Chapter 15
Over the last week, I’ve read in Stark’s office pretty much every day, changing my focus to wolf history with the humans.
There are no communication books in my own room or anything on legends.
The crowded house hasn’t calmed down, so I only exit the hallway for food.
My body’s heat is unsteady the longer I go without turning, but there’s no leaving this house.
I can’t even convince them to take me running anymore, and with the shifts, there’s a constant rotation of pack members coming in and out.
Lying in bed, the room lit by the morning sun, fire burns through my legs.
I toss the blankets off and try to cool myself.
Today isn’t a leaving-my-room kind of day.
I need the magic to calm down, and with everyone’s voices in my head, it’s a mountain of work.
Everyone has been following Stark’s rules mostly, except he’s not always here and no one is going to give him more problems. They’re a unit.
Stark enters my room, and I roll my eyes as I sit up. This is never going to stop.
“You’re not eating today?” He glances around the room.
“I need a break from all of you.” No point in denying it.
He nods and leaves with no retorts. He is so perplexing some days.
Ten minutes later, the door swings open again to Stark holding a plate. He places it on the small side table next to the chair and walks out. I call out “thank you,” as the door latches.
I guess it’s good I don’t have to starve while also burning up.
The tray is filled with all my favorite fruits, and a different warmth spreads across my chest. This one doesn’t hurt.
It’s not like the heat always hurts, but holding the magic off worsens my situation.
I finish eating up the fruit platter and go back to reading.
The day drags by, hour by hour, and no one comes looking when I miss dinner.
It’s not until I’m walking out of the bathroom that I hear a sliding sound come from near the door.
It’s well after midnight now, but a thin book rests a few feet past the door.
It’s bound in leather, the pages worn around the edges—The Tale of the Flaming Wolf.
My eyes go wide, and I slowly flip open the cover.
I run my hand over the thick ink. Written in 1807. I hum in happiness and start reading.
Dawn light filters against the walls through the edge of the curtains. I am on the last page. My eyes itch, and I keep needing to look away from the book to see the words unblurred.
While other wolves envy, in truth she protects.
I hug the book and grin. This might be the best book I’ve ever read.
I place it on the bed and climb into it. Fatigue sets in my limbs, and I rest my head against the soft pillow, then wrap my arms up around it and stretch my spine. It was worth the ache. Books are better than sleep.
After a quick rest, I open my eyes to find a bowl of salad on the side table with a glass of water.
I have a bite, then begin to reread the book again.
When night falls, I step out of the room and go into Stark’s office for a piece of paper.
I write, Thank you for this. I’ll take another, then tuck the slip inside of the front cover.
I think of sliding it under his door, but I don’t want Nikki to question anything about the subject of the book since she’s been staying here.
I assume she’s been in his room with her mate, though we haven’t crossed paths in the hallway—not that I leave this end of the house often.
Stark will find it on his desk at some point.
My stomach groans, and I accept I need to find something more to eat. Dinner should be more than done this late.
A few people sit in the pit, lounging on the couches and chatting. It’s not too bad.
Lirea comes through the front door with Faira behind her, and everyone jumps up. They drop two large boxes onto the floor.
“Who is it?” Kiya asks, moving toward the door as the others crowd around. No one follows them in.
I glance around at the panic flashing across their faces
“It’s Jocko and Tryd.” Faira says, speed-walking past us and disappearing beyond the kitchen.
“What happened?” the tallest one asks.
“We’re not sure, but let’s get ready.”
Lirea follows after Faira. The tall man lifts one box, and Mitus grabs the other.
The room hums with restless energy. My chest tightens, though I don’t move. This isn’t my place, but the earlier calm in the room is gone. What are they all waiting for? What was in the boxes they took away?
The front door swings open. Hudry and Graden step through the door with Jocko slung between them, one leg dragging. My jaw drops and blood pounds in my ears. Fire pricks my fingertips and I force myself to breathe.
I follow them to the other side of the house, into a room with two tables laid out.
Medical supplies line a side counter. They help Jocko up onto the table.
I need to help him. I step past another one of them and get closer to the table.
Faira starts cutting the bottom of his pants open, and there’s a large gash in the side of his calf.
“How can I help?” I ask Lirea.
“Everyone, out.” Faira takes charge.
“No,” Jocko croaks out. I step closer to his head, and he gives me a pain-streaked smile.
“Jocko, we need space, and this”—she eyes me—“can’t help you.”
He grunts. “Fine, but Aloka can stay if she wants.”
I nod a yes, and Faira slices through the rest of the fabric on his leg as the four others leave the room.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“Nothing. You’re only in here to keep him calm,” Faira instructs.
I shift over to the opposite side of his injured leg, and Jocko reaches out his hand. I grip it tight.
“Stark wasn’t kidding about the heat in this house being off.” Faira wipes the back of her neck with a cloth. I imagine the lake water and pull the coolness into me.
“So, guess it’s your turn to answer. What’d you get into yourself now?” I ask.
His eyes soften, then go wide, the hand in mine crushing.
“Sorry, we need to clean it,” says Lirea.
“Technically, it missed. Just a bullet,” he says.
My stomach twists, and the fury of Pratt’s bullet marks appears back under my skin.
I eye the wound. It’s something I could heal quick. With what they’re doing, it will take at least a week or two, and it could get infected. Heat rises in my hands.
Helping others will expose you, Pratt once warned.
I suck in a breath and cool the heat.
Jocko is distracted, trying to keep his breath steady as Faira opens a suture pack.
Before she finishes, the door swings open and Tryd is lifted onto the table next to him. Everyone shuffles back out, and I start handing Lirea supplies. Faira can get over her shit. Tryd’s shoulder has two graze wounds, though they are shallow enough not to need stitches.
The other men and Mitus come back to aid Tryd and Jocko to the bunk room to sleep off the pain.
“Thank you,” Lirea says after they’re done.
“It’s not a problem.”
Faira says nothing and leaves the room while we clean it up.
Weeks go by in a blur of blood and white cotton. Five are off duty. Stark has stepped into the house less than a handful of times, not that I am keeping track.
I grip a young man’s hand as Faira pulls debris from the wound on his stomach.
No one has had a penetrating bullet wound yet, but they’ve been close enough.
I keep a glass of cold water with me at all times and have been ice showering after each doctoring session if there’s time.
We’re reaching another record for me not turning, and I thought the distraction of helping the wounded would reduce the need, but the desire to use my abilities to heal them, rather than go through this slow process, is tortuous.
The magic in me agrees and keeps lashing out.
I melted the plastic on a bottle of herbs and have had to watch what I touch since.
Nikki strolls in carrying a box of new medical supplies. She huffs, lifting it to the table. “This should be enough for the next few days, if things don’t get worse.”
“Thank you.” I open the box and start sorting out supplies.
Lirea strolls in and Nikki takes a seat on the opposite table.
“How’s Stark doing?” Lirea asks. “I haven’t seen him.”
A long sigh comes from Nikki.
I move to the other side of the box. “You’ve talked to him?” I ask.
Nikki’s eyes glance down, not hiding the exhaustion we are all feeling.
“I don’t want to worry you two, but he’s stressed.
The other night, he paced for hours, trying to figure out a new plan.
You three can barely keep up with the injuries and our cohort is only so big.
Stark’s stretching himself as thin as possible, being everywhere the injured can’t be. ”
“I’m sure he’s being safe.” Lirea rests her hand on Nikki’s.
She tilts her head into her friend, and a small sob breaks into the small room. “We’re supposed to be planning a mating ceremony, not war tactics,” she sniffs.
I grab a tissue and hand it to her—even though I might be the one who needs it. That tightness in my chest creeps back as I try to remember the slow breaths Jocko coaxed me through. I haven’t talked to him alone in weeks. Every time the door opens, I listen for his voice, but nothing.
“I’m going to rest, so I can be useful tomorrow,” I say, heading for the door.
“Good plan. Night,” Lirea says with a tired smile.
Nikki nods, still wiping her eyes.
Back in my room, I drag my feet to the bathroom and lock the door. It’s time for another hair dye session. While I’m rinsing, the door to my room slams shut. A double knock comes on the bathroom door.
“I’m going to be a bit,” I say loud enough for him to hear over the running water.
“I’ll wait,” he calls from the other side.
Twenty minutes later, I close the bathroom door behind me. I didn’t get a chance to wipe everything down and he loves to ignore my privacy.
“Do you need something?”