Chapter 11: The Source

Redwood's pack house had never looked so small.

Ewan drove, and I sat with my hands locked in my lap and watched the trees go by.

I had told myself in the truck that I wasn't going back for Corbin.

I was going back because a man was dying, and I would not let that be my doing.

Tobias met us at the front door.

He had gray circles under his eyes, and he looked at Ewan's hand on the small of my back and said nothing.

"He's upstairs," he said. "The healer's with him."

"Where's Tiffany?"

"With him. She won't leave the room."

I went up the stairs I had climbed ten thousand times.

The door to our bedroom stood open.

Corbin lay on the bed in his shirt, with his arm in a cast and a gray sweat on his face.

He looked small.

I had never once thought of him as small.

The healer was a lean man in his fifties with a white coat over a flannel shirt.

He glanced up when I came in, and his whole face changed.

"Luna," he said. "Thank the Moon. Come here, quickly. Take his hand."

Tiffany sat in the chair by the window with her tote bag in her lap.

She was holding it with both arms.

"Anneliese," she whispered. "Thank you for coming."

I didn't look at her.

I crossed the room and took Corbin's good hand.

His fingers were cold.

For a second nothing happened.

Then something ran through my arm, from the center of my chest down to my wrist.

Corbin's whole body drew in a long, shuddering breath.

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