Page 26 of The Wolf's Mate

I hate to be the one to extinguish her flame, but she needs to know everything. “Yes, but the only known cure is in Michael’s possession, and we believe he is working with the Nephilim, but we aren’t sure why.”

“What is the cure?”

“I can show you.”

There’s no hesitancy in her gaze or voice as she reaches for my hand again. It’s a soft touch. A whisper of a touch. I feel it all the same. Like fire coursing through my veins. The same fire is within her.

Hettie squeezes my hand. “Show me.”

Chapter 12

Hettie

Rip leads me out of the infirmary, but not before I pass through the rooms of sick and crying family members. My heart breaks a little, picturing the small girl next to her father’s bedside, crying into his chest. Pain and loss radiate from the building; I feel suffocated by it all.

And this is what Rip has been dealing with the entire time? Alone, at that. I at least had a family, broken as it was, but a family for support, nonetheless.

No one should have to carry this burden alone.

I know the pain of losing a loved one. The hopelessness that eats away at you until nothing remains but a shell of your former self. Life eventually goes on, and you are expected to adapt, but mentally you are still reliving the day that changed your life forever.

I couldn’t save my father, but maybe I can save someone else’s. And, if I’m lucky, maybe it will ease some of the guilt that plagues me each day.

Rip’s hold on my hand is firm but gentle. Curious eyes follow us as we walk through dirt paths. A few people stop to show their respect for Rip, and no matter how busy he appears, he makes sure to take the time to greet everyone.

It’s…unexpected.

Soon the infirmary is a speck behind me, and we arrive in a residential neighborhood. I frown, looking at the rows of weathered but well taken care of homes. My confusion only grows as Rip pulls me closer and leads us toward one of the houses.

“The cure is in here?” Then, because I watch too many crime documentaries: “Or did you come here to kill me so no one will notice?” I’m joking. Mostly.

For the first time since I’ve met Rip, the man barks out a real, genuine laugh. Which does little to disprove my murder theory but makes me oddly proud that I’m able to make him laugh.

“No, Dove, I don’t plan on killing you. The cure, or what we hope to be the cure, is in here.” Rip and I reach the door, and instead of knocking, he walks in like he owns the house. Maybe he does.

The house is one large room, though I suspect it had once been an actual home with different rooms. The wooden walls are dull and lifeless. The smell of burning incense fills the room, almost overpowering the rotting wood smell. Almost.

There’s a single threadbare couch pushed against one wall, and two large desks spanning most of the room. Each desk is piled high with both broken and non-broken pencils. Papers are scattered across the surface and underneath the desk. Different plants and vials take up the rest of the space, but nothing else stands out.

“The curse hit us unexpectedly, and we hadn’t prepared a space for mass production of wolfsbane,” Rip explains the hastily made lab. “All of the healers' space had been taken up with sick wolves. Out of sheer necessity, I put together a place for the strongest healers to work together in hopes their combined knowledge would help produce a cure. So far, we haven’t gotten far.”

We aren’t alone in this rotting cottage. Four other people are bent over a desk, all staring at a strange purple bud and talking at once. Lost in their own discussion, the team doesn’t realize we’ve walked in until Rip clears his throat.

All four heads pop up at once. It’s a motley crew composed of three women and a man. The group ranges from someone around my age to the oldest woman, who could be their great-grandmother.

They all realize at the same time who stands before them, and a chorus of “Hi, King Alpha,” greets us. The youngest man stares at our clasped hands. I don’t realize I’m still holding Rip’s hand, but now that I’m aware, I should probably take my hand back. And I would, but…my hand in his feels nice. Rip makes no move to pull away either.

Rip greets them, stopping at the oldest woman. “Lucielle, this is my mate, Hettie.”

Lucielle’s eyes widen. The woman makes her way over to me and bows her head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Luna.”

That title and bowing are going to take a while to get used to, but I return the gesture. No one gasps or seems offended by my action, so I take it as a good sign.

“Lucielle’s mate was one of the first victims of the curse. She’s been the lead healer in our search for a cure,” Rip says.

At the mention of her fallen mate, Lucielle winces. I know that pain. It cuts deep and fast, even when you think you can handle it. She wears the grief, even now.

“I wish I could have met him,” I say gently. I don’t apologize because I heard so many apologies when my father died, and it didn’t matter how many times people said it. It would not bring back my father, and it’s not like they caused his death.

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