Page 48 of A Wolf's Wound
I step into her room slowly, feeling nervous.I’m only there to lock the window, but it feels… forbidden, almost, to be in her room while she’s sleeping.I can’t help but sneak a look at her as she sleeps.
Her light brown hair is splayed across her pillow, and the scent of vanilla and citrus—her scent—beckons me closer.
Hastily, I leave her room and settle myself on the couch.I don’t remember falling asleep.One moment, I’m staring at the ceiling, grappling with my shitty life choices.The next, a raccoon is curled on top of my head, snoring away, and the sun is blasting me directly in the face from the eastern window.
“Rude,” I tell him.His fur muffles my voice, and he protests when I shove him off to the side of the couch.
Blech.I smell like raccoon.
At least Hannah’s sleeping in.It gives me time to wash my face clean of raccoon musk and fry up a few eggs while I think of the best way to convince her to leave town.Scaring her won’t work.Demanding definitely won’t.
I haven’t ruled out begging yet when Shadow approaches me.He’s clearly agitated, slamming cabinet doors open and shut.
“Hey, you’re gonna wake her up!”
He slams them harder, loudly enough to make the apartment next door bang on their wall, shouting at us to shut up.
But not loudly enough to rouse Hannah.
Dread curls in my stomach, cold and heavy.Logic finally chases it away.All the windows were locked last night.I would have sensed if anything was wrong.
Wouldn’t I?
“Hannah?”I call out.“There’s breakfast if you want it.”
No answer.
A plate clatters in the kitchen.Shadow’s munching all the eggs I made.
“Well, there was breakfast for a minute there, but your raccoon stole it.”
She could just be ignoring me, or taking a shower.When I knock on her door, she doesn’t answer.
“I’m coming in.”
I turn the doorknob easily.It’s unlocked.When I look inside, there’s nothing but a freshly made bed.
I spent all morning working on a speech to convince her to leave, but she’s already gone.
Chapter 28
Hannah
It’sarelieftofinally have a patient without a traumatic injury—Scooter, an adorable six-month-old golden Lab, is just here to figure out why he’s got red hives all over his poor chubby little body.
“Here you go, buddy.”Melinda and his owner hold him tightly as I lightly scrape at his skin to check for mites and draw some blood to run for common allergies.“Good boy.”
As usual, the owner, a stern-looking woman in her forties, looks worse off than my patient, who’s now cheerfully accepting Melinda’s ear scratches.
“Is he going to be all right?”
I want to tell her that compared to the pets we’ve been seeing lately, he’s doing stellar, but it’s a fine line between frightening the town and telling them the truth.We’ve put a flier up in the office, sanctioned by the mayor, warning clients to keep their animals locked up at night, and to bring outside animals indoors until the attacks cease.
But internally, I can’t help but worry how much worse that will make things.What if whatever shifter out there gets hungry or desperate enough to start breaking into homes?
Surely Gavin’s already on top of that.
“He’s going to be just fine.I’ll call with the results of the mite test by the end of day.The bloodwork might take a couple of days, but since you haven’t switched food and he hasn’t eaten anything new, we’ll hold off on a prescription food for now.”
