Page 77 of Sigma
“Don’t fuck up,” he warns.
“Dad,” Cicely mutters. “Don’t ruin this moment.”
His eyes flit to her before he rolls them.
“Do my best,” I vow.
She grabs my hand and ushers me into the exam room, closing the door behind us. Tyson follows.
I kiss her. She grabs my jaw. “We’ve got this. We’re figuring it out, okay?”
I hate that she can feel my anxiety. An alpha is supposed to be the comfort and strength for his mate. She’s that for me.
“We’re in this together. We’re in everything together,” she tells me, once again knowing what I’m feeling.
I kiss the tip of her nose and turn to the others, taking the room in, particularly the ten-by-ten metal crate in the corner. It’s been lagged to the floor. I give it a rattle, and it feels solid. Inside, I see four rings lagged to the cage floor, an additional ring protruding from the back wall of the cage. There are restraints in there, too.
I blow out a long exhale.
Tyson leans against the closed door and gives me a look of reassurance.
Cat asks, “Before we chat, we’d like to take vitals, do a cheek swab, and draw some blood. Is that okay? Then we can talk while we run the numbers on my fancy new equipment.”
“Okay…” I know my voice doesn’t sound sure.
I sit on the exam table.
Mitch steps closer. “Before you shift, we can talk about the information I’ve gleaned from your pedigree. I have an explanation for your wolf. And I have an option for you to consider.”
“Okay…”
An explanation? Before he runs my numbers? A chill runs up my spine and for a change it’s not because of my wolf.
Cat says, “After we talk, we’ll ask you to get inside the crate, restrain yourself, and shift. We’ll make some observations, then we’ll jab your wolf with a sedative so we can then remove you from the cage, take measurements, and do another cheek swab and blood draw while you’re in that form.”
“Right.”
Mitch adds, “Then if you agree to it, once you regain consciousness and are again in this state, we can have you take the drug we used for the Silver Hills pack members who lost connection with their wolves. Based on the drug’s performance, it could bridge the gap between you and your animal. It’s still in trials and I can’t make any guarantees it’ll work, but it worked exceptionally well for the Silver Hills pack members as well as in another similar case I’ve read documentation on. Be aware that I don’t make guarantees there won’t be adverse reactions because we haven’t studied it in someone with your specific chemistry.”
“Already got suggested by Cat here. I’ll consider it,” I say. But I doubt I’d want to do that. Connecting myself to my monster?
Mitch says, “If you’re unwilling to try the drug after I share what I can share with you, I’ll respect it. But I must say I think it might help. I got some facts about your past from Lorenzo and Lincoln filled in some more information this morning. If the drug works to reconnect you with your animal, it could fill in gaps for you about what happened the night your alpha died. What happened to your mother and sister after.”
I swallow. “Right. My Uncle Mike, I have no regrets about, just to be clear.”
“I read the transcripts of interviews from surviving pack members, and I must agree with you there,” he says.
Michael Stone was short-tempered, frustrated, and had a real hate on for me. After he said Dad was dead, he treated my mother and sister like shit and regularly dared me to do something about it, more than happy to kick the shit out of me as a kid in front of the pack. He knew I’d grow to be stronger than he was. That I’d challenge him. He did his best to break me before I matured. If I hadn’t killed him that night, he’d havekilled me before I got a chance to challenge him and take his position.
My gut tells me Mitch knows things that could turn me inside out. But it also tells me to trust what he’s saying to me right now, that he doesn’t have other motives. And the fact that this pack takes responsibility for my wolf is huge. That he brought his mate here for this trip further demonstrates he’s a friend to this pack and wouldn’t have his mate here if they didn’t have a good relationship, even with some of the conflicts lately between the SCC and this council.
Cat asks me to open my mouth, giving me a kind smile and using a cotton swab to take a sample.
After this, I put the muzzle on my face and my mate gets behind me to fasten the straps before she moves to stand by my side, those beautiful blue eyes on me, steadying my heart while these two poke at me, draw blood, and ask medical questions with nodes attached all over my torso, on my thighs and my head.
I haven’t been to a healer. I rarely get sick and never sick enough to need help. I’ve healed from any injuries with a shift or two. I can’t answer many of their questions.
Mitch and Cat do something at the counter with microscopes, syringes of liquid, and slides as they look at the results of my cheek swab. They pour the test tube of my blood into a hematology machine. When they get their results, they look over them together before Mitch wheels a stool over to sit in front of me.
