Chapter 11: The Notebooks

Marla arrived at the clinic at six in the morning.

She carried a dented duffel bag and a cardboard box of notebooks.

She stood in the door with the box on her hip and looked at me.

I was in my borrowed scrubs, elbow-deep in a basin of soapy water, and I had not had coffee yet.

My wolf had come back to me the night before, rust-gold and loud under my skin, and I kept stopping mid-motion to check she was still there.

"You look terrible," she said.

"You look worse."

"I drove from Seattle in three days."

"I ate a gas station burrito in Idaho and I'm not sure it was meat."

She put the box down on the counter and burst into tears.

I dried my hands and held her until it was over.

The old woman wandered in from the back.

She took one look at us both and set a skillet on the stove.

"Eggs," she said. "Sit down, both of you."

We ate at the steel table where I had cleaned burns the day before.

Marla told me everything between bites.

The pod was in the ground, and Lydia was still living in the tower.

The elders were furious.

Nobody had seen the Alpha outside his office in a week.

"His guards say he's chained to something down in the vault," she said. "They won't say what."

I put down my fork.

"And Calvin stayed at the grave for two hours after everyone left," she added. "He just stood there."

I did not say anything to that.

"Doc." Marla wiped her mouth. "I didn't come here only to cry on you."

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