Luan's Wolf

3. Grumpy Warriors

"Good morning!" I called into the first room of my morning rounds cheerfully. "Ready or not, it's time for breakfast."

"Fuck off!" A gravelly voice snapped in response from below the covers.

As expected. I would've worried if the reply was nice.

Isabella Cienfuegos was, in her own words, 'a tired, old bitch who has already lived far longer than she ever expected' despite only being thirty-five. Isabella had lived among humans for years, until an unfortunate run-in with werewolf hunters landed her at the gates of our castle, more dead than alive. She was almost completely healed and ready to leave now.

Despite Isabella's morning temper, I'd be sad to see her go. Having lived with humans, she wasn't like most other werewolves. Certainly not like pack warriors. At least she treated me with respect and said 'thank you' now and then.

The covers rustled, and Isabella sat up with the worst case of bedhead. I couldn't help but chuckle at the way one dark brown curl ended up pasted to her forehead.

Isabella glared at me while she tugged the disobedient curl free. "Don't laugh! You're the reason for my abysmal state."

I shot her a surprised look, playing along as I placed a tray with breakfast on Isabella's nightstand. "What? It's already eight in the morning. I let you sleep in!"

Isabella reached for the cup of coffee first. She looked at me over the edge of the cup and took a sip.

"I'm not talking about this morning. I'm talking about that ruckus last night."

I froze and Isabella raised a brow, her interest piqued.

"Hit a nerve, did I?" she asked. "Who's this new patient? I didn't hear them being wheeled into the West wing. So, did they go to the North wing... or perhaps even the East wing? Either way, it must be serious."

It was serious, alright. If even my dad didn't immediately know what to do with a patient, it was extra bad. Not to mention the identity of the man. Luan, the Alpha pair's son...

He was in my dream last night, after I left him with Dad. In the dream he was also unconscious in the twin bed, but I was beside him with my head on his chest and his scent filling my nose.

I pushed the thought away.

"I don't know what happened to the new patient," I lied. "I prepared a bed, and after that my dad dismissed me and handled it all."

Isabella's eyebrow raised further. "You think you can keep secrets from dear old Isabella? Alright then, don't tell me. It's much more fun to find out on my own, anyway."

I snorted, half-amused and half extremely worried. I didn't doubt Isabella was in fact going to ask around.

She tapped a finger to her lip. "Maybe I will start with asking those hard-eyed warriors that stomped into the West wing last night. They gave some of us here a good scare, too. Poor Petra thought they'd found her again."

I stiffened again. This time, out of anger. Petra was a frail werewolf. She had opened up to my mother about what enemy warriors had done to her, and even Mom had come out of that therapy session pale-faced.

"Did they bother you or Petra?" I asked curtly. "If so, they're leaving immediately."

"Look at you being protective, cute." Isabella smiled. "No, they didn't bother Petra. And heaven knows if they had bothered me, I would've sent them running with their tails between their legs. It's more their presence here that bothers people. Pack warriors make them anxious, you know?"