The Wrong Groom on My Wedding Night novel · Chapter 12 of 24

Chapter 12: The Pack Fails

Pat took one look at the two of us in the doorway and decided not to say anything.

That alone told me how bad it was.

"Eleven wolves are down at the east border," she said. "Grey faces, cold hands, no fever. The healer's gone out of her mind. The clinic's full and the cots are in the corridor."

"Since when?"

"Since about four this morning." She wet her lips. "Lena, I've been counting for a month. A few down each week, never more than two. I didn't tell you because I didn't understand it. Last night it went off a cliff."

Crispin was already pulling on his boots.

His ribs were bandaged, and he moved without a limp.

"Show me," he said.

We ran.

The east border was a strip of pine and gravel behind the orchard, where the pack kept its night watch.

Wolves in grey uniform coats lay in the dirt, on stretchers, on blankets, on the bare ground.

Some were awake and staring.

Some weren't.

A young man I had danced with at the winter banquet lay with his head in his sister's lap.

His lips were blue.

"Cold," he whispered when he saw me. "Luna. I can't feel my wolf."

I knelt and took his hand.

It was ice.

"Don't," said a voice behind me, low. "Let me."

Crispin crouched beside me, set one palm on the young man's chest, and shut his eyes.

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