Home > Wrath's Storm (Masters' Admiralty #6)

Wrath's Storm (Masters' Admiralty #6)
Author: Mari Carr

 


Chapter One

 

 

Walt stretched his arms overhead, working the muscles in his shoulders. He’d been hunched over for an hour reviewing slides of bloodwork, something most doctors didn’t do again after college biology, or maybe a virology class in medical school.

In his type of medicine, he often had to do it all.

Normally, this was the kind of thing he’d assign to the shiny new doctors who rotated through. Working in a high-volume clinic where they’d see a diversity of issues—from acute traumas to routine care—was a great way for doctors to get tons of hands-on experience. But it was late, his current set of docs had all gone to their bunks, and, frankly, he was faster than they were. He didn’t mind teaching, but between instructing and the natural nervousness of baby docs, everything took a hell of a lot longer than if he just did it himself.

He stripped off his PPE and washed his hands before grabbing his computer and taking it out onto the concrete patio. The patio area served as a waiting room, a triage center if things were really bad, and his living room, since every bit of space in the clinic besides his bedroom was devoted to medical care.

He sat back in one of the woven chairs and popped open his computer. He’d only been working for half an hour when he heard footsteps approach from the darkness.

He repressed an exhausted sigh and stood, turning back to the building, where various doors led out onto the large patio. Instead of his “lab” room, he headed for one of the exam rooms, leaving the door open behind him.

There were people who wouldn’t come to him during the day. Oftentimes women with more personal concerns, but sometimes the occasional man who was experiencing anything from embarrassing ED, to injuries they’d ignored so that by the time they came to him, it was a salvage situation.

“Come on in,” Walt called out in English, then again more hesitantly in French and Spanish, just in case. He was supposed to be studying Arabic in his free time. Free time. Ha. One of the nurses at the clinic was local and acted as a translator. She’d taught him a few helpful phrases in Nafusi, the Berber language many of the locals spoke, but not enough for him to confidently communicate with a patient. He’d call her to come in if needed.

He listened to the sound of footsteps on concrete as he put on a fresh mask and gloves. Whoever was coming was a large person, most likely male, and wearing shoes.

It was surprising how much information something so simple as a footstep could reveal.

“Hey, Doc.”

Walt frowned in surprise and turned. A massive figure stood in the shadows just outside the door, where the overhang of the roof kept the bright light of the moon and stars from reaching.

The voice had a distinct Scandinavian accent. Danish, maybe. And it was familiar.

It took him several seconds to place it. “Oh, uh, Eric?”

Eric was the leader of the Masters’ Admiralty, a European secret society founded around the time of the Black Plague. Honestly, it hadn’t really surprised him to find out there was a secret, shadowy organization in Europe. What had surprised him was to find there was also a society in the United States—the Trinity Masters.

He and his siblings had been offered membership to both societies. Sylvia had fallen in love and moved to Europe to join the Masters’ Admiralty. Langston had joined the American secret society and then fallen in love with the couple chosen to be his trinity. They were married now and living in Texas.

Oscar had joined the Trinity Masters as well and was about to be “called to the altar” to be placed with his trinity. Not that Oscar knew that yet. Langston and the Grand Master and a few others were in the process of planning a surprise New Year’s Eve wedding.

Everyone expected Walt to follow suit—pick a society, join, and agree to an arranged ménage marriage, which was the foundation of both secret societies. Walt wasn’t in a hurry to do that.

He hadn’t had a lot of time for romance or relationships, given all his years spent in med school, with the military, and then with Doctors Without Borders, before taking over this small clinic. His career had kept him too busy to date. Regardless, he wasn’t sure he wanted someone telling him who he had to marry. Personally, he preferred to fall in love the old-fashioned way, though he’d never admitted that to his brothers, who would most likely give him shit for the romantic sentiment.

Walt had only met Eric once, and he’d found him to be irreverent, though clearly commanding.

“Yep.”

“What are you doing in Libya?”

“That’s a long story. But not why I’m here.”

“Sylvie?” It had taken Walt’s brain a moment to get over the surprise and process what Eric’s being there could actually mean.

“Your sister’s fine, but I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

In response, Eric stepped through the open door and into the electric light of the exam room.

At well over six feet and heavily muscled, his nickname of “the Viking” fit him.

Especially now.

Because Eric was covered in blood.

Walt turned to the counter, snapped up a pair of safety scissors, and started for Eric. His questions, and he had a lot, no longer mattered. All that could wait until after he found out where all that blood was coming from. Eric’s calm tone probably meant he was in shock.

He grabbed the hem of Eric’s shirt and started cutting.

The Viking grabbed his wrist, stilling his hand. “Hey, Doc. This isn’t my blood.”

He’d heard that one before. “Take a deep breath for me.” He tried to shove off Eric’s hold. “I’m here to help. I won’t hurt you.” It was absolutely horrific how many times he had to repeat that phrase on a daily basis.

“Seriously. Not my blood.” But Eric released his hand.

Walt finished cutting the shirt up the middle, then cut through the sleeves at the shoulders, quickly pulling the fabric away. The baby docs who came here to both help and learn were usually shocked by how brusque he was. He had to teach them that it was more important to get the patient into a position where they could be cared for than it was to gently remove clothes.

Given how much blood was on Eric’s upper half, Walt expected long, shallow cuts. An arterial cut and Eric wouldn’t have been upright and walking, which meant he needed to have a lot of bleeder wounds.

Instead, the man’s chest only sported a few old scars and some fresh bruises around the ribs. Walt looked at Eric’s scalp. It had to be a head wound. But there wasn’t blood on his face.

“We done with the weird foreplay?” Eric was leering at him.

Walt pushed aside his doctor instincts—which were telling him to strip off the rest of Eric’s clothes to do a complete check. “Whose blood is this?”

Eric’s expression sobered. “That’s why I need your help. Can you come with me?”

“Where?”

“I need you to patch up someone.”

“Where?”

“About half an hour from here.”

If they were bleeding this heavily, there was very little chance that the person would still be alive when they got there. Walt grimaced but grabbed his kit—a large duffel bag—and threw it over his shoulder. Eric followed him out of the exam room. Walt stopped only long enough to knock on the door of the small bunkhouse where the visiting baby docs slept, calling out that he was going out for an emergency.

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