Page 24 of The Wolf's Mate

“You wanted answers. Today is that day, but we have a lot to do. You need to wake up.” I feel like a mother trying to rouse their insubordinate teen out of bed. “Breakfast is ready too,” I say, hoping food is enough motivation to get her up.

Hettie peers over the blanket at the tray of food and sniffs the air. “Is that pancakes?”

“I believe so, yes.” I smelled the syrup earlier, so I’m just assuming. But the kitchen staff is fond of pancakes, so I’m not surprised they’re being served to us.

Hettie groans, but the promise of food gets her into a sitting position. She then looks at me expectantly, like I should know what she wants. She gives me an exasperated sigh. “What’s the point of having a bond if you don’t know I want you to get me pancakes?”

“That’s not how the bond works.” At least not yet. Right now, I can only sense each other and our emotions. Even that is faint. If we ever solidified the bond with sex, then I could communicate with her through the link only mates have.

“Well, it should,” she mutters like a child. “Do you have coffee?”

“What’s that?”

A mangled cry leaves her lips, and she simply shakes her head. “A tragedy is what that is, Rip.”

She doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t ask her to. Instead, I move to the cart and carry the tray of food to her, setting it on her lap. Hettie does this weird little shimmy and claps her hands. “Do you always have people bring you food?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.” She smiles as she digs into her meal. It fills me with immense satisfaction to see my mate stuff her face with a delicious breakfast. I doubt it’s something she had regularly back home, though I don’t know for sure. She hasn’t told me anything about her life before. Perhaps today will change that after I expose our secrets.

“What exactly are we doing today?” Hettie asks between bites of her food.

I grab my tray and sit across from her on the bed. I normally hate eating in bed out of fear I’ll leave my bed full of crumbs, but seeing Hettie so comfortable and enjoying her meal, I don’t have the heart to move.

“Our first stop will be the infirmary. That’s going to answer all of your questions.” Or at least it will answer a lot of them. I’m sure more will arise, and I’ll deal with those as they come.

“Infirmary? You mean like a hospital?” she wonders, taking a sip of the wild berry juice. She scrunches up her face after the first sip and quickly discards the cup. I don’t blame her. The juice is too sweet for my liking.

“I suppose so, yes. I want you to see what threat our pack is facing.”

I watch Hettie closely. She seems to consider my words. Questions flash across her face, and I know she wants to ask me more, but she doesn’t. Instead, she nods. “I’m ready to see.”

Unexplainable pride swells within me. My Luna is ready to meet the rest of our pack. Granted, the meeting will not be a pleasant one because I’m going to expose her to the sickness threatening my pack, but it’s necessary. After that, I will show her the better parts of this pack, and maybe—just maybe—she’ll fall in love with the people she’s meant to lead.

“We will go after you finish breakfast.”

Hettie nods, and we eat in companionable silence.

The air is crisp with the scent of citrusy cleaning soaps. Sickness and death linger in the sterilized space, creating a melancholy atmosphere. Soft cries and weak coughs travel down the hallway, reminding me once again of the troubles my pack face.

The infirmary is our largest building, spanning three stories high with about twenty small rooms per floor. Each room is equipped with its own medical supplies, while the more intensive supplies and medicines remain locked in the medical room on the first floor.

Our pack normally has around five healers and three assistant healers. When more of my pack started to move into town, more healers came with them. Right now, we house close to twenty healers and ten assistants.

I thought it would be enough.

It had been enough at the beginning.

But not anymore.

Hettie’s head swivels back and forth as we walk down the long, narrow hallway. The curtains for most of the rooms are pulled back, giving us small glimpses inside. Bodies atop cots, some barely breathing while others moan in pain. We pass a room where a mother and a young girl sit around a sickly man. His skin is pulled taut across his pale skin, making him appear skeletal. His wife leans over him, patting his head with a damp cloth. Silent tears run down her cheeks, but she still smiles at their young daughter.

“Is Papa going to die, Mommy?” I hear the small girl ask.

A strangled cry leaves the mother’s throat. I recognize her husband. A beta named Grant. He was one of the first to fall to the curse and grows worse every day. It’s a miracle he’s still with us. He’s living on borrowed time, and if nothing can be done soon, he’ll be one of the next to die.

The mother—I believe her name is Annelisa—looks up and makes eye contact with me. Her eyes are filled with so much pain and sorrow. “No, sweetie. Papa isn’t going to die. Our King Alpha is going to make sure he feels better.” The beta holds my gaze, reminding me what happens if I fail. People like Grant will die.

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