Page 88 of Wolf's Chance

He was giving mehealthadvice? Before I got the chance to challenge him, he turned and walked away. My palm gripped the doorway, stopping me from running after him. He was contrary and rude, but he wassafe.

He was familiar.

I wasn’t ready to face this by myself, but I also wasn’t going to be the damsel he thought I was. I wasn’t helpless. Iwouldfind out what my connection to all this was, and I would get through it like I’d gotten through every challenge life threw at me.

Alone.

“Fuck him.” I closed the door and lay down on the bed. “Fuck you, Caleb. I don’t need you.”

I’d been here almosttwo days. My sleep pattern was rubbish, but I’d still managed to get some rest. It didn’t matter how agitated I was, my brain had been trained to take sleep where it needed it. The morning after my last interaction with Caleb, when I woke up, the room seemed colder and emptier, which was ridiculous since I was the only person there.

But the silence surrounding me served as a reminder that I was alone.

Caleb had left, I knew it. If I opened my door, I wouldn’t find him sitting there.

I’d seen the doctor a couple of times since I’d been here, nothing more than what I’d expect from my own healthcare provider. It was an unspoken request that I remain in the room, and I had done so. I wasn’t brave enough to go exploring on my own.

Unfolding the cover of the sketch pad, my fingers had a slight tremble in them as I reached for the pack of pencils, and with a low exhale, I began to draw.

While I worked, I couldn’t help but notice that the bunker had an eerie stillness to it, which made an overactive imagination like mine jump at every creak that sounded. There was a blanket at the foot of the bed, and while I didn’t feel cold, I still wanted to wrap myself in the comfort of a blanket to chase off the chill that clung to my bones.

Before I sat down, I pushed the door open a little for air.That’s what I told myself, but in reality, it was so I could hear anyone approach. After all, these people were strangers. Ones who may turn against me at the drop of a hat, and that just made the fact that Caleb had abandoned me worse.

Gripping my pencil, I knew I had to stop dwelling on him. He had made his choice, and I needed to get over it. My pencil flew across the page, and it was unsurprising that familiar eyes stared back at me.

He was in the woods, and I lay unconscious at his feet. He was naked, not that his state of undress interested me. I was an artist. A professional. I hadn’t lingered over the curve of his ass at all. No, sir. Not me.

I was intent on my drawing when I heard the low murmur of voices, reminding me that I wasn’t exactly alone, and as the conversation got louder, I knew they were getting nearer.

I pulled the cover of the sketchbook over the drawing and then remembered this was why I was here, so I carefully revealed my drawing instead.

A soft knock on my open door had me turning to see the doctor and another man I didn’t know. He reminded me of Cannon, strong, large and bulky. I wondered if all shifters looked so imposing.

“Hi.” I hoped my smile looked friendly and not completely intimidated.

“Willow,” Doc greeted me, pushing the door open wider as he stepped into my space. “This is Ned. He’s here on behalf of Cannon.”

“Is he okay?”

Doc nodded. “He has other commitments this evening. He sends his apologies.”

It was already evening? Time flew when you were holed up in an underground bunker where no one could find you. “Cool.”

We entered into a three-way stare-off until Doc crossed the small space and peered at the drawing. “You’re very talented.”

“Um, thanks.” Leaning back, I made room for Ned to study my drawing.

Doc glanced at me and then back at the drawing. “This was on the journey here?” he asked.

“Uhhh…yes. I think so. I hit my head,” I explained as I pointed at my prone figure. “I guess that’s me.”

“You guess?” Ned was definitely like Cannon, zero tolerance for bullshit. The sharp intelligence in his eyes, while not as intimidating as the alpha’s, was still strong. “Why is it a guess?”

“I’m not usually something I draw.” It was true and I wanted to point out that few artists painted or drew themselves into their work, but I decided to keep the conversation short.

“It might not be you…” Doc was assessing me and trying to be subtle, but I’d had too many doctors in my life look at me like that.

“How long before my blood work is back?” I was curious as to their facilities here.

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