by Viola Rivard
Sarah wasn’t a bad liar, but she wasn’t an overly good one either. As Cain hadn’t seen fit to coach her on what to say to his family—or even bother telling her anything about his family, for that matter—she decided to be honest with his little sister. Mostly.
She told Clover how she and Cain had met, and how he’d agreed to take her to the nearest town in exchange for her help with a sick pack mate. She omitted the fact that she hadn’t even known he was in need of a doctor until long after he’d agreed to help her.
Clover seemed impatient as Sarah recounted the details of their trip. As Sarah was telling her about the bear chase, something she had considered to be one of the highlights of their trip, Clover cut her off.
“Are you going to be my brother’s mate?”
“His what?” Sarah replied, grimacing. She had a pretty good idea of what that meant to werewolves, but was taken aback by Clover’s readiness to brand her with the title.
Giving her an impish look, Clover said, “I can smell my brother all over you.” She stepped in front of Sarah, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know that you’ve been together.”
Sarah blushed, but didn’t let herself become flustered. She could only imagine what she must have smelled like, and there was really no point in denying it.
“I like your brother,” Sarah admitted. “I like him a lot, but I can’t be his mate. I’m just here to help, and then I have to go home.”
Now that there was a little distance between her and Cain, the words were easier for Sarah to say, and they sounded pretty believable.
Clover’s shoulders slumped. “I suppose I misunderstood,” she said with a small sigh. “I just assumed, from the way he was looking at you…”
She let the sentence hang, turning to continue walking. Sarah jogged to catch up.
Trying to sound casual, she asked, “What do you mean?”
Clover shrugged. “I dunno, I kind of thought he was in love with you or something.”
For a split-second, every muscle in Sarah’s body froze. She recovered almost instantly, marshaling her face into what she hoped was polite interest.
“That’s silly,” Sarah said, her voice a little too loud and a little too breathy.
Clover gave her a saccharine smile. “I know. It’s just that you’re exactly my brother’s type. But I guess I shouldn’t make assumptions.”
Her heart thumping loudly, Sarah asked, “What makes you think I’m his type?”
Clover stepped in front of her again. One look at the gleam in the teenager’s eyes and Sarah finally saw the resemblance between Clover and her brother. They were both predators.
“You’re in love with my brother!” Clover exclaimed, beaming triumphantly. She wagged a finger at Sarah. “I knew it!”
Sarah groaned inwardly, annoyed more with herself than anything else. ‘Love’ was definitely too strong a word for what she felt towards Cain, but she’d be lying to herself if she said there wasn’t something there.
She wasn’t about to explain the intricacies of this to a teenager. Holding up her hands and giving Clover a tired smile, she said, “Look, why don’t we talk about this another time?” She motioned down to her bare feet, which had surpassed pain and entered the realm of disturbing numbness. “I would really like to get to your den.”
Thankfully, Clover didn’t seem bothered by Sarah’s hedging of the subject. “Okay, it’s a deal,” she said brightly, before walking past Sarah.
Turning around, Sarah asked, “Where are you going?”
Clover pointed to a gathering of large stones in the distance. “The den is over there.”
Sarah squinted, following behind Clover. “Didn’t we pass those stones already?”
“We did, but I wasn’t finished talking to you.”
Okay, now she was starting to get annoyed with Clover.
On the surface, the stones appeared to be nothing more than a small hill. But underneath two large slabs was an inconspicuous entrance that was tall, but narrow. Sarah slipped in behind Clover, not the least bit put off by the dark passageway. By now, spelunking was becoming second nature to her.
Unlike the other den, there didn’t seem to be any main room in Greystone. The passageway opened into a wide corridor, only to branch off into half a dozen different tunnels. Clover veered off towards the left, pausing only briefly to take Sarah’s hand.
“It’s pretty dark down here,” she explained, guiding Sarah forward.
Rather than becoming colder, the air warmed as they descended, and as the chill left Sarah’s body, a weighty exhaustion settled over her. As soon as she was done helping out, Sarah decided, she would take a nice, long nap. Whatever there still was to sort out between herself and Cain, it could wait until later.
Flickering orange light spilled from a doorway as they neared the end of the tunnel. Sarah followed Clover into the room, surprised to find it empty. A pile of furs was heaped in one corner beside the stone wall. On the opposite side of the room was a small fire pit. Sarah wrinkled her nose at the smell of burning herbs, which hung heavy in the air.
“Is this where I’ll be sleeping?” Sarah asked.
Clover set the bag down, shaking her head. Softly, she said, “No, this is where we’re keeping Snow.”
Sarah gave her a quizzical look, before remembering that Snow was the name of the person she was supposed to be tending to.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, stretching her tired limbs beside the fire. She covered her mouth, unable to stop herself from yawning. “Is he coming down?”
Clover crouched down, motioning towards the furs. “I think she’s sleeping.”
Sarah padded over to the furs, her brow furrowing. At first, she thought that Clover was messing with her again, but leaning over, she noticed a small lump beneath the pelts, accompanied by the sound of muffled breathing. Lowering herself to the floor, Sarah reached out, carefully pulling back the blanket to reveal her patient.
16
Snow wasn’t sleeping. Her pale eyes were wide and alert as she met Sarah’s, looking more curious than afraid.
Sarah didn’t know what she had pictured when Cain told her that a member of his pack was ill, but she definitely hadn’t thought it would be a child. With her wavy black hair, porcelain skin, and delicate features, Snow looked like a china doll. Beneath a cotton shift, her small chest rose and fell as she took in shallow breaths. Sarah knew that she was totally out of her depth, but at the sight of the little girl’s labored breathing, she felt compelled to do something.
“Hello there,” Sarah said, sitting down next to the fur pallet.
Clover said, “She doesn’t talk.”
“How old is she?” Sarah asked, frowning.
The teenager gave a slight shrug. “Three?”
Sarah gave her a flat look, but didn’t comment, choosing instead to focus on Snow. She reached down, lowering her hands slowly so as not to alarm the child. Unexpectedly, Snow didn’t protest as Sarah placed a hand on her chest.
Although she had vague memories of learning about the pulmonary system in Anatomy and Physiology, Sarah had no idea how to apply that fragmented knowledge to her current situation. She held her hand on Snow for a long time, not really feeling, but rather thinking back to her memories of Wheezy Wendy.
Her cousin Wendy was three years younger than Sarah, and she’d always had very severe asthma, ever since they were kids. Wendy was her aunt’s only daughter, so when Sarah had moved in with her, they’d had to share a bedroom. Just her luck, Wendy’s symptoms had been worst at night, and she had kept Sarah up until the early morning hours with her coughing and wheezing. As she recollected her cousin’s symptoms, she fired off questions at Clover.
“How often does she get like this?”
Clover replied, “Mostly during the day, but she’s been worse since we came to Greystone.”
“Does she spend most of her time in bed?”
“She doesn’t play much with the other pups, but I think it�
�s because she’s so much smaller than them.”
“Does she ever get bronchitis?”
“Bron-what-us?”
Sarah tried to explain, but Clover just shrugged.
“I’m not sure, she’s always sick.”
“And no one’s ever taken her to a doctor?” She could tell from the way Clover looked at her that it was a dumb question. No hospital was going to treat a werewolf.
“We heal quickly and we don’t normally get sick,” Clover explained. “Doctors and medicine, they were never anything we needed until Snow came along.”
“Does she have an inhaler?” She was surprised when Clover nodded.
“Yes, but it doesn’t work.” Clover patted her hand over the furs until she found the inhaler and then tossed it into Sarah’s lap.
Examining the back, Sarah noticed that it still had a few dozen puffs left in it. “Is it broken?”
“I dunno. We spray it every morning, but I don’t think it helps.”
Sarah blinked in confusion. “What do you mean, ‘spray it’?”
Clover made a sweeping gesture with her hands. “You know, we spray it into the air. It’s supposed to help with breathing.”
“That’s not how it works,” Sarah said, grimacing.
Clover listened intently as Sarah explained how to use the inhaler. While the teenager seemed eager to learn, Sarah couldn’t help but wish there was an adult around to talk to.
“Where are her parents?” Sarah asked. “Is her mother here?”
“She’s dead,” Clover replied nonchalantly.
Sarah looked back down at Snow, a rock settling in her stomach. Was she Cain’s daughter? He had said that his mate had died. What were the odds that they weren’t the same person?
She didn’t know why the thought disturbed her so much, and she tried not to think about it as she hooked her hands under Snow’s arms, pulling the little girl up and into her lap.
Wheezy Wendy had had an inhaler when she was four, but Sarah distinctly remembered that her aunt had used a face mask to help Wendy breathe in the medicine. Without that luxury, they would have to wing it.
“All right, sweetie, I’m going to put this in your mouth,” she said to Snow. “Then I’ll count, one, two, three. When I say ‘three’ I want you to take a breath, deep as you can. Understand?”
They had to do it twice before Snow got the hang of it, but after a minute there was a marked improvement in her breathing. When Sarah placed her hand on the little girl’s chest again, her breaths were deep and even.
“That’s amazing!” Clover said, gaping at them both. “I can’t remember the last time she sounded that good.”
Sarah was both pleased and a little troubled by this. She couldn’t help but worry for Snow’s quality of life, coping with asthma while living in the wilderness.
“Do me a favor,” Sarah said, leaning back against the stone wall. “Take these pelts away and bring something clean, preferably not furry, if you have it.”
“I think there are some blankets in Meadow’s room,” Clover said, collecting the furs in her arms. She stood and headed for the door, calling out, “Be right back.”
With Clover gone, the only sounds in the room were the crackling of the fire and the gentle rise and fall of Snow’s breathing. Rather than pull away, Snow settled into Sarah’s lap, nestling her tiny head between Sarah’s breasts. It was a surprisingly comfortable position, and Sarah’s eyes were drooping by the time she heard Clover returning.
There were voices coming from the corridor, one hushed and the other sharp and grating.
She recognized Clover’s voice. “I told you, she’s a doctor.”
The second person, a feminine voice, replied, “Let us hope that she is as good at doctoring as she is at seducing our alpha.”
Sarah’s shoulders stiffened as she realized they were talking about her.
Clover reappeared first, carrying a stack of neatly folded blankets. A young woman entered behind her and hung in the doorway. She wore a sweeping silk robe and a pinched expression as she regarded Sarah with open speculation.
Sarah had no idea what the woman’s deal was, and she really didn’t care. She looked away, instructing Clover to lay the blankets out on the floor. Once the pallet was prepped, she gently pried Snow from her chest, laying the now-sleeping child down on the covers.
Offering her a hand, Clover helped Sarah up off the floor. Sarah resisted the urge to brush her jeans off, knowing it would only aggravate Snow’s asthma.
“Come on,” Clover said, motioning towards the doorway. “Let’s go get you something clean to wear.”
As they made to leave the room, Sarah glanced at the woman again. “Are you staying with her?”
“Why would I?” the woman asked, flicking bronze-colored hair over her shoulder. “She is sleeping.”
“She might have another asthma attack,” Sarah tried to reason. In truth, it was more that she didn’t want to leave Snow alone again.
The woman just stared blankly at Sarah, as if she was speaking a foreign language. Sarah opened her mouth to elaborate, but Clover cut in.
“I’ll stay with her for a little bit. Meadow, take Sarah to get some clean clothes, and be nice.”
Meadow made a face at Clover before stepping out of the room. Clover nodded for Sarah to follow her, and she did so reluctantly.
Without anything to hold on to, Sarah had only the sound of Meadow’s irritating voice to guide her down the dark passageway.
“I hope you will not be staying with us long,” Meadow said. Sarah waited for her to follow up with something less bitchy, but no such luck. “We really don’t need your help.”
Sarah didn’t bother pointing out how ignorant that statement was. Through gritted teeth, she said, “Well, don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”
“That is good news,” Meadow said, sounding more upbeat.
After turning down several different passageways, Meadow finally stopped and ducked into a squat doorway. Sarah entered behind her to find a spacious room, dimly lit by candles in makeshift wall sconces. A sheer curtain hung from the ceiling to form a canopy over the plush mattress in the center of the room. It was apparent that the room hadn’t been lived in for very long, as lumpy sacks and baskets of unpacked clothes cluttered the floor.
Meadow rooted through two of the baskets, producing several articles of clothing, which she flung behind her. Sarah caught them, a loose-fitting blue gown, an oversized t-shirt, and two mismatched socks.
“Those belong to Fern, but she hardly ever wears them,” Meadow said, coming up from the final basket. She tossed Sarah a towel and washcloth. “You really should bathe. You smell like sweat and dirt and…” She trailed off, wrinkling her nose distastefully. “Other things. Wait here. I will fetch you some water.”
17
Meadow set the steaming basin of water beside Sarah, pouring in a splash of a sweet, floral-scented liquid. Having nearly nodded off while she was waiting, Sarah stood on leaden limbs, muttering her thanks as she began to undress. She didn’t mind having to wash up with a rag. The closest she’d come to a bath since the accident had been her near-drowning, so she was glad to be able to wash up at all.
She tossed Cain’s shirt to the side, and was unbuttoning her jeans when she realized Meadow hadn’t left the room. Sarah looked back at her, arching a brow.
Meadow stood with her arms folded under her breasts, gazing at Sarah’s torso with unmitigated displeasure. Sarah followed her gaze, blinking in surprise as she noticed the scratches and bruising that marred her body.
“Cain did that,” Meadow said, before pressing her lips into a thin, white line.
Her patience already exhausted, Sarah replied, “It’s really none of your business.”
She almost regretted being so rude, but the stunned expression on Meadow’s face was too satisfying. The woman quickly sobered, giving Sarah a dirty look before storming from the room.
Happy to be rid of
her, Sarah finished undressing. The bruising extended past her hips and down her thighs, and it was a little frightening to Sarah that she didn’t remember Cain hurting her. In fact, with a degree of mortification, she could remember urging him to be rougher with her.
Goosebumps spread across the surface of her flesh as she washed up. She toweled herself off, then rinsed and dried her hair before putting on the gown. The socks were cozy, and just what her feet needed. As soon as she was dressed, Sarah hobbled over to the bedding, pulled back the canopy and fell face-first onto the mattress.
* * *
Meadow was waiting when they returned to the den, tapping her slippered foot impatiently as Cain set his son down on the floor. Caim tried to get away but Cain pushed him onto his back with a flick of a paw, lowering his head to lick Caim’s face. His pup protested noisily and kicked at Cain’s snout, but his thumping tail betrayed his excitement.
For a moment, nothing else existed for Cain, and he felt guilty for his earlier resentment towards his responsibilities. No matter how much he had enjoyed his time with Sarah, nothing could compare to being back with his son.
As she was prone to doing, Meadow shattered his peace. “Your female is sleeping in my bed.”
Was no one going to give him a proper greeting?
He stepped back a few paces, bridling his irritation as he shifted into his human form. Caim tried to run off again, but this time Fern blocked his path, scooping him up into her arms.
“She can sleep wherever she pleases,” Cain said, rubbing his jaw to ease the tension.
Meadow gave him a hard look. “So you do not deny that she is your female?”
“Okay, my little vagabond,” Fern said to the pup in her arms. “Let’s go find you something to eat.” She winked at Cain before sauntering away with his son.
Cain stared after them, his mood souring as they disappeared down a passageway. He wanted to spend time with his son, not deal with Meadow. He could not blame her, though. While Cain was not in the habit of answering to anyone, least of all her, he recognized that he owed them all an explanation.