Page 84 of Grace of a Wolf 1
My mind races back to the bathroom, to standing bent over, head in the shower while Lyre rinsed my hair.
"How long did it take to heal?" she asks, separating chopsticks with a clean snap.
The question's odd, but then again, everything about Lyre is odd. "Overnight. It wasn't as bad as you'd think." Of course, then there was the next night… And the next…
Lyre hums thoughtfully, her eyes never leaving mine as she passes me a container of lo mein.
"Interesting. You had your wrist wrapped when we met, right? And it's still bruised a few days later."
I glance down at the ugly purple-green marks circling my wrist where Ellie had grabbed me. The bruises have faded slightly, and my wrist still hurts when I use it too much, but it's healing.
"So how does a terrible wound like a whipping heal overnight," Lyre continues, twirling noodles around her chopsticks, "when your wrist is still hurting days later?"
The question catches me off guard. I've never thought about it before.
"The whips weren't really that bad," I offer lamely, picking at my food.
"Bad enough to scar, though."
I fall silent, staring at the jar of scar cream as I poke at my lo mein.
"Have you had other instances where wounds healed abnormally fast?" Lyre's voice is casual, but her eyes are too sharp. She knows something.
My heart races.
"I don't think so—" I begin, then stop, remembering one. Maybe. The details are hazy. "When I was twelve, my parents died in a home invasion gone wrong."
The words are rote by now; it's my story, the one I've told several times. A summary of a bleak time in my life.
Mom and Dad died.
Three days later, Alpha picked me up.
But what happened in those three days? That's where it gets hazy. I remember being in the hospital, but I don't remember being hurt.
"Were you hurt?" Lyre asks, as if she can hear what I'm thinking.
"I don't know. Maybe. I remember being in the hospital." For some reason, I've always remembered the hospital, but I remember thinking it was because of my parents.
But I have no memory of seeing Mom or Dad in the hospital.
Pain stabs through my head as I work through the timeline, and I shake my head abruptly. Whatever secret is buried there can stay there. Mom's my mom. Dad's my dad. Maybe we should just leave it at that. "Never mind."
"Hmm." Lyre slurps a noodle louder than is necessary, pointing at my container with her chopsticks. "Eat." The word is clear, even with her mouth full.
I grab my lo mein and make my way to the dinette. The small booth offers the perfect view of the TV, a welcome distraction from the sudden bomb Lyre's thrown my way.
My head continues to ache, even though I stopped prodding at old, awful memories.
Lyre slides in across from me, her multicolored hair catching the overhead light. "Aren't you curious?"
"No." I shake my head decisively, stabbing at the noodles with my chopsticks. "Not curious at all."
Her mouth quirks up at one corner as she studies me. She reaches across with her chopsticks, fishing through her container until she plucks out a shrimp and places it deliberately on top of my noodles. "Eat more. You're going to need the energy."
The comment makes me pause mid-bite. "Why would I need energy?"
Lyre's eyes flicker toward the door. The movement is quick, but I catch it—a flash of alertness, almost like she's listening for something. "Just a feeling I have."
