Page 76 of The Lone Wolf Café
No…
“Who was that man!?” I exclaimed, the words tumbling out of my mouth.
Rowena’s muscles tensed, her shoulders hunching together as she fought through another wave of pain. I squeezed my arms around her, helping her endure it, until her muscles finally relaxed.
I needed to get her help. Soon.
But I have so many burning questions. So many things I need to know…
Rowena swallowed, running the back of her hand across her face. The blood streak smeared, making it look more like a lightning bolt.
She let out a long, slow breath. “He’s my father.”
He’s your… what!?
Oh gods.It made sense. Everything made sense. My initial theory of Rowena being a werewolf hunter crumbled into dust.
I was so wrong. So utterly, horribly wrong…
“Nettie, it’s okay,” Rowena whispered in a soothing tone. “I’ll be fine. I’m not going to turn into a werewolf. Because, I’m already…”
I was an idiot. I couldn’t believe I’d almost left Rowena behind. I would’ve never found out the truth, and Rowena would’ve been left heartbroken, forever wondering what she’d done to upset me.
“Nettie… I’m so sorry. I’ve lied to you, too. It’s such a hard thing to talk about… a part of me I’m always hiding away… but I shouldn’t have to hide this from you. Because we’re the same, you and me. We’re both…”
She paused, slowly removing her injured arm from her lap and resting it against the chair.
“Here… let me just show you.”
She sat up straight, and her face went blank. I knew that look all too well. She was concentrating.
Then she disappeared.
And in her place, on the floor, I saw jet-black fur, a pair of pointed ears, and a bloody, injured front leg.
Those eyes stared up at me, the same deep chocolate brown they always were, and I knew it was really her.
Rowena was a werewolf.
Chapter Seventeen
Ispent the next twenty minutes scurrying through Rowena’s kitchen, pulling dried herbs, powders, and other remedies from the array of glass jars on the counter. Rowena walked me through each step, instructing me on which ingredients to grab, which ones needed to be soaked, and which ones needed to be ground. She did all this while still slumped in her chair, back in her human form, clutching her injured arm.
The bleeding had slowed, and the dried blood coating her arms and face had darkened from a bright, shiny crimson into a sickly brownish-black. It was brittle and dull, crusting her skin like paint.
At least her nightgown was a heavy shade of maroon. It hid the blood well, and it would be easier to get the stains out.
I needed to get her cleaned up. To fetch her new clothes and wipe the bloodstains off her body. But my top priority was finishing the poultice. Rowena swore she’d be fine, and with her herbalism skills, the smashed mixture of herbs would heal her arm within a few days.
She swore we wouldn’t need to get anyone else involved.
And I prayed she was right.
Finally, it was time to apply the poultice. I pulled another chair up next to the one Rowena was in, and set the jar of crushed and soaked herbs, plus a long skein of muslin cloth, on the end table.
According to Rowena, the process was simple: smear the strange paste over the teeth marks gouged into her skin and wrap the whole thing with the muslin cloth. She said it would need to be changed again the next day, but she’d be healed enough by then to remix the herbs herself.
As I worked, gently dabbing the strange-smelling blend that looked and felt like damp tea leaves into her skin, I decided it was finally time for questions.
