Chapter 2
Chapter two
Wren
Amerry tune escapes my lips as I perform a perimeter check of our small patch of land, whistling the whole way as I can’t stop smiling.
Today is a good day; I can hear it in the way the birds sing, and the way the sun breaks through the trees, painting the world a bright, sunny yellow.
Normally, I whistle to the vexation of my brother, Malakai, but the asshole isn’t here right now for me to irritate him.
He and Gage left early this morning to go hunting.
I scan the outer trees of our territory, remembering to brush my scent across the bark of a tree now and then to mark the area. I find nothing of interest to report, per usual.
As is always the way in the sticks.
Nothing ever happens out here. But when my brothers and I decided to move off the grid three years ago, it was a sacrifice we were willing to pay.
Our parents had died, so there was nothing left for us in the city anymore. Civilization had nothing to offer us in the end.
Honestly, I’m happier here. I’ve always loved nature, and I have far more friends here than I ever did in the city.
Friends with fur and feathers, that is. And sometimes scales and fins, too.
I'm pretty tight with the local wildlife, after all.
But sometimes, I just wish that something would happen. Anything. Even if it’s a new kind of forest friend.
It gets tedious in the sticks after a while.
I walk perpendicular to the riverbank, picking up several flowering plants to mix into my remedies. Once again, I remember to mark the area with my Alpha scent of crushed herbs, such as sage, rosemary, and thyme.
And it appears that I’m not as alone as I thought. A bird perches on a branch beside me, a sparrow to be precise, as it sings me a sweet song.
“Hello. And a good morning to you, too, sir.”
The sparrow twitters back at me, cocking its head this way and that as it observes me with its black, beaded eyes. And then it flitters away, leaving the thin branch where it took refuge jittering in its wake.
A happy sigh leaves me. “Well, goodbye then, old friend.”
He was thanking me for fixing his injured leg last spring. He got caught in one of Malakai’s careless traps, a trap I had warned him countless times would be a hazard to wildlife. And so, after some gentle coaxing, I brought the little bird to my healing hut to give him some much-needed TLC.
I’ve healed a lot of animals in my hut. And as always, they return to thank me in some manner, such as the family of hedgehogs I saved from the claws of a hawk last summer.
Now, they eat all the caterpillars that destroy our crops in gratitude.
A raven even leaves me shiny things now and then; I saved him from freezing to death last winter after he fell into the river.
As I bend to brush my scent along a tuft of grass with my fingers, a scent catches my attention. A tantalizing scent, ripe and tart... like red cherries.
It’s addictive, making my mouth water. My feet move of their own accord as they lead me towards that beautiful scent.
And soon, I’m running right towards this new, strange aroma.
Finally, something new is happening.
I was starting to grow weary of the same trees and the same woods day in and day out.
Soon, I spy the source of the cherry scent. A slumped figure, lying alone along the dark mud of the riverbank. The creature would almost be lost to the mud if it weren’t for the sliver of silver strands peeking from the dirt.
I rush to their side, bringing up a spray of mud and wet leaves as I skid to a halt before them. They’re alive, but barely as I reach across, feeling for a pulse on a warm, slender neck.
Their ribcage expands with each shallow breath, and it’s a miracle they’re even alive. They’re completely soaked right through and covered in arrows. One on the right shoulder, and another on the right leg.
Shock rips up and down the sides of my ribs. They must be in pain.
Someone hurt them.
A strange growl tears free from my throat, and my eyes widen. That sounds like a protective growl. Odd. But I push the noise aside, brushing aside a mess of muddy, silver hair that sticks to their face.
A face the exact shape of a heart greets me beneath that messy lock of silver hair. A beautiful face as sweet as her scent.
There’s no denying it now. The strange person who has washed up along the river is a woman. And not just a woman. An Omega.
An Omega without an Alpha.
Her cherry scent, tainted with pain, lingers at the top of my nose. It hovers on the roof of my mouth, blinding me to all other scents.
What on earth is she doing all the way out here? It’s a dangerous world we live in. One packed with bears and wildcats.
Yet, judging by the arrows protruding from her beautiful skin, beautiful even when streaked with dirt, then bears and wildcats are the least of her concerns.
Such predators rarely wield weapons so deadly, after all.
This little Omega is running from someone. Someone who wishes to cause her great harm. They already had a head start on that gruesome part.
Over my dead body.
Casting my eyes over her sweet, heart-shaped face with its snubbed nose and full lips, I make my choice.
She is coming with me.
I will make her better again. Just as I made half the denizens of this forest better again. The ones who return and thank me often.
My Alpha instincts kick in, and now I purr for the Omega. It rumbles in my chest, and when I press her wet, muddy cheek against my shirt, a soft sigh escapes her.
Mine.
Whoa, where did that intrusive thought come from?
Still, there’s no denying the effect that this Omega is having on my Alpha. And maybe it wasn’t a coincidence after all that she just so happened to wash up along our land.
Maybe... I was meant to find her. So that I could protect her… and make her better.
Perhaps the powers that be have decided that Pack Storm will be the ones to shelter and care for this poor creature.
Carefully, I lift her in my arms, mindful of her wounds and the awful arrows as I carry her pack to the pack house.
My brothers will be in for a real surprise when they return.
I’m sure of it.
I’ve removed the arrows. And now the Omega can sleep easily on her back as I rest her head on my very own pillow, putting her in the recovery position.
She never woke once through the whole ordeal. That’s because I was careful when removing the arrows. I cut her dress and then broke the shafts, then with my forceps, I removed the hideous arrowheads from her flesh.
Now, her taut expression with the worry lines between her fair eyebrows smooths out. And for once, she rests peacefully. Her cherry scent will get all over my sheets, but I don’t care.
So long as she gets better.
Besides, there was hardly any room for her at the healing hut. Those holding cages are simply too small for her.
With careful fingers, I finish up the last of her stitches, the one on her left thigh.
It looks like a knife wound, one that carries the distinct scent of Alpha.
His burnt ash offends my nostrils, and I bite back a growl.
If the scent of his blood on her person is any indication, then she paid him back for his kindness.
I hope she got him good. There is pain and suffering on that Alpha’s blood, after all.
She’s so small. It’s a wonder any Alpha would want to hurt her at all, and she’s as light as a bird; I felt it when I carried her up to my room.
Again, I can’t stop thinking about the brute or brutes who dared to skewer her beautiful body with arrows.
Sick bastards.
She’ll be out of it for hours, but at least she’s on the mend now.
Once I’m finished with her, I just stare at her for a while. Her head is still pressed to the pillow, my pillow, leaving a perfect indentation of her skull.
She really is a sight for sore eyes, even with muddy cheeks. She is getting mud and river water all over my bed, but I don’t care.
“Don’t worry, little sparrow. You just get better now,” I whisper, gathering up her tangle of muddy, silver hair, braiding it as best as I can. I tie the end with a string.
Once I’m finished with her hair, I grab the wet cloth from the bowl I left on her bedside, dabbing at the mud on her cheeks.
Her eyelashes flutter at my gentle touch, and my heart skips a beat when I spy a smattering of freckles on her snubbed nose.
That’s when the sound of voices snaps me out of my reverie, and now I sit upright, sucking in a deep breath.
My brothers have arrived.
I should break the news to them. No doubt they will know something is wrong the moment they approach the house.
The Omega’s scent is very strong and extremely distinctive.
I hope they understand.
I couldn’t just leave her...
It’s Malakai’s storm cloud eyes I find the moment I step downstairs, his fangs bared as he throws down a bundle of dead rabbits onto the kitchen table.
“Have you something to share with us, dear brother?” he rasps, his voice ending on a growl.
I hang my head, gazing up at my other brother, Gage, our pack lead and normally the voice of reason in our small family. However, his face is just as stern as Malakai’s now as he crosses his arms, demanding an answer from me.
My palms raise. “Look... I can explain.”
It’s Gage who speaks. “Well, you’d better start talking, Wren. We left you one job. And you only go and bring a stranger into our home.”
Yes, yes, I’m such a disappointment.
Still, I will tell them my side of the story.
I’m sure they will understand.