weight work.” At least I can still do that much, even if I feel like death afterwards.

Changes in endurance or pace?”

“Slightly reduced. I attributed it to the Alpha transition.”

“Possibly.” She keeps writing. “Any physical symptoms you want to tell me about?”

I note the phrasing. Want to. She’s giving me the opening.

“Temperature regulation, in general.” I admit. “Sometimes I can’t get warm. Other times I feel like I’m boiling alive and even an ice bath doesn’t cool me off.”

She looks up sharply. “How long has that been going on?”

“Eight weeks. Maybe nine.”

She sets the tablet down, chewing on the end of her stylus. “Anything neurological?” I can see her concern growing and it’s making me nervous.

“A few days ago,” I say, “I sat down at my desk and couldn’t recall, for a few seconds, which hand I write with. The gap was brief. It resolved. But then it happened a few more times and I made this appointment.”

Dr. Lukas is quiet, pensive for a moment. “Right,” she nods like she’s answering herself. “Blood work today.”

“Routine?” I ask.

“It’s always routine.” She almost smiles. “Roll up your sleeve.”

The blood draw is over quickly and I’m left wondering what’s next. “Is that all?” I ask, preparing to go.

“I need to process this. It’ll take a bit. You can wait in the front area or come back in an hour.” She offers and I’m glad to have the option.

“I’ll wait,” I choose quickly.

The waiting area consists of four chairs and a table with reading material that nobody reads. I sit and pull out my phone and try to do work. I fail. So I put the phone away and watch the Ironwood pack members come and go through the medical building’s front door instead.

A mother arrives with a child-maybe seven years old, the child holding his arm with the careful martyrdom of someone who has sustained an injury and is milking it for all it’s worth. The mother catches my eye, nods. The child stares. I wink back.

An older wolf who has been in Ironwood since before Jaxon took over, who taught me the eastern perimeter protocols when I was twenty-two and newly Beta-comes through the door and sees me and stops.

“Beta Ste-” He catches himself. His face does something. “Alpha Stephens. Sorry. I keep—”

“It’s fine, Callum,” I smile to set him at ease.

“Spent too many years calling you Beta.” he says in his time-worn voice. “You’d think it’d be easier. I guess this wolf is too old to learn new tricks.”

He salutes me and shuffles off to the desk to check in. I go back to not-reading my phone.

I’m still figuring out what Alpha looks like from the inside. Apparently so is everyone else.

Whatever is going on with me, I hope it gives us all enough time to learn.

2/3

+15 Bgnus