A Pack of Their Own novel · Chapter 2 of 32

Chapter 2: Not a Wolf's Wound

In the Moon Rise infirmary the healer stops stitching because her wounds heal wrong, Roark touches her hand, and Dad arrives to take her home; the healer slips her a note about Dunmore Ridge.

The healer had been staring at my shoulder for five minutes without touching it.

I sat on a cot in the Moon Rise infirmary with my shirt cut open and my jacket in a bloody heap on the floor.

Under the lamp, the skin where the stray's teeth had gone through was smooth and pink, with a thin white line across it.

"Hold still," the healer said, and her needle shook.

"There's nothing to stitch."

"I know."

"An hour ago I could see your collarbone."

"I know. I was there."

She put the needle down and wiped her hands on her apron.

"A wolf's body closes a wound in a day or two, and it scars. Even an Alpha's does."

She pressed two fingers beside the white line.

"This is not a wolf's wound."

My claws had gone back in on the walk over. My nails were just nails again, a little chipped.

I curled my hand into my lap anyway.

"What is it, then?"

The healer looked at the door.

"I have seen this once," she said. "A long time ago. I'm not going to say where."

Before I could ask, the door swung open and a tall man ducked through it.

It was the man from the gate.

Up close he was bigger than I'd thought, with dark hair, a scar on his chin and a denim jacket pulled over a gray shirt.

He stopped three feet from the cot and did not come closer.

His nostrils flared once.

"You smell like rain on hot stone," he said.

"That's a strange thing to say to a stranger."

"I'm sorry." His voice was low and rough. "I'm not good at this. My name is Roark. I came here for your cousin's ceremony, and I came through that gate, and I haven't been able to breathe right since."

I should have laughed. Instead my wolf stirred inside my chest, and I felt how much she wanted him.

She had been awake for barely an hour, and she already knew his name.

"Winona," I said.

"I know. I asked."

He crossed the floor. I held out my hand before I could stop myself, and he took it, bandage and all, in both of his.

The shock went up my arm and settled low in my stomach.

His thumb moved across my knuckles.

I should have pulled away. I looked at his thumb, and he looked at my face, and neither of us moved.

"Mate," he said, quieter this time.

"I don't know you."

"I know. I'd like to."

The door banged against the wall.

"Winona."

Dad stood in the doorway in his good suit with two of Dale's guards behind him.

He didn't look at my shoulder. He looked at Roark's hands around mine.

I had spent my whole life being a few steps from him at every pack function, and I had never once seen him look afraid.

He was afraid now.

"Mr. Eskildsen," Dad said. "Ironwood's heir, I believe. I'll thank you to step back from my daughter."

Roark let go of my hand slowly and stood up.

"Alpha. I smelled it the moment I saw her. She's my mate."

"She is nineteen. Her wolf has not woken."

"Alpha, I watched it wake."

"You watched a girl bleed on a lawn and smelled her blood." Dad's voice stayed flat and polite. "Ironwood has no claim on my daughter, and I won't hear another word of this."

He turned to the healer.

"You saw nothing unusual. We're grateful for your care."

The healer pressed her lips together and nodded.

"Winona, get your jacket. We're going home."

I looked at Roark.

He stood with his hands open at his sides and his jaw working.

"Say something," I said.

He took one long breath.

"Alpha," he said, and stepped out of the doorway to let my father pass.

That was it. He let Dad take my elbow, and he let the guards close in, and he said nothing at all.

I went out the door with Dad's fingers digging into my arm, and I did not look back, because I would have seen him standing there and I'd have hated both of us.

In the hallway, the healer fell into step beside me and fixed my collar.

Her hand slid into my coat pocket and came back out empty.

Dad was already ahead of us, talking into his phone.

I waited until we were outside under the open sky and put my hand in the pocket.

There was a folded square of paper in it.

Someone had written on it in pencil, in a hurry.

Ask your father about Dunmore Ridge.

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