Page 47 of Faith and Fury

Micah

She’s not my patient. Not my patient. Not my patient.

I can’t have it both ways, I keep telling myself. Either Faith is in my medical custody, or she’s in my custody as an alpha. Caleb made that distinction very clear.

“I’m not assigning you to be her psychiatrist.”

Someone has to be, I want to tell him. She can’t keep going on like this, chasing after a mate who may or may not be within our grasp, struggling to communicate, waking up three times a night in cold sweat. What she needs is proper rehabilitation. Somewhere she feels safe, and wanted.

A pack.

Our pack.

Suddenly my knees feel weak. I grip the kitchen counter, spinning the words around in my head.

I shouldn’t be so surprised this is what my inner alpha wants. Even before Faith’s heat, he sensed she was special. One look into those sharp blue eyes, and I knew exactly where she belonged.

Jaxon knows it too. I’m sure.

And as for Caleb …

The front door rattles. I spring to attention. “Faith?”

Almost instantly, her spiced lavender scent reaches out to me. I meet her and Jaxon in the foyer, checking them over.

“Hello to you too,” Jaxon chuffs.

I run my hands down Faith’s arms. “You’re bruised. What were you guys—?” I recoil. “Oh. What is that?”

“That would be Maverick’s stink,” Jaxon supplies. “Son of a bitch couldn’t seem to decide if he wanted to fight her or fuck her.”

It takes me a couple seconds for the words to sink in. “Wait. Does that mean the bruises—?”

“Courtesy of a quick holding cell showdown.” Jaxon darkens. “Faith versus Mav.”

Horrified, I guide Faith into the living room. “What was Caleb thinking?”

“Tell me about it.”

We sit on the couch. I ask Jaxon to grab the first aid kit. There’s nothing much to treat, but I’ll be damned if I can’t at least get some ointment on those bruises.

Faith huffs. I’m fine, she signs, slowly, so I can read it.

I try to take a breath. “Sorry. You had me worried, that’s all. It’s weird to smell another alpha all over you.”

Jaxon calls out from the bathroom—asking which kit I want. I tell him the green one, then turn back to Faith.

She’s moved. Sitting back, tilting her head to one side, her neck exposed.

Heat courses through my veins. “You okay?” I ask hoarsely.

She runs two fingers down her pulse. Then, when I don’t get the message, she does it again, harder.

My heart flutters. “Sign?”

She nods.

“What, uh … what does it mean?”

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