Chapter 3 #3
"Something about the way you process it. The mixing, the ratios—I don't know the details. Keer might." She shifts on the floor, careful of the wound. "All I know is wild moonbright hurts us and your paste fixes us. That's why wolves started coming to you in the first place."
"Because I accidentally invented werewolf medicine."
"Basically."
"While trying to make a nice salve for cuts."
"You're very talented."
I huff, wave a hand. "Well, yeah. We all know that. Come on."
I scrub a hand down my face. "I'm going to need a minute." I press my hand over my eyes. The bread is half-gone. My stomach is cramping around it, confused by actual food after a day and a half of nothing. "Wait. You said Keer."
"I did."
"Keer. Your brother, Keer?"
"Yes."
"The one who won't let you take certain roads. The one who grunts in three words or less. The one you complain about every single time you visit."
"Yes."
"Keer might know the details about moonbright."
"Yes."
"How? Oh—is he a healer? A WEREWOLF HEALER!
" My whole body lights up. "Oh my gosh. He would know so much.
How do medicines work on you? Because I've been dosing wolves with willow bark for pain and I have no idea if it's even doing anything or if I'm just giving them a tea and they're being polite.
And what about the yellow flower by the stream—the one with the bitter leaves?
I use it for headaches, but wolves process things differently, so does it even work?
And the bone pain—fuck, the bone pain. Shifting has to hurt.
I saw what your body did. That can't be pain-free.
Do you have something for it? Or have you just been dealing with it? Because I have things I could try—"
"Mel."
"—and I don't know if any of them would work, but there's mullein root and there's—"
"Mel."
"—a compound I make from—"
"Mel. He's not a healer."
"Oh."
I sag back against the floor.
"Then why would he know about moonbright?"
She hesitates.
"Kestria."
"My brother." Her fingers pick at the blanket edge. She's not looking at me. "He's, um. He's the—"
"The what?"
"The alpha."
I stare at her. "The alpha."
"He knows."
"He knows about everything. Mel, he—" She stops. Chooses her words. "He doesn't like it. Wolves coming to you. A human knowing where we are, what we look like, how we get hurt. It's a risk."
"But it's not like I knew. I thought I was treating wolves. Like, actual wolves. What's so wrong about that? Wolves needed help. I helped them. That's how it works." "I know." "I'm not a risk if I didn't know what I was looking at."
"I know, Mel."
"Then what's his problem? I'm a very nice and useful human—"
"Mel—"
"But they need help anyway, so they come to me. Which means he can't exactly let his own people bleed out to make a point."
"Yes."
"So he just grits his teeth and tolerates it."
"That is a very accurate description of my brother, yes."
"So what, he's—" I wave my hand, grasping. "Is he like you? I mean, obviously he's like you, you're siblings, but when he shifts—is he bigger? Do alphas work differently?"
"He's bigger. A lot bigger. Strongest in the pack. He's been alpha since he was twenty-three."
"And he's how old now?"
"Early forties."
Early forties. Someone's been running a pack of wolves for almost twenty years. Where do you even stand? Is there a rock? Do you just be tall and angry until everyone listens?
"And he's never—visited? Himself? Never come to check on the strange human who keeps patching up his people?"
"You'd have to ask him."
"Kestria."
"What? He doesn't tell me everything. He's more likely to have sent someone to check on you than come himself."
"So he's been having his people report back on me."
"Probably."
I drop my hands. Kestria's smiling now—not the guilty smile from before. An actual smile, warm and fond and so familiar it makes my chest ache.
"Would I know him? If I saw him? In human form. Have I—have I met him without knowing it?"
"No. He would never come as a human." She hesitates. "But he will be coming now. He'll want to—he has to, after what happened. With Theron."
My stomach tightens. The alpha of a werewolf pack is about to show up at my cottage and I'm covered in blood and I haven't slept and Nugget has destroyed the garden.
Great.
"Is there anything else? Any other massive life-altering revelations you'd like to drop while I'm sitting here covered in your blood?"
"I think that covers the major points."
"Werewolves are real, you're one of them, your brother runs the pack, the wolves I've been treating are people with names, and my flower paste is apparently the only medicine that works on you."
"That's about it."
"Great. Wonderful. I'm going to finish this bread and then I'm going to check on my chickens and then I'm going to have a very quiet breakdown in the garden."
"Mel."
"What."
"Are we okay?"
I look at her. Blanket. Bandages. Color in her cheeks that wasn't there twelve hours ago.
She lied. She also—
Her blood is under my fingernails.
"You apologized already."
"That's not the same as asking."
"Isn't it?"
"No."
"Mel."
"We're okay." I say it and mean it and my voice cracks on the second word. "We're okay. The wolf thing is—I told you, it's a lot. The lying is worse. But we're okay."
Her eyes go wet again. "I'm going to make it up to you."
"You're going to start by dealing with that deer when you can walk. It's been outside simmering in the sun and I'm not touching it."
"I can do that."
"And you're going to answer every question I have. No more secrets."
"No more secrets."
I stand. My knees crack. My back screams. Everything hurts and the cottage smells like blood and moonbright and candle smoke, and outside the deer is rotting and Nugget is probably plotting my death.
"I'm going to get fresh water. And check the chickens. And try to figure out what Nugget knocked over last night. Don't move."
"Where would I go?"
"Knowing you? Anywhere except where you're supposed to be."
"That's fair."
"I know it is."
I head for the door. The morning light is thin and gray, just cresting the trees. The air smells cool, clean, nothing like the cottage. Tracks near the deer carcass—something big got to it overnight. Good. Less to deal with.
Nugget is in the garden, still pink, pecking at my herbs. She's knocked over the water bucket, the feed container, and somehow dislodged three fence stakes. Impressive, honestly, for a chicken her size.
"You—are a menace."