Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
FERAL
I’d spent three days chasing raiders along the eastern border. In between, I’d slept maybe four hours total. I’d eaten dried meat while crouched in mud, and dealt with territorial disputes that had taken every ounce of diplomatic restraint I possessed not to solve with my fangs and claws.
All I’d wanted when I climbed those hundred and four steps was to collapse into bed and sleep for twelve hours straight.
Instead, I stood in the doorway of my father’s office and stared at glass beakers, copper coils, and Victoria Thornwick Shadowpaw humming softly as she adjusted the flame beneath a small cauldron with her magic. Her rodent was snoozing in a basket on the windowsill.
I’d barely entered this room for thirteen years. Every time I tried, I saw him sitting at the desk. I heard his voice explaining territory markers and pack law. And I felt the weight of everything I’d lost when he died and left me alpha at nineteen.
And my wife had walked in and claimed it like it was nothing.
Ignoring my snarls, she turned back to whatever she was doing with the flame.
Heat crawled up my spine. My wolf grumbled, pushing at my control. She’d walked into territory that wasn’t hers and touched things that belonged to us. She’d claimed space without permission.
Except she was right. I hadn’t used it. I hadn’t been able to.
The admission tasted bitter on my tongue.
My jaw clenched hard enough to make my teeth ache. Every argument I could think of fell apart before I could voice it. She hadn’t actually disturbed anything that mattered.
The fact that she was right about it only made me angrier.
The wooden wolf I’d carved as a boy sat on the shelf where I could see it. She’d moved it from the drawer. Set it somewhere visible, like it mattered.
She glanced up at me, that same calm expression on her face, her enchanted pen hovering beside her like some kind of tiny, judgmental witness.
“Do you have something you need to say?” she said. “Because your heavy breathing is interfering with my concentration.”
“I have nothing to say.”
“Very well.”
The sweet scent of her hit me full force. Magic and flowers. My wolf perked up. Despite his grumbling, he was pleased to be near our mate again after days away.
I shoved the thought down hard.
I should leave. Walk out. Rebuild the distance I’d spent all my days away trying to establish between us.
Instead, I stayed where I was, watching her return to her work.
She added something to the simmering cauldron and after studying the effect, dictated a notation in the journal. Moving around me, she lifted a glass vial to the light filtering through the window. The late afternoon sun caught the liquid inside, turning it amber.
“What are you making?” I asked.
“I’m testing a crystallization hypothesis.
” She held the vial higher, examining it from different angles.
“Dragon scale fragments form interesting patterns when exposed to controlled temperature variations. I’m trying to determine if the pattern formation is responsive to external magical influence or purely chemical in nature. ”
My wolf’s interest sharpened. Dragons. Our territory didn’t have dragons, but the mountain ranges did.
“And if it’s magical?” I asked.
“Then the applications for protective charms expand significantly. Dragon scales are already among the strongest natural magical conductors, but if the internal structure responds to directed magical input…” She set the vial down, turning to face me fully. “Why am I explaining this to you?”
“Because I asked.”
“You were angry thirty seconds ago.”
“I’m still angry.”
“You don’t look angry.” Her head tilted again, that analytical expression sliding across her face. “You look curious.”
The skin on the back of my neck prickled. The office smelled different now, like magic and herbs and her. My wolf approved of the change, the way our mate had marked the space without even trying.
I was not pleased about my wolf’s approval.
A strand of her hair had come loose from the bun she’d pinned it in. It fell across her cheek as she leaned over a beaker, and she pushed it back.
It fell forward again.
She pushed it back.
It fell a third time.
Before I could think better of it, I reached out and tucked it behind her ear.
The contact registered like lightning. Her skin was soft and warm, and the bond between us flared bright enough that I felt it in my chest, my fingers, and every nerve I possessed.
I yanked my hand back fast, hissing through my teeth.
She blinked up at me, her hand rising to touch where mine had been. “What did you just do?”
“Nothing.” I turned away, heading for the door. “Finish whatever you’re doing.”
I made it to the threshold before I heard her moving behind me. Papers rustling. Glass clinking. The scrape of a chair against the wooden floor.
Then she walked past me and into the sitting area.
I followed.
She stuck her head into the hallway, speaking to someone I couldn’t see. Her voice carried the same calm authority she’d used with me in the office.
“Could you bring a meal to the suite? Something substantial. Heavy protein, prepared rare. And bread. The good bread from this morning. Helen knows what I like. Some of that yummy jam too.”
“Right away,” a voice I recognized as one of the staff replied.
She stepped back into the suite, closing the door. When she turned, she caught me staring.
“You need to eat,” she said, like it was obvious.
“I was planning to.”
“After days of doing who knows what—”
“Territorial disputes. I was handling territorial disputes.”
“Alright, territorial disputes. You need specific nutrition to recover properly.”
I wasn’t sure what I thought about that. She’d ordered exactly what a wolf needed to recover full strength. The right kind of meat, the right preparation, and even bread to round out the meal. I hadn’t told her any of this. She’d figured it out herself, asked my pack, or somehow knew.
And she stated it like it was nothing. A simple logical conclusion that required no acknowledgment or thanks.
It undid something in me I wasn’t prepared to let go of.
Before I could come up with a response, she crossed the room and took my hand.
I stared down at our joined hands, her small fingers wrapping around mine, our bond humming with contentment at the contact.
“What are you doing now?” I bit out.
“Taking you to bathe.” She tugged, and I found myself following her because the alternative was yanking free, and that felt like admitting something I wasn’t ready to face. “You smell like mud and wet fur and something I suspect is blood.”
“It’s not my blood.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
She pulled me through the bedroom and into the bathing chamber. The large stone tub sat empty, but she moved to the spelled taps that would fill it with hot water, turning them on and adjusting the temperature.
“I can manage my own bath,” I said.
“I’m sure you can.” She tested the water with her hand, made a small tweak on the faucet, and turned to face me. “Please don’t fall asleep in the bathtub and drown, because it would create all sorts of complications I’d rather avoid.”
“I’m not going to drown.”
“You look half-dead on your feet.” She gestured to the tub. “Bathe. I’ll make sure you don’t die. Consider it strategic alliance maintenance.”
Despite everything, a laugh tried to work its way out of my chest. I forced it down, but she must have seen something in my expression because the corners of her mouth twitched upward.
I started stripping off my furs.
She’d seen male bodies before, probably. And if she hadn’t, well, she was about to.
I pulled my shirt over my head and caught her eyes widening before she spun fast, giving me her back.
“We’re married,” I said, working on my belt.
“I wouldn’t know, since I haven’t seen you since our wedding day.” Her voice came out perfectly level, but I heard the irritation underneath it.
Guilt did its best to lay me flat. I’d avoided her, convinced that distance was necessary. The bond didn’t matter. Strategic marriages didn’t require actual partnership.
Taking in the set of her shoulders and the way she kept her back carefully turned suggested I’d hurt her.
The knowledge sat heavy in my gut.
I stepped into the tub, sinking down into water hot enough to make every muscle I possessed groan with relief. The heat soaked into my bones, washing away three days of cold and tension.
“You can turn around now,” I said. “Unless you’re shy.”
“I’m not shy.” She pivoted, keeping her eyes firmly on my face. “I’m respecting your privacy.”
“How considerate, wife.”
I’d used the word deliberately, watching to see what she’d do.
“You’re welcome, husband.” She said it the same way she might say “specimen” or “hypothesis,” testing the word’s weight and finding it interesting but not particularly meaningful.
The casual use of “husband” hit differently than I’d expected. My wolf rumbled approval, pleased to hear our mate acknowledge the bond.
I was not happy about my wolf’s pleasure.
She pulled over a small stool, settling onto it with her hands folded in her lap. That analytical expression slid across her face again, and I recognized it now as the look she got before explaining something she found interesting.
“While you were gone,” she said, “I gathered preliminary information about the shifting sickness.”
The relaxation I’d started to feel evaporated. I bolted upright. “You what?”
“I spoke with a few members of your pack. Asked questions. Compiled data.” She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. As if she hadn’t ignored the boundaries I’d set. “I found several concerning patterns you should know about.”
“I told you not to interfere.”
“I didn’t interfere. I investigated.” She held up one finger. “First, the silverleaf treatments the affected members of your pack are taking are making them worse.”
I sat up even straighter, water sloshing over the rim. “What?”
She tutted and tossed a towel onto the floor to absorb the water.
“They weren’t including yarrow,” she said.
“Without yarrow root to activate the restorative properties, silverleaf just increases fatigue.” She said it matter-of-factly, like she was discussing weather patterns.
“I left a vial of yarrow extract with Helen. Two drops per cup of tea, steeped for four minutes. You should see improvement among those affected soon.”
I gripped the edge of the tub. “How did you—”
“I’m an apothecary researcher. It’s literally my area of expertise.” She held up a second finger. “Second, the cases cluster geographically around the northern creek tributaries. Most of the affected pack members reported first symptoms while hunting or patrolling in that specific area.”
My blood went cold.
The northern creek. I’d had issues with the northern pack since the moment I stepped into the role as king of the alphas. If there was a connection…
“Several affected members mentioned it,” she said, oblivious to the ice spreading through my chest. “But no one had thought to track the pattern until I asked.” She paused, her expression sharpening.
“I also asked whether non-shifter animals in that area were showing signs of illness or unusual behavior.”
I went still.
“If forest animals are affected too,” she said, watching my face, “then the cause isn’t a shifter-specific malady. It could be environmental. Or magical contamination of one sort or another. Something in that location that’s impacting everything exposed to it.”
A few conversations with my pack members and she’d gotten closer to solving this issue than anyone had in the year since it all started.
“You overstepped,” I said.
Her eyebrow rose. “Did I?”
“I told you not to interfere with pack business.”
“And I didn’t. I gathered information that’s relevant to a medical crisis affecting your people. My people, too, I guess, since I’m your wife.” She leaned forward. “Unless you’re saying you don’t want help solving this problem?”
I wanted the sickness gone, and my pack members healthy, whole, and able to shift again. It was torture watching wolves lose fundamental parts of themselves while I stood by, helpless.
But I also didn’t want my pack realizing I suspected we were being targeted magically. They’d panic.
“You should’ve asked first,” I said, knowing my excuse sounded weak.
“Would you have said yes?”
“No.”
“Then I made the right choice.” She stood, smoothing her skirts. “Your meal should be arriving soon. You should eat and sleep. We can discuss this more tomorrow.”
She headed for the door, and something in my chest twisted.
She left, closing the door softly behind her.
I sank deeper into the water, closing my eyes.
My wolf snarled at me, furious. Mate helped. Mate cared. Mate trying to fix pack.
And we pushed her away.
“She was interfering,” I said out loud to the empty room.
She was helping.
“She doesn’t understand pack dynamics.” Another weak excuse. My wolf huffed and slunk further into my mind.
The water had started to cool by the time I finally dragged myself out of the tub. I dried, pulled on clean clothes, and emerged into the suite to find food waiting.
My wife sat in a chair by the window, her squirrel curled in her lap, both of them watching the canopy sway in the breeze. She didn’t look at me when I entered.
I sat at the table and ate because my body demanded it, tasting nothing, aware of her presence with every breath.
I’d kept her out and still managed to lose ground.
And I couldn’t decide if I was relieved or not that I’d done it.