Chapter 120
Trista’s POV
Early the next morning, as soon as I arrived at the healing center, Xander called me into his office.
He handed me a stack of documents. “There’s a special case here. Look it over first. You’ll be taking the appointment later.”
I flipped through the medical records, my brows knitting tighter with every page.
It wasn’t a standard case of insomnia; it was a lunar–induced sleep disorder, accompanied by sleepwalking hunting impulses and pheromone sensory overload–even signs of a partial shift.
The notes were clinical and detached, yet they made my spine tingle.
I closed the file quickly, my tone hesitant but firm. “Xander, given my current level, I’m afraid I can’t handle a case like this.”
Xander gave me an encouraging look, his voice certain. “That treatment plan you’ve been privately researching for sleep disorders has already shown preliminary clinical results. You’ve turned a sleep aid into something that sedates the wolf nature–do you realize what that means? I’ve already discussed it with my family. When you return home at the end of the year, the center can set up a dedicated team for you to lead, with a profit–sharing plan.”
His validation gave me a much–needed boost of confidence.
The suffocating weight that had pressed on my chest all night seemed to crack open, letting in air that was painful yet clearing.
I understood this wasn’t just a favor; it was a push to the front lines: the nights that ordinary sedatives couldn’t suppress, the instincts pried open by moonlight, and the claws and teeth that lost control in dreams.
I didn’t play modest with Xander. I looked him in the eye and said, “Xander, thank help. I’ll work hard.”
you for
for your
Because I needed the money.
I needed a lot of it.
I had to redeem my mother’s obsidian cane.
It wasn’t just an asset; it was her dignity, the light and pride the Silverlight pack used to hold.
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18:13 Thu, Jan 1
Chapter 120
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Inished
Xander gathered some of the files and stood up. “Let’s go. I’ll introduce you to the patient.”
Thinking ahead, I suggested, “Xander, shouldn’t we bring Mr. Hutchinson along?”
Xander looked calm, as if he’d expected the question. “This patient is difficult–bad temper, and extremely shallow.”
He explained as we walked, a hint of helpless laughter in his voice. “He thinks Mr. Hutchinson’s physique isn’t up to par. Not only did he reject him, but he also demanded the center pay for emotional damages, claiming the sight ‘injured his eyes.”
I followed Xander into the exam room and immediately saw a young man casually sitting on the diagnostic table, scrolling through his phone.
He was lean and tall, dressed in high–end streetwear, wearing studs and a pinky ring. His hair was styled in a trendy, lavender–ash crop. He looked fashionable and loud.
More striking was the faint Alpha scent radiating off him–deliberately unsuppressed, carry a provocative edge that scraped against my senses, making me instinctively uncomfortable.
Beside him stood a middle–aged man with hands folded, followed by several werewolf guards in suits and sunglasses.
They stood in a formal formation, guarding a small territory, their very breathing suppressed.
Xander approached the middle–aged man. “Beta Brooke, the healer for Alpha Isaiah has arrived. Please wait outside.”
The man bowed respectfully to the youth. “Alpha Isaiah, we will wait for you at the door.”
Once they left and the door clicked shut, the room became deathly quiet.
Isaiah slowly put down his phone.
He braced his hands on the table, leaning back in a lazy, casual posture.
His brownish–grey eyes studied me without the slightest hint of modesty, as if picking out a piece of furniture. “Alpha Xander, are you sure she’s a healer? She looks like an antique vase from my grandfather’s study.”
I couldn’t help but frown.
This was the first time I’d ever been described as an “antique vase,” and the offense was pointed.
Xander shot me an awkward look, trying to smooth things over. “Trista is our center’s specialist in sleep disorders. If you are willing, Alpha Isaiah, she will be your primary healer.”
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Chapter 120
Isaiah curled a finger at me, his tone like he was calling a pet. “Come here.”
I didn’t budge.
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