Chapter 16 Orion
God, how I want to lie. For the truth to be anything other than what it is. Mona looks directly at me when she asks about Silas, having no clue the weight of what he's done, what she's telling us.
She's so beautiful. Vulnerable but strong. Fierce and lovely. So many opposing things, I can hardly be in the same room as her without wanting to devour her, to explore every inch of her.
"Twins. Yes," I rasp.
My head is suddenly pounding. If Doc notices me spiraling, he doesn't comment, which I appreciate. His focus should be on Mona.
Doc adds, "I don't know why Silas would have done this to you. But I'm certain it was him, not Grayson, who attacked you that night."
"So… does he live here?" Her voice sounds so small. At such odds with the defiant lift of her chin as she tries to brave through.
Doc shakes his head. "No. Not anymore. In fact, Silas hasn't been seen in four—"
"Five," I correct.
"I guess it's been almost five years now. He… Well, we thought something happened to him. He just disappeared one day, like all the others."
"What others?" she asks.
"There's been a series of missing shifters over the last several years.
Some of us assumed Silas was one of the lost ones.
Mona, there's something else we need to discuss.
I'm not sure how to tell you this, but you see, wolves cannot be made.
He, Silas, couldn't have made you. Wolves, shifters—we are only born.
It is impossible to bite a human and make them a wolf. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Doc, I'm telling you, he bit me, then I became a wolf. I am not making this up." She pins him with a glare.
He holds up his hand in a placating manner.
"No, no, that's not what I'm saying. Gosh, this is only leaving me with more questions than answers, and I promise you, I will get to the bottom of this.
But it is impossible for you to have been human.
I don't know how, but I suspect Silas woke something dormant within you.
I don't know how your wolf was suppressed for so long, or why. You're how old?"
"Twenty-five."
Twenty-five. Jesus. I cough into my hand. "Sorry. Throat," I wave at my neck absently. Doc's eyes twinkle. I appreciate the levity, not that anything could take my mind off what happened to her and how she ended up in this situation.
I wonder at what point I should tell my new mate I'm a hundred and fifty.
"Don't mind him. Anyway, Mona, you could not have been human before the attack."
"So you're saying…"
"I'm saying you're not human. You never were."
I don't know what I expect when I look at her face, but annoyance wasn't on the list. She's got her head tilted down, eyes pinning Doc, lips slightly pursed. I try to rub her back, but she pulls away and hops off the bed, begins pacing the room. Doc and I just watch.
"I wasn't born like this. I wasn't," she argues.
"No, no, no. I've been sick. Nearly my entire life, I was always sick.
You see? It's not possible. Wolves can't get sick.
I figured that out after I turned. I heal crazy fast now.
After he bit me, I felt the best I've ever felt in my life.
I stopped taking my medication. I was strong. I could run, I could breathe."
"What medication?" Doc sits straighter.
She shakes her head. "I don't know. Whatever my dad gave me. Does it matter? I know I was sick, that I can't fake. After I changed, I was healthy. It's the only part of becoming a wolf that was good for my life. That, and getting Beep."
"And your father—" "Wait, who's Beep?" Doc and I ask at the same time.
"I don't want to talk about him," she dismisses both questions.
I'm so used to people kissing my ass, I'd long forgotten what it was like to have someone unimpressed by my status.
Even Doc, though he's a far more genial person, a beta with more gentle energy, is well respected not just in our community, but amongst all shifters—she just waves her hand, brushing him off.
"Okay. I'd like to take some blood. I want to run a few tests and find out why you were sick and why your wolf was suppressed. I promise I'll get you answers. You just have to trust me."
Mona slows her pacing. She crosses her arms and glares at him for a minute. Her eyes dance like she's having a conversation with herself. And then she comes to a decision, and I can't mask the relief I feel when she nods her head once.
Doc prepares to take her blood for testing. And while my mind races with questions—important ones, worrying ones—I can't help but stare. She's a complete dichotomy.
Delicate features, a heart-shaped face framed by wisps of copper hair that have escaped a messy bun.
Pillowy soft lips. The upper is a little fuller than the bottom lip, both thick and bee-stung.
Her pale skin is covered in a constellation of orange and brown freckles, which dot her rounded, soft cheeks. All marred by small cuts and bruises.
Crystal-clear blue eyes, bright and sharp as the Adriatic Sea. And they blaze with fury and annoyance, even as her pupils react to my presence. Every time she scents me, feels me, she reacts, but refuses to allow herself to be vulnerable.
Even in torn, bloody clothes, she's amazing.
Which reminds me. I duck outside the room while she and Doc keep talking.
Heather and Joey left a while ago, so the hospital is empty as I walk down the hall.
We always have stores of clothes in every communal building, and the hospital is no different.
I dig through one of the drawers near the entrance and find something clean and small enough to fit her.
When I bring it back into the room, she seems surprised.
I hold it out, like a cat holding a dead mouse—an offering for her attention and affection. Since she's finished with the blood draws, Doc directs her to a shower down the hall. She disappears for a few minutes, and while there are a million things to discuss, Doc and I sit in relative silence.
He keeps opening his mouth to say something—comment on the oddities, ask questions, who knows—but ultimately huffs and waits patiently.
Mona returns a few minutes later. She looks better.
Her skin is brighter with all the dirt and blood washed away.
Everything about her screams omega—from her petite five-foot-nothing frame to the delicate shape of her neck leading to gentle, full curves hiding beneath an oversized t-shirt. The pants fit, at least.
Her scent is stronger, too. Jasmine floral.
Sweet, with rich honey undertones. It drifts through the air, beckoning me closer.
I take a deep inhale. I could subsist on her essence alone.
There're so many layers to her. Wild and untamed.
Unknown. Floral, sweet, but with a calming omega quality, which sparkles like magic beneath it all.
Utterly perfect.
And then she yawns, and though it's barely afternoon, she's had a trying week—longer, I suspect—so I suggest we call it a day so she can get some rest.
"I'll take you to where you'll be staying while we figure things out. You'll be safe, I promise."
She eyes me skeptically, thinking about her answer before ultimately nodding.
"Doc, come by later to check on her?" I ask, though it's hardly a request. He knows if he didn't show up I'd come looking.
"Of course. Mona, more sleep will do you good. Do you need any more pain meds?"
She shakes her head. "I'm all set. I'm pretty hungry though."
"There's food where we're going." I try not to sound overly excited. Or needy, when she doesn't give me all her attention. She just nods and looks around the room, as if to say goodbye to it, before shrugging and heading outside, ahead of me. I follow like a lost pup, with Doc at my back.
Doc waves us off as I direct Mona to my truck.
The door barely shuts before she rounds on me and begins peppering me with questions.
"Is Doc really centuries old?"
I chuckle under my breath as the truck lurches over a pothole once we get going. "Yes. Six, I think."
"Holy Jesus. That's incredible. Is he… he's not an omega like me, right?"
I shake my head, confused by her question. When I glance over, the arctic flecks in her irises catch the sunlight. It takes me a second to refocus on her question. When I do, the realization of what she's asking comes to me slowly.
"Doc's a beta," I say, turning back to the road. "I guess you're new to all this. You can feel it, though, right? The hierarchy?"
"You mean the different kinds of wolves? Why some seem stronger than others?"
"Hierarchy, yeah. It's not just our scents. You can feel the power imbalance. An alpha's magic is different. It's heavier. Blazing, at times. Like the sun. A beta feels more like… a roaring fire. More stable, but still strong."
"And… there are others? In the hierarchy?" A small wrinkle forms between her eyes, and she gently bites her bottom lip.
"Deltas. Their magic flows steadily, like a light left on in a room. It's constant, but never intense. A lightbulb is not as warm as a flame. Right?"
She nods slowly. A strand of her vibrant red hair, still dark from her shower, falls across her forehead as she leans forward, waiting for me to continue. Waiting for what she really wants to know.
"And then, there are omegas." My voice softens with reverence.
"I've met a few in my life before you. The last one in our clan, she was almost as old as Doc…
she passed a long time ago. Omega's shifter magic…
It's different from the rest of ours. If an alpha's power burns like the sun, and a beta's like a bonfire, and a delta's like a lightbulb…
an omega is cool and luminous. It pulls at the rest of us, like our blood is the rising tide and the omega is the full moon we gravitate towards.
It's wild and ancient. That's an omega's power. It doesn't burn—it transforms."