The Healer

CHAPTER 6

The thing about being locked in a room is that you have nothing to do but think. And thinking, as I'm discovering, is the last thing I want to do right now.

I don't sleep. How could I? Every time I close my eyes, I see Marcus's face—the confusion, the terror, the moment he realized his wolf was gone.

I hear that inhuman sound he made, the howl that died halfway out because there was no wolf to give it voice.

The chains around my wrists have grown warm from my body heat, the wolfsbane's tingle fading to a dull numbness. I've tried everything to make sense of what happened.

Replayed the moment over and over in my mind, searching for some clue, some explanation, but there's nothing.

Just the memory of that weirdness inside me surging toward Marcus like it was hungry, like it wanted something.

What if it's not absence they're sensing? What if it's present? Kade's words circle in my mind like vultures. What if he's right? What if there's something inside me that shouldn't be there? Something that feeds on wolves?

The thought makes my skin crawl. Dawn comes slowly, light creeping through the barred windows to paint the room in shades of gray and gold. I watch it spread across the floor, across the bookshelves lining the walls, and across the massive desk in the corner covered in papers and maps.

I look around Kade's quarters for the seventeenth time, and I'm locked inside it like a prisoner, like a monster they can't let loose. Maybe that's exactly what I am.

Footsteps in the hallway pull me from my spiral of self-loathing. They stop outside the door; I hear voices, muffled through the wood.

"—insane keeping her in his personal quarters—"

"—said she's his problem, his responsibility—"

"What if she does it again? What if she touches someone else?"

"—Chains are wolfsbane; they should suppress—"

"She doesn't have a wolf to suppress, you idiot."

The lock clicks and the door swings open. A woman enters, flanked by two warriors who immediately take positions on either side of the doorway.

She's older than I expected—maybe fifty or sixty, with silver threading through dark hair pulled into a practical braid. Her eyes are sharp and assessing.

She carries a leather medical bag and wears the gray robes that mark her as a healer.

"You too, get out," she says to the warriors without looking at them. "I need to examine her alone."

"The Alpha said—" one starts.

"The Alpha asked me to assess her condition. I can't do that with you two hovering like mother hens.”

“Wait in the hall. If she somehow manages to overpower a woman three times her age, you can rush in and rescue me."

Her tone is so dry that one of the warriors actually cracks a smile before catching himself.

They leave, closing the door but not locking it. The healer sets her bag on the desk and turns to study me properly. Her gaze travels from my tangled hair to my bare feet, taking in the ceremonial white dress—now dirty and wrinkled—and the chains around my wrists.

"Well," she says finally. "You've had quite the night."

I don't know what to say to that, so I say nothing. She crosses to the windows, pulling the curtains wider to let in more light.

"My name is Elena. I'm the Shadowcrest pack healer. Alpha Blackthorn asked me to examine you this morning—assess your physical condition, determine if there's anything... unusual... about your physiology."

Elena. The same name as the Nightshade healer who was kind to me. The universe has a cruel sense of humor.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Elena continues, opening her bag and pulling out various instruments. "But I need to touch and examine you. And given what happened to Marcus, I need you to tell me honestly—can you control whatever it is you do?"

"I don't know." My voice comes out hoarse. "I didn't know I could do it at all until last night."

"Fair enough." She approaches slowly, holding up her hands. "I'm going to remove the chains first. They're not doing anything except making you uncomfortable, and I need to examine your wrists. May I?"

It's the asking that undoes me. She's asking permission. Like I have a choice. Like I'm a person, not a thing. I nod, not trusting my voice.

Elena produces a key—where did she get that?—and unlocks the chains. They fall away with a soft clink, leaving red marks on my wrists where the metal pressed into skin.

"Wolfsbane irritation," Elena murmurs, gently probing the marks. "Ironic, isn't it? considering the fact they did nothing to you. Do they hurt?"

"A little."

"I'll put something on them." She pulls a small jar from her bag, unscrews the lid, and begins applying a cool salve to my wrists. Her touch is gentle, professional, and completely unafraid.

The feeling inside me stirs, reaching toward her like it reached toward Marcus. I freeze, terror shooting through me.

"It's okay," Elena says calmly, still applying the salve. "I feel it. That sensation is like something's pulling at my wolf, but it's not taking. Maybe it's because I'm prepared. Or maybe because you're not threatened. Or maybe—" she pauses, considering, "—maybe it requires skin-to-skin contact for longer than a few seconds."

"You shouldn't—" I start to pull away.

Her hand closes around my wrist—skin-to-skin now—

and holds me in place.

"I've been a healer for thirty years, child. I didn't survive this long by being cautious. Now hush and let me work."

We both wait, frozen, feeling that pull. The feeling is reaching, stretching toward her wolf-like fingers in the dark.

Ten seconds passed to become twenty, then thirty. Elena releases my wrist and steps back, her expression thoughtful.

"Interesting. I can feel my wolf. She's fine and intact, but there was definitely something... reaching. Like you said—hungry."

She makes a note in a small leather journal, her handwriting quick and efficient.

"Tell me about your first failed shift. When was it, and what did it feel like?"