Chapter 8: Silverleaf

Garrett turned his back and walked away down the bridge.

My father stood at the line a second longer.

He looked at my stomach.

Then he looked at my face.

I waited for him to say something. Anything.

He turned and followed his Alpha.

The white SUV pulled out first, before Garrett had even reached it.

Wyatt didn't move until every Redmoor truck was gone from the river road.

Then he said, "Truck," and walked me back to it.

His hands were tight on the wheel.

At the pack house he carried me back to the infirmary bed, set me down, and stood there.

"He'll go to the Council," he said.

"I know."

"With that law, he has a case."

"I know."

"I'm not handing a pup over that bridge," Wyatt said. "Law or no law."

He said it to the wall, not to me.

Then he went out.

I slept for fourteen hours.

When I woke up the next morning, the healer was sitting by the bed shelling peas into a bowl.

"Eat," she said, and put a plate of eggs on my lap.

I ate.

Then I said, "I need you to look at something."

She brought me the duffel bag from Wyatt's office.

I dug under the scrubs and took out the green tin and put it in her hands.

"My sister made this for me," I said. "Every week for two years. She said it would help me catch."

The healer pried the dented lid off with her thumbnail.

She smelled it.

Her face didn't change, but she stopped moving.

She poured a little of the tea into her palm and spread it with one finger.

Raspberry leaf. Nettle. Dried red clover.

I knew those. I'd looked them up the first week Lacey gave it to me.

The healer picked out a tiny gray-green leaf, no bigger than a fingernail clipping.

She turned it over.

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