Chapter 8
Awakened by a shaft of early morning sunlight, Sawyer rolled over in his bed, the memory of his dream lingering in his mind.
Grinning, he was sure it was a sign from the Fates, telling him it was time to leave on his long-planned trip, especially now that Quin wasn’t sleeping in the motorhome anymore.
After his friendship with Theo had blossomed, his brother had moved to a bedroom in the pack house—something Sawyer never expected him to do.
But Sawyer knew his own itchiness was caused by more than merely wanting to leave.
His other brothers were all busy—Mac had taken over as the pack’s doctor, Hunter was in France with his mate, Mason spent long hours on his computer running Beowulf Trust and Robin had left for the recording studio.
So, Sawyer found himself at loose ends, without any purpose in his life other than spending hours playing video games.
His dream was a wake-up call for him and Sawyer intended to leave as soon as he could on his trip of a lifetime.
Lying in bed, he began planning what he needed to do so he could leave in a few days and, at the top of the list, was getting permission to use the motorhome.
Considering it was just sitting in the driveway, he figured getting Mason to cut it loose wouldn’t present much of a challenge.
Picking up his phone, he sent a text to his brother, asking if he was free after breakfast for a short meeting.
Knowing Mason, he’d have a ton of questions for Sawyer to make sure all contingencies were covered.
Chuckling to himself, Sawyer googled a map of California—because where he was headed would be the first question—and answering with ‘wherever the wind takes me’ wouldn’t cut it .
Surfing! Sawyer had sussed out the best places for that even before they’d set out to visit the Blackwood Pack.
Smiling at the map on his phone, he traced a route with his finger down to Southern California—his destination—known for having a thriving surfing community and big waves.
He’d brought along the results of his research on the trip to his cousins; now it would take less than an hour to work up an itinerary detailed enough to ease all of Mason’s concerns.
Jumping out of bed, Sawyer tossed his phone onto his nightstand and then, picking up his backpack, pulled out a thick file folder.
Opening it, he sorted out the various pieces of information and then unfolded the map he’d ordered, perusing the route he’d marked.
Perfect! Just fucking perfect! Taking out his trip notebook, he began penciling in details that would reassure Mason he wasn’t going off on another wild goose chase.
~/~/~/~/~
Carson knew finding a space in front of the paranormal doctor’s building was a piece of luck, one he was grateful for. Snatching the spot, he neatly parked the SUV and then looked at Hunter in the rearview mirror. “How’s he doing?”
“Still unconscious,” Hunter replied, “but the bleeding has slowed.”
“Good. According to Dire Medical, the doctor is waiting for us,” Carson said. “Can you carry him or do you need help?”
“No, I got him,” Hunter said, opening his door and carefully sliding out to avoid jostling Henri. Then, leaning into the SUV, he gently gathered the injured shifter in his arms. “What floor is the doc on? ”
“Third,” Carson said, joining them on the sidewalk after locking the car.
Pulling open the heavy, wooden-framed, glass door, he stood back, letting the others go in before him.
“There’s an elevator in the back,” he said, leading the way and pressing the button when they got there.
It seemed like ages before the creaks and grinds ceased, but when the doors finally opened, Carson was relieved to see it was an ancient freight elevator with plenty of room for all of them.
The ride up was slow and jerky, keeping Carson on edge about Henri’s head injury; Colton’s lessons were running through his mind on an endless loop.
When the elevator doors opened, Carson saw a man standing in the hallway with a stretcher next to him. “Are you Dr. Marceau?”
“Oui,” Dr. Marceau answered, motioning for Hunter to place his patient on the stretcher. After doing a quick check of Henri’s vitals, the doctor wheeled him down the hallway and through an open door.
Following behind, Carson sent a confirmation text to Dire Medical that they’d arrived.
Once through the doorway, he found himself in a waiting room, empty except for Hunter and Fionn who were standing behind him—and a nurse sitting at a desk staring gravely at him.
“Can we see our injured friend?” he asked, pointing to a set of double doors.
“Non, non, non. I am so sorry, but you must remain here. Dr. Marceau will be out when he is finished examining your friend. In the meantime,” she said, handing Carson a clipboard, “please fill out these forms.”
Carson took a seat next to Hunter and Fionn. Frowning as he read the forms, he murmured to Hunter, “The only ones I can answer are the date and first name. ”
“Is there someone you should call?” asked Fionn quietly.
“Remy…Remy Marchant. He sent Henri so he’d know the rest of this stuff,” Carson muttered, taking his phone out of his pocket.
Turning it on, he groaned. There were six missed calls—all of them from the same French number.
“Huh, that’s strange,” he muttered. “Someone called me but didn’t leave any messages. ”
“Who was it?” asked Hunter.
“I’m not sure but I think it was Remy,” Carson replied, searching his phone contact list. Finding Remy, he realized the calls weren’t from his number. “Correction…I don’t know who the calls were from.”
“Probably someone misdialing,” Fionn said, “it used to happen to me all the time.”
“Why don’t you call your contact?” Hunter asked.
“Doing it now,” Carson replied. Then putting the phone to his ear, he waited for Remy to answer.
“Gentlemen,” the nurse announced, forcing a thin smile, “you can go back now.”
Ending the call before anyone picked up, Carson rose and walked over to the doors, pausing while waiting for Hunter and Fionn to join him, before pushing one of them open.
Using his nose, he followed Henri’s scent down a long hallway, until it ended at the door to a room in front of which stood Dr. Marceau. “How’s our friend?” asked Carson.
“I sent him for an MRI to determine the extent of damage to his skull and brain. Once I have those results, I’ll have a better idea of why he is remaining unconscious,” Dr. Marceau replied.
“Will shifting heal him?” asked Hunter .
“Maybe,” the doctor frowned. “There are different kinds of head injuries, some of which are minor, and a shift will solve the problem. But others are more severe, requiring hospitalization in order to provide the necessary treatment. I’ll need permission from a relative if that’s the procedure I recommend. ”
“I understand,” Carson said.
“You can wait in here,” the doctor said, opening the door to the room they were standing next to. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
Now in another waiting room, Carson looked around before sitting down in the lone chair, leaving the love seat for his cousin and Fionn.
Using his phone again, he redialed Remy’s number, listening to it ring.
When it finally went to voice mail, Carson left a message, briefly reciting what had happened to Henri and asking Remy to call him back.
Sighing in frustration, Carson leaned his head back against the wall, wondering if he should call Colton, but rejected it.
Yawning, he closed his eyes—the lack of sleep was catching up to him now that his adrenaline rush about living in Paris had faded.
~/~/~/~/~
After trying to reach Henri several times without success, Remy slammed down the handset of his old office phone in frustration.
Taking a deep breath, he picked it up again and dialed Dire Enterprises’ representative, Carson Blackwood, hoping for a simple answer as to why he couldn’t reach his driver.
But after a number of calls, all going unanswered, he dialed Henri’s assistant in case he knew something, but no, he hadn’t heard anything either.
Something has happened …he could feel it in his gut, but what to do about it?
Drumming his fingers on the desk, Remy began organizing the facts he knew, hoping to find some clue that would be helpful .
After going over all the possibilities, Remy wasn’t any closer to figuring out why Henri hadn’t called him to let him know about a further delay—or why Henri was ignoring his calls.
Whether it was his frustration or the feeling that Henri was in trouble, Remy couldn’t say, but suddenly his secret—the one he never spoke of—popped into his head.
My special ability! The one that only his parents knew about.
He was about Galen’s age when he first used it, not realizing it was most unusual for a warlock like him—a warlock with so little magic—to possess it.
He’d never forget the day his parents found out he’d used it, nor the fear he saw on their faces when he confessed to it.
Within two days, his parents had packed their belongings, loaded them into a van, and drove off with Remy in the middle of the night.
Sleeping through most of the trip, he had no idea where they were going, but when he woke up, he saw an old, isolated farmhouse.
Rolling down his window, shivering in the frigid air, staring at the white stuff on the ground, he remembered asking why they’d stopped there.
It was only after they’d moved in that he got an answer.
His parents sat him down in front of the blazing fire that now kept them warm, warning him never to use his ability again.
When he asked why, they told him it was too dangerous—nothing more.
From that day on, though, he followed his parents’ edict without question.
From time to time, as he grew up, he felt sorry about his lack of magic and asked his parents why his ability was so dangerous to use.
They promised to tell him when he was older, but that day never came.
By the time he graduated from the university it didn’t bother him anymore; besides which, lacking it would make living among humans easier, so he never brought up the subject again.
Now it was too late; his parents were gone, and he knew no one else to ask, leaving him in a quandary.
Mulling it over, Remy weighed the option of not using it versus using it and the possible danger that might ensue.
Of course, it would help if I knew exactly what danger I’d be in if I used it.
Dropping his head to the desk, he closed his eyes in frustration when a thought popped into his head: perhaps his ability was gone after not using it for so long—it seemed to have happened to other magical abilities he once had.
During his childhood, his mother made him do daily magic drills to learn basic spells, which he found boring.
Maybe if he were a powerful warlock, it might have been enjoyable, but with the limited magic he possessed, he was only able to perform simple tricks.
When he complained, wondering why he should even bother, his mother told him it was important to keep whatever magic he had strong and that the drills would help.
But after he enrolled at the university, Remy didn’t care about magic anymore, especially since he intended to live a life with as little magic in it as possible.
So, he stopped the drills, concentrating on his studies while learning how to interact with his human classmates.
And he never gave it another thought until Galen asked him, one day, if they could resume the magic drills he’d did with his parents before their death.
That’s when Remy found out he’d lost a lot of his adeptness at it.
Sighing, he made a mental note to look into getting Galen some simple spell books and, just maybe, if he practiced them with his brother, some of the little magic ability he’d once had, would come back.
Setting that problem aside for now, Remy went back to the one facing him—finding Henri.
If I use the magic, will I be in danger?
It was a risk he’d never take in normal circumstances.
Weighing his options, he decided to try.
Rising, he locked his office door and then, after pulling down the shade on the window overlooking the tasting room, sat down at his desk and turned off his computer and phone.
Shutting his eyes, Remy placed his hands flat on the desk, seeking to find the spark in his mind needed for him to begin.
Searching through his memories, he began to panic when he couldn’t locate it, but just when he was ready to accept that his ability was gone, a tiny white shimmer appeared from behind the wall he’d built to keep his grief at bay.
Willing it into his hands, Remy rolled it, watching it grow bigger and bigger until it was the size of a bowling ball before removing his hands and waiting until it stopped spinning.
Then, taking a deep breath, he plunged his head into it.
Ignoring the sizzling sparks of light that jabbed at his face, Remy concentrated on the person he wanted to find and, when a life force trail appeared, followed it until he reached the end.
Looking down at the scene, Remy inhaled sharply; Henri was lying in a hospital room, his head bandaged.
Knowing he had to get there at once, he started to back out of the light ball, but stopped when the door opened, and a doctor entered.
Watching him walk over to Henri, Remy waited until his examination was over, hoping to find out more about his condition.
Casting a glance towards the door when he heard it open again, Remy expected to see a nurse, but instead, three men appeared, heading toward the foot of Henri’s bed.
Giving them a fleeting glance, he was sure they were the people he sent Henri to pick up, but they appeared to be unharmed, so he focused again on the doctor.
“Gentlemen,” Dr. Marceau said, addressing the three men in the room, “I have the results of the MRI… ”
“How bad is it?” asked Carson.
Remy’s eyes flashed over to the person speaking. Oh, my gods! Stunned, Remy felt the voice penetrate his body until every part of him cried out for relief. A wolf shifter is my Fated Mate? It’s impossible! I can’t have a mate...no, no, no!