The Witch and the Wolf ✔️

The Infirmary

When I came to, I saw swirls of brown and pine green, and felt the warmest and safest I'd ever had, since the death of my parents. I blinked, unable to sit up because of how tightly a great many warm blankets were wrapped around me.

The memories of what happened before were blurry in my mind, reality and dreams mixing into a No-Man's Land of too much in-between.

I was in a rustic cottage-looking area, with warm lighting and hardwood floors. Standing toward the edge of the room, over a table with many medical herb dishes and materials was Huron.

As soon as my eyes found him, he turned around, startled. "You're awake."

"Where am I?"

"The Infirmary," he said as he turned around to close the door to the room. "We send our sick and injured here. Guild members usually run it."

I frowned. "I thought wolves in the Druid pack could cast spells."

He hesitated a moment. "We can. But we mostly learn combative skills, to help aid our battle training. My father, Alpha Lamar— he feels that the other magics, the less important ones, should be reserved to the Guild members, since they are still to serve and obey us in return for our protection."

A reminder of why I'd run— we'd never be equal in his eyes.

He glanced back at the box on the table, and all the dishes surrounding it. "Of course, I insisted on learning forms of healing magic."

I found the strength to sit up straight, exposing my arms to the air. "Why?"

"I felt a calling to it." His eyes lingered on the box before trailing over to me. "And, since I, as the future Alpha, will be leading the pack in military endeavors as well as day-to-day leadership, I feel that I should be able to help others on the battlefield, when we might not have time to get witches or wizards."

He hesitated a moment before reaching to my arm, his fingers still light to the touch. "I wanted to be able to heal my Luna as well, should she ever be in trouble."

"You fixed me up?" I had to admit that I was impressed. Aunt Sabrina, who was among the better healers in the Southlands Pack Guild, declared me a lost cause. Healing magic required a forgiving heart. Otherwise it doesn't work right, and it heals up all crooked and wrong.

Of course, I'd never had a forgiving heart.

"Yes," he said. "It would have been a great loss to our people, if you'd died so soon."

"Your people," I corrected.

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

I suddenly felt so exhausted. "I don't want to pretend, Huron. We both know that they will never respect me as a Luna. The Druids are not my people. They never expect me to lead them. They expect that from you because you'll be their Alpha. But I'm just your mate, the mother of your pups."

His expression darkened at the way I spat out the last role with contempt. But the shadow passed, so fleeting that I'd doubted I'd seen it.

His hand trailed down my arm, so he could hold my hand.

"I'm a witch," I said, managing to meet his eyes, pouring everything I had into my words. "The race that your kind enslaves and abuses. And I'm half human. No one will ever forgive me for being James Harrison's daughter. So stop pretending."

He frowned as he finally found my hand. "Is that why you ran away?"

I looked away, and realized that I was wearing a white shirt and pants— the color I couldn't see. I went red in the face.