Billionaire Wolf Needs a Doctor

Book 8 of the My Grumpy Werewolf Boss series.

He’s the grumpiest patient she’s ever treated. She’s the dose of sunshine that might just heal his wounded heart.

Dr. Sabrina Wu’s medical skills are legendary among wolf shifters, which is exactly why the reclusive Logan Song needs her.

When Dr. Sabrina Wu arrives in the isolated mountain town of Angel Spring, she expects to find sick patients. But what she gets is a six-foot-four wall of muscle and attitude named Logan Song.

Logan expected a doctor, not Sabrina Wu. The cheerful doctor and the gruff loner billionaire couldn’t be more different. As they race against time to uncover the cause of the shifter sickness, the attraction between them becomes undeniable and her relentless optimism threatens to tear down the walls around his heart.

But when the illness takes a deadly turn, their fledgling romance faces its greatest test. Can Sabrina’s healing touch reach the wounded alpha beneath the growls? And will Logan let down his walls before it’s too late?

What will you get in the My Grumpy Werewolf Boss series?

• Grumpy billionaire wolf shifters
• Sunshine heroines who melt their icy hearts
• Steamy romance scenes
• Happily-ever-after endings guaranteed
• Forbidden workplace romance

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

SABRINA

The memory of the carnage after Dean Nightfang’s battle with his brother still haunted me. The air had stunk of blood and torn flesh. That moment cemented my decision. I was done with the violence, the posturing, the endless cycle of dominance and submission.

When Gladys from Discreet Talent Connections called, her voice was like a hand reaching out to me with a lifeline.

“Angel Spring,” she said. “Remote mountain town. They need a doctor.”

“What’s the catch?” My fingers tightened around the phone.

“No catch. Just a forgotten mining and timber town. And a man willing to pay handsomely for your services.”

I didn’t need to hear more. The city suffocated me, its streets choked with exhaust and constant chaos. Angel Spring sounded like a fresh start, somewhere I could breathe without city wolf pack politics crushing me.

But as I stepped onto the cracked pavement and the airport shuttle pulled out of town, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d traded one chaos for another. The mountain air was sharp and clean, but beneath it lingered something acrid and chemical. Unsettling, like ozone before a storm.

I adjusted my duffel bag strap and scanned the town. Rustic didn’t cover it. The buildings around the center of town stood weather-beaten, their sun-faded wooden walls flaking with chipped paint. Wind kicked up dust clouds, and the boarded-up windows at the town’s only gas station stared at me like empty eye sockets. Even though it was midday, I was the only person outside.

A low rumble of an engine cut through the desolate quiet. A sleek black SUV with tinted windows rolled to a stop beside me. The driver, broad-shouldered in a tailored suit that screamed money, stepped out and opened the door with practiced precision.

“Dr. Wu? Mr. Song sent me to escort you to his estate.”

I arched a brow but slid into the car. The plush seats hugged my body, and the scent of leather filled the space. It was worlds away from Angel Spring’s dusty decay outside.

The door shut with a click. No turning back now.

The SUV drove out of town before it climbed a private road uphill. I leaned forward, my breath catching as Logan’s estate came into view. The timber mansion sprawled across the ridge, a perfect blend of rugged wilderness with sleek modern design. Floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the fading sunlight, and a wraparound deck hovered over the valley. I imagined that the view of the valley from up there was breathtaking.

“Impressive,” I murmured to myself.

The driver grunted in agreement, but I barely noticed. My fingers dug into the seat edge as the house loomed closer, both inviting and intimidating. I opened the window a crack. The smell of pine and damp earth filled my nose.

“First time in the mountains?” the driver asked, eyes flicking to me in the rearview.

“First time in a place like this,” I admitted, gaze fixed on the estate. The structure screamed power, wealth, and isolation all at once.

Anticipation and unease coiled in my gut. This wasn’t just a house. It was a fortress, and I was about to step into the wolf’s den. The vehicle rolled to a stop at the entrance, and I stepped out onto the brick driveway. The place towered above me, more of a fortress than a home.

High-tech security cameras whirred, lenses tracking me. I squared my shoulders, refusing to show intimidation. The front door opened, revealing a dimly lit foyer that stretched forever.

The moment I stepped inside, the scent of cedar and leather wrapped around me. Silence greeted me, heavier than any noise in the city. I moved forward, each step on the gleaming wooden floor beneath me taking me further inside. Somewhere in the shadows, I felt him watching. Waiting.

The foyer blended raw wood and polished metal. It screamed wilderness and the wealth it took to control it. Elk antlers and other hunting trophies hung above me on the wall. And there he stood, Logan Song, centered like he owned the mountains itself. His height alone made me pause, but his eyes locked me in place. Deep brown, almost black, with amber flecks. They were sharp, cutting through the room and pinning me like prey.

“You’re the doctor?” His voice rumbled like a low growl. The hairs on my arms stood on end.

He moved like the woods had shaped him, fluid but deliberate. Too silent. Too deadly. His presence filled the room, pressing against my skin and sending a rush of awareness through my body. I’d met plenty of alphas, but something about this man felt different, wilder, more primal. The air between us crackled with electricity, and even as a human, I fought the irrational urge to bare my neck. Instead, I lifted my chin higher, refusing to be intimidated.

I took a step toward him. His nostrils flared, and his pupils definitely dilated. I had too many years as a shifter physician to miss the obvious. My new patron, the reason I’d come to Angel Spring, was a wolf shifter. Great, just fucking great. I’d moved across the country to escape warring wolf packs, and here I stood in the middle of nowhere, working for another wolf. The irony stung. I’d left Huntington Harbor to escape the politics, the violence, the endless posturing of alphas who thought fangs and claws solved everything. Yet here I was, staring into the eyes of a man who radiated dominant wolf energy.

Logan Song wasn’t just a shifter. He was the kind of alpha who carried his pain like a weapon, sharp and unyielding. I’d spent years stitching up broken wolves, but this one? He wasn’t just broken. He was a locked vault, and I doubted I had the tools to crack him open.

I straightened my shoulders, refusing to let him rattle me. “Sabrina Wu. And you must be the man who thinks he’s too important to see a doctor in person.”

His jaw clenched, irritation or maybe surprise flashed across his face. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“Funny,” I shot back. Another step closer. “Because your stance tells me you’re in pain. And if you hired me, I’m guessing it’s bad enough you can’t ignore it anymore.”

His eyes narrowed as a low rumble escaped his chest. “Bold words for someone who just walked into my territory.”

“And you’re stubborn for someone clearly hurting. So, are we going to argue, or will you let me do my job?”

His glare should have sent me scrambling. Instead, it made me more determined. Men like him, all growls and pride, were exactly why I’d sworn off alpha types. But the way his fingers gripped the doorframe? That wasn’t dominance. That was a man clinging to control by his fingernails. A predator afraid of showing weakness.

His scoff rumbled low and gravelly as he crossed his arms over his broad chest. The movement built a deliberate wall. His biceps flexed under his sleeves, corded muscle straining against fabric. “I don’t need a doctor. You’re here for the town, not me.”

I tilted my head, a small smile playing on my lips. “Well, I’m here now. Might as well make the best of it.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t speak, just gave a curt nod and gestured for me to follow with a flick of his hand. “Fine. But you better pull your weight. I’m not going to pick up your slack.”

I matched his stride, the air between us filled with unspoken words and his resistance.

“Good,” I shot back. “I’ve never backed down from a challenge.”

He glanced at me, his jaw tightening, but I caught the faintest flicker in his gaze. Curiosity, maybe.

We passed by a study. I paused near the open doors and glanced at the bookshelves lined with expensive leather-bound and hardcover books. Pretentious or obsessive? Hard to tell.

Then I saw it. A massive map of the valley covered half the wall, dotted with green and red pins and scribbled notes. Some clustered near the creek, others by old mining roads. The pins radiated out like a spreading infection. And at the center? The mountain where the Roberts Mine stood.

Logan’s shadow fell across it before I could look closer. “Later,” he growled, steering me away.

I memorized the pattern anyway. He wasn’t the only one who knew how to hunt.

Logan pushed open the guest suite door, his broad shoulders blocking most of the doorway. I stepped inside, my boots sinking into plush carpet that smelled like lavender. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed snow-capped pines, while a fire crackled inside a stone fireplace.

“This is amazing,” I gasped, taking in the room.

“Not much,” he grumbled, shoving hands into his pockets.

I dropped my medical bag onto a loveseat next to the four-poster bed and ran a hand over the hand-stitched quilt. “You call this not much? My Huntington Harbor apartment could fit in here.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. “You’ll want for nothing here.”

Logan’s shoulders stiffened as I stepped toward him. He smelled of leather and smoke, but most of all, flesh and blood from the unhealed wound he was hiding. His jaw worked, the silver streaks in his hair catching the dim light. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

I kept my voice steady, though my fingers itched for my stethoscope. “Good. Because I’m not here to babysit.” The words hung sharp as mountain air. “This town needs a doctor. And from how you favor your left side, I’d say you do too.”

His jaw ticked, but his sharp inhale told me this wasn’t just an injury. It was something his body couldn’t heal on its own. A wolf shifter’s metabolism should have healed anything other than a fatal wound in days. Whatever festered beneath his shirt wasn’t following nature’s rules.

My mind raced through the possibilities, wolfsbane poisoning, maybe a rogue witch’s curse. The medical professional in me cataloged symptoms and treatments, but something deeper responded to his suffering with unexpected protectiveness. I wanted to help him, not just as his doctor, but as something I wasn’t ready to name. I pushed that feeling down, burying it beneath years of clinical detachment. This was a job, nothing more. The last thing I needed was emotional entanglement with a broken wolf.

His glare could have iced over hell, but something flickered behind it. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.” He tossed something at me and I caught it with one hand. It was a pair of keys. “For the house and the green truck. You can call Stuart to drive you, but I figure you’ll need a way to get around on your own.”

Then he turned, boots heavy on hardwood. He closed the door behind him and left me with the echo of his warning.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders as I unlatched my medical bag. The suite felt too quiet, too pristine, like a stage set for a life Logan didn’t actually live. Outside the window, Angel Spring sprawled below, streets dotted with flickering porch lights. A town forgotten by everyone but the man who’d built a fortress above it.

I pulled out my notebook and immediately filled the pages with observations, everything from the tremor in Logan’s right hand, to the way his breath hitched when he thought I wasn’t looking. And that map. Red pins clustered like bloodstains near the creek.

A muffled curse came from the next room. I snapped my head up. Logan’s voice carried through the door. “Not your concern.”

I was halfway to the door before stopping myself. Boundaries, Sabrina. But when I peeked into the hallway, he was gone. Sitting here was doing me no good. It was time to see the clinic that I was hired to run.

The clinic’s door groaned as I shoved it open, the rusty hinges protested like they hadn’t moved in decades, which was probably accurate. Dust particles swirled in slanted sunlight. I coughed, waving a hand, and stepped inside. The air hung thick with mildew and old paper, stale with neglect.

The reception desk was littered with abandoned equipment. Underneath a thick layer of dust, there was a stethoscope, a cracked blood pressure cuff, and yellowed patient files spilling from a cardboard box. Walls lined with shelves sagged under more files, the labels faded and peeling. A phone sat on the desk, the coiled cord tangled, and beside it, an old ledger lay open, the water-stained pages filled with spidery handwriting.

The exam room fared no better. Counters were covered with outdated supplies, glass vials, rusted forceps, and a museum-worthy microscope. Crumpled papers and boxes littered the floor. Glass crunched under my boots. Like stepping into a forgotten world where time stopped and no one cleaned up.

My fingers twitched, phantom blood slick against my palms. I’d left Huntington Harbor to outrun memories, but this place opened a fresh wound. Another pack, another alpha hiding something. Only this time, I wouldn’t let violence win.

Making my way back to the reception area, I moved a box of files, stirring up a cloud of dust. I let out a cough, and as I waved away the dust, a shadow filled the front doorway. I jumped.

The man standing there was broad-shouldered and solid, like he’d spent his life wrestling the land. He wore a battered cowboy hat shading a sun-weathered face and a red plaid shirt rolled up to reveal muscle-corded forearms. His jeans were faded, boots scuffed, the scent of hay and livestock clinging to him.

“Heard we’ve got a new doc in town,” he said with a low drawl that matched his easy grin. He stepped inside, boots thudding on creaky floorboards, and extended a calloused hand. “Marshall Boone.”

I wiped my palm on my jeans before shaking his hand. His grip was firm but not crushing. “Dr. Sabrina Wu. Guess word travels fast here.”

He let out a soft chest rumbling chuckle. “Faster than a wildfire in August.” He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed as he surveyed the mess critically. “You’ll need more than a broom and hope to fix this place.” As he spoke, he rubbed his left forearm absentmindedly, but a quick glance at his skin showed angry red creeping under his sleeve. When he caught me looking, he rolled his sleeve down with a shrug. “Allergies. Damned pine pollen.”

I grabbed a rag and started scrubbing the reception desk with excessive force. “Good thing I didn’t come for a vacation.”

Marshall’s grin faded. “Logan send you?”

The way he said the name, both warning and prayer, raised the hairs on the back of my neck. This town didn’t just respect Logan. They feared him. Or feared for him. I kept my tone casual. “In a roundabout way.”

He studied me, eyes sharp beneath the brim of his hat. “That man’s got more layers than a damn onion. And most of them sting.”

I tossed the rag aside, meeting his gaze directly. “Good thing I like challenges.”

A slow nod. Then he pushed off the frame, tipping his hat. “Well, Doc, you need supplies or muscle, you can find me at Boone Ranch.”

After Marshall left, I spent the afternoon cleaning up the clinic.

I was elbow-deep in dust, scrubbing with a rag more dirt than fabric, when the door creaked again. This time, it was an elderly woman, her silver hair braided into a thick plait over one shoulder. She wore a flowing skirt and shawl embroidered with intricate patterns. The scent of sage, pine, and smoky incense wafted in with her.

“You must be the new doctor,” she said. Her voice was warm but sharp with an edge that suggested she suffered no fools. She stepped inside gracefully despite her age and surveyed the clinic critically. “Juniper. I’m the town healer.”

“Dr. Sabrina Wu. Pleasure meeting you.” I began to take off my gloves to shake her hand, but Juniper waved dismissively.

Her gaze flicked to the discarded supplies, and she let out a soft tsk. “This place hasn’t seen a proper doctor in years. But I’ve kept the town alive with my knowledge.” She reached into her skirt pocket and pulled out dried herbs, offering them to me. “For the air. Clears dust and bad energy.”

Sage and rosemary filled my nose. “Thank you. I’ve always respected traditional remedies. They’ve saved lives where modern medicine failed.”

Juniper’s eyes softened. She nodded slightly. “You’re not like the others. Most doctors think they know everything. The land has its wisdom, if you’re willing to listen.”

I smiled, tucking the herbs into my pocket. “I’m here to learn as much as heal.”

She studied me, then turned to leave. “You’ll do fine, Doctor. But remember, this town has secrets. Be careful what you unearth.”

Juniper’s words lingered even as she walked out. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the weight of what remained unsaid. Secrets. The kind festering in forgotten places, like the dust in this clinic.

I worked until my fingers ached, scrubbing away years of neglect. The sun dipped low, painting walls in gold and shadow, and again, the metallic odor sharpened. What was that?

When the last cabinet gleamed and the floor was spotlessly clean, I stepped outside into cool evening air. The clinic’s sign hung crooked, the black letters faded but legible Angel Spring Medical. I snapped a photo. Proof. A before picture.

I rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar ache of hard physical labor. This wasn’t my first rebuilt clinic. During the East Coast Pack Wars, I’d set up emergency stations in abandoned buildings, converting them to trauma centers within hours. Dean once called me a medical miracle worker, but the truth was simpler. I was stubborn as hell and refused to let patients down, regardless of circumstances.

My fingers traced my medical bag, the worn leather comforting after years of service. Inside weren’t just standard tools but specialized instruments designed for shifter physiology. I had silver-free sutures that wouldn’t burn wolf flesh, tinctures to temporarily slow shifter metabolism during delicate procedures, and painkillers strong enough to drop a human instantly. Years of research, trial and error, and quiet innovation had made me one of the few doctors truly equipped for shifter medicine.

As I drove back up the mountain toward Logan’s estate, I couldn’t help but think that somewhere in that fortress was an alpha who would rather suffer than admit that he needed help.

My phone buzzed. Dean checking in, no doubt. I ignored it, my gaze fixed on the mansion. Logan Song was hiding something. The frustration radiating from him when I mentioned his injury made that obvious.

A smile tugged at my lips. He was right about one thing. I was diving into troubled waters. But what he didn’t know was that I’d been swimming with sharks my entire career. And unlike most doctors he’d encountered, I wasn’t afraid to bare my own teeth.