Claimed by the Wrong Alphas

Rhett

Eamon tried to scramble down from my bed, but I held him.

"It’s fine, doc," I said firmly. "He’s my best friend."

"It doesn’t matter, Alpha Rhett," the Doctor Maxwell sighed. "You’re in no state to be doing that, especially with the high chances of you getting an infection increasing by the day."

The door opened again, and Sarah entered the room, her eyes going wide with fear.

"Doctor, you’re here?" she said with a placating tone. "I didn’t hear you come in."

"Didn’t I give clear instructions that he should not have any visitors?" Dr. Maxwell turned to Sarah.

"It’s not his fault, Doc, and since they are best friends, our young Alpha doesn’t have a lot of friends who visit him."

"This is different, Sarah," Maxwell said slowly. "He needs intensive care. His immune system is weak as it is, so please, no more visitors."

Then he turned to Eamon. "Leave. Now."

"C’mon, doc," I held on to a struggling Eamon.

"You think this is a damn tourist site, Rhett?" he said fiercely, looking at me before turning to face Eamon. "Does he look like he needs a schoolboy prancing around, feeding him homework?"