WIP: I Accidentally Reanimated the Billionaire's Hellhound

Chapter 1

Tuesday just past Midnight

Isobel Shipton

Dr. Isobel Shipton cleaned her glasses before trying once more to glare at the X-ray with the distinct white glow of a spinal cord, ribs, and what appeared to be an X shape of … a crucifix? Her brown eyes were wide with wonder and her brow furrowed. Looming close behind her was the hellhound’s owner, Arael Lionhart, a billionaire bachelor she hadn’t expected to walk off the cover of Paranormal Times and into her veterinarian office. In fact, her thoughts kept scattering more with each passing minute in the room with him, especially as she caught a whiff of the expense cologne.

What is that? Citrus with lavender and sandalwood?

She wasn’t sure if working the night division was a curse or a blessing tonight. It wasn’t every day a drop-dead gorgeous celebrity pleaded for you to save their dog, but the situation wasn’t looking good.

“Is it bad?” Arael’s voice had a seductive allure, even under these conditions.

“Exactly how did your hellhound get close enough to a holy relic to even eat it in the first place?” She spun around, the over six-foot-tall brute looked down at her with purple eyes and his auburn hair a messy, but stylish mop. His eyes darted to the ground in guilt. “I mean, a holy relic should’ve repelled him from entering the same room.”

“Right…” Arael's face flushed and he finally made eye contact, making Isobel catch her breath.

That cover doesn’t do him justice!

“But the relic was in the yard,” he explained.

“The yard?” She gave him a baffled expression. “But it’s a holy relic! Why would you put it in the yard? You can’t just go and buy a new one, or, maybe you could, but…” Isobel was at a lost.

How rich is he to afford to toss rare magical items into the yard like street trash?

Arael shrugged. “It was probably the fight with my ex-girlfriend and brother.”

Wasn’t he dating Artemis? As in the goddess Artemis?

Dr. Isobel took in a deep inhale, aiming to pry further or better yet, scold him for his recklessness, but the door opened. She snapped her jaw close, thankful for the intrusion. The assistant, Sandra Buttonwood was a bashful college freshman with thick rimmed glasses who found herself freezing at the sight of Arael. Those green eyes bright as she nudged her glasses up and tucked a loose lock of blonde hair behind an ear. Who could blame her at this point? Arael Lionhart was the Bachelor of the Year, a top ten business tycoon on the Gorbes list for three years running, and let’s not forget his recent movie release in that chart-topping romance. Everyone is obsessed with sharing snippets of that shower scene. Sandra’s cheeks reddened and Isobel cleared her throat, giving her a smug look of recognition: I know, he’s gorgeous, but keep it together, Sandra.

Shaking her head, Sandra recalled what she had interrupted for, “The hellhound is ready for surgery, Dr. Shipton.”

With a sigh, she turned to Arael bracing herself for what she knew was inevitable. “Being in the same room as a relic can make a hellhound horribly ill, Mr. Lionhart. Yours just ate one. I can’t make any promises on whether or not he’ll make it.”

A frown deepened on his face the expression pitiful. “I know. Just … do what you can.”

“As you wish.” With that, Dr. Shipton spun on her heel.

Washing her hands, she prepped herself for the operating room. Mask, gloves, apron, and hair cover in place, she pushed into the brightly lit room. A hellhound was ugly as sin. They reeked of sulfur and rotting flesh, though they had no rot so-to-speak. Hairless and red glowing lines made them look like a Doberman Pinscher on steroids with a severe case of mange, giving them a scaly look at times. Despite that, it looked miserable on the steel table with the oxygen tube and IV hooked up to him. Her eye caught the collar on the counter, Macula. His breathing agitated, his body fighting the relic’s holy magic which aimed to repel everything that made him a creature designed to live in Hell.

No time to waste, Izzy.

With a stroke of her scalpel, she had gained access to his stomach, and in a matter of minutes had the relic on a platter for an assistant to move to the far end of the building and out the back door. They couldn’t chance the hellhound being exposed to anymore holy magic at this stage. With precision skill and a flick of her wrist, she began sewing the beast close. Halfway down the incisions she paused as alarms began to go off.

“His heartrate just shot up,” announced Sandra.

“That’s normal for them, but what’s his temperature? That’s the deal breaker with them.” Isobel placed a hand on the hellhound’s neck and side. “He’s getting too cold!”

“It just dipped below a hundred! Grabbing the heating pads!” Sandra was studying for supernatural veterinarian science and still not well-versed in all the quirks of the supernatural pet world. “I’ll get these going! You keep stitching.”

“R-right.” Isobel went back to closing the incision, the bells and whistles silent in the wake of her focus.

“By the gods, if we kill Arael Lionhart’s hellhound…” Sandra’s voice squeaked as she started the thermometer once more.

Isobel lifted an eyebrow, “The dog ate a holy relic. It’s not like we force fed it to him.”

“But it’s ARAEL LIONHART. The one that dumped Artemis—” The thermometer beeped. “Still sitting at a hundred, Izzy.”

Tying off the stitches, she tucked the heating pad over it. “Keep trying to get his temp back to one-twenty or more. If we can’t, we’re going to lose him. It’s hard enough to heal a hellhound that’s sick from holy magic exposure but eating a holy object…”

The heart monitor filled the room with a high-pitched alarm as his vitals flatlined. Isobel’s stomach dropped.

He’s not going to make it.

She watched helplessly as the hellhound’s life faded. The thermometer beeping, the number dropping into the nineties.

I’ve failed.

It wasn’t like a normal dog where she could shock the heart back to life and resuscitate it. With magical creatures and beings, both ran on magic she didn’t have. Bile rolled up and she swallowed the bitter taste down. This was a high-profile situation she had no hope of coming back from. Anyone capable of such magic had a higher calling than veterinarian science anyhow. Any witch or magic user worth their mana would get ten times the pay at a supernatural being hospital or practice. Wasting magic on a pet seemed … ill-advised, even for Isobel’s family of talented Merkabah, or Jewish Mystics.

It would take a demon general of the highest order to revive a hellhound, or more terrifying, a necromancer.

Leaning on the operating table, she felt defeated. “I hate being talentless. If I just could use just a little ounce of magic…”

“Izzy. I can clean this up.” Sandra’s soft voice broke through the guilt rattling through Isobel. “I can tell Arael–”

“No, I’ll tell him.” The dead hellhound still seemed menacing, but it didn’t stop Isobel from petting his head and leaning in to whisper into his ear. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, Macula.” Turning to Sandra, she relented. “Just leave the body here, I’ll see what he wants me to do with the remains.”

Isobel marched out of the operating room. Tossing her gloves and apron in the large trash bin, she flew back into the room where Arael stopped pacing. Pulling her mask down to her chin, she gave him a look of sympathy. His body language made it clear he loved his hellhound, but if her experience served her well, the bigger the man, the harder they cried. Flashbacks of the time she had to tell Mr. Bonneville, a resident Sasquatch in town, that his Wompus Cat had cancer came to mind. A shudder shook her over the sounds that came out of his mouth which had set off others of his kind to call back equally mournful. She inhaled deep, holding it there in preparation for what she titled as The Hard Talk.

“That bad?” Arael leaned on the examination table. “This is my fault.”

“I’m sorry, we removed the relic, but we couldn’t keep his temperature up,” she started, speaking firmly.

This never gets any easier to do.

Isobel stiffened, their eyes locked, and her tone grew sterner. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lionhart, your hellhound didn’t make it.”

His head fell forward, leaving her with no clue to his facial expression as she stared at the top of his head, the dark locks falling in disordered waves. She waited, almost straining her ears to hear some hint of tears, or crying. Her eyes wondered over to his bicep and down his arm muscles then shot back to his head.

He’s not eye candy, Izzy! You just told him his dog died. Pull it together!

The silence was agonizing, and at last, she decided to keep the conversation flowing forward in lieu of her drooling over how breathtakingly handsome he was in person. She began pulling off the hair net and mask completely, and with another huff, started again.

“Do you want us to pack his remains up to take home with you?”  

His face shot up; no tears but panic written there. “Oh no. No, I don’t want them. You can do whatever it is you do with them. Cremate it? Bury it?” Arael waved it off, his brow dropping as he covered his mouth with a hand. “Maybe I can just tell my brother I lost him, or that he ran away. No, I don’t think he would buy that. He is the king of liars…”

Perplexed, the guilt faded away from Isobel, replaced with anger. “I thought you said this was your dog?”

“It is.” Arael puffed out his cheeks and blew out his confession. “But Macula was a gift from my brother, and well, he’s not the sort to take me killing a rare breed of hellhound so easily. Especially after barely having it a few months.”

Isobel marveled over the idea, glaring at the purple-eyed buffoon as if he were a mad man. “Mr. Lionhart, I don’t think–”

“Oh!” He locked eyes with her, and she snapped her lips closed. “How much?”

“How much?” She furrowed her brow as he came closer, the heat of his hand on her shoulder tingling and Isobel realized she came eye-level with his pecs.

Oh, for Heaven’s sake! Stop gawking!

“For the operation, the emergency visit, and the trouble?” Arael twisted, the left pec almost connecting with her nose made her face flush. “How much will this cost? I imagine even with him dying you still need to get paid. It is a business, after all.”

“Huge-Pecky-dollars.” Gasping, she covered her mouth, face red.

 He turned back with a smirk and lifted an eyebrow.

“Uh, uh, a hundred-fifty dollars.” Isobel swallowed. “For the exam.”

Where did that come from? Have I lost my mind? And my voice was so horridly loud in this echoing exam room!

Arael chuckled, pulling cash from his billfold, and mumbled, “Yea, they’re big alright.”

Isobel shook her head, the heat in her face hot enough to fry eggs. “You can pay upfront.”

With that, she turned back to the door, positive he’d heard the ridiculous comment and fully aware how red her face had become.

Why! The man just lost his dog! Why is my mouth betraying me! I’ve been single too long! My little sister Rachel foretold this moment!

“Dr. Shipton.” She froze, his voice hitting her like silken sheets. “Look at me.”

“Yes, Mr. Lionhart?” Peering over her shoulder, she fought the crushing little girl chomping at the bit within her beating heart.

I’ve been looking at you! That’s the problem!

“Thank you for everything tonight. Hope we see each other on better terms in the near future.” Arael winked, setting Isobel’s face back on fire as she shoved through the door.

The man could make any woman melt with a smile and wink like that! I’ll never look at another photo of him the same after this.