A muffled shout and a thump jolt me awake, and I bolt up from where I'd been sleeping on the couch.
For a heartbeat, I don't remember why I'm here, and not in my big, comfortable bed. Then I remember and stumble through the dark to my room.
Flicking on the light, I blink blearily and see my bed is empty and my 'guest' is gone. Then a slight sound draws my attention, and I find him huddled in the corner between my dresser and the wall, wrapped in a tangled blanket.
He's shaking so hard I hear his teeth chatter.
"Kit?" I cross the room in a few steps and kneel at his side. "What happened?"
He stares, but doesn't answer. His eyes are wide, wild, and have a glazed, unfocused look — like he's not really seeing me.
Struck by a thought, I reach to feel his brow, but he startles and cringes away, curling in on himself with a low whine.
"Hey, it's alright," I say, as soothingly as I can, like I'm talking to a small, frightened animal. "I won't hurt you. I'm Monty, remember? You're safe here."
He gives no sign he understands, but when I reach for him again, he lets me touch his forehead and the side of his face.
As I'd thought, he's burning up.
"You got a bad fever, Kit," I say softly, rubbing a hand over his bony, bare shoulders. "We gotta get you cool. I'm gonna help you, okay?"
He shivers violently, but offers no resistance as I scoop him up — blankets and all — and carry him back to bed.
I check the makeshift bandages I'd taped over his injuries, but see no sign of fresh bleeding. Then I sit beside him on the edge of the bed, rubbing my face as I try to clear the sleep from my brain and think of what to do.
Human medicine doesn't work well on Wolves, and our blood is different enough we can't risk going to a hospital. Wolves like me and Dane wouldn't need to anyway, usually, but slow healers like my brother Noah — and Kit, apparently — have to rely on 'alternative medicine.'
Fortunately, Dane's Pack is unusual in that not all its members are Wolves. Noah's mate is a man with a dragon's soul who can heal by touch, and Chloe — while not actually Pack — is a Shifter with a lot of knowledge of herbal remedies.
It's nearly three in the morning, though, and I don't want to bother either of them for anything less than a genuine emergency.
So instead I send a text to Dane, Chloe, and Ambrose asking them all to come as soon as they can, first thing in the morning, and then I get a bowl of water and some washcloths, and spend the rest of the night trying to keep Kit cool and comfortable.
He moans and mumbles, drifting in and out of consciousness, and I can feel the heat coming off his skin. By the time dawn breaks, his breath is shallow and ragged, his pulse flutters at the base of his throat, and he hasn't been conscious in a while. I'm relieved when, at last, I hear the rumble of engines and the crunch of gravel outside.
I answer the door, rubbing grit from my sleep-deprived eyes, and greet Dane, Noah, Chloe, and Ambrose at the door.
Ambrose, the dragon's son, is Noah's mate. He's tall, pale, and noble-looking, with long wavy red-brown hair, a Scottish accent, and an attitude that makes him seem like an arrogant ass until you get to know him.
He greets me with his usual sardonic smile and lifted brows, seemingly as amused as ever by my height (he'd burst out laughing the first time Noah introduced me as his brother).
Noah himself greets me with an expression of relief.
"Hey Monty, you okay?" he asks, checking me over with a quick glance.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I say. "It's Kit who's hurt."
"Kit?" Noah frowns. "Who's Kit?"
"Didn't Dane tell you?"
"No, he didn't," Noah says, casting our brother an accusatory glance. "All he said was you 'caught a Mortaine,' and needed help. We thought you got attacked."
"What? No. And I didn't 'catch' him. I found him. Or he found me. Anyway, come in."
I hold the door as the four of them troop inside and respectfully remove their shoes.
"Why didn't you tell them?" I ask Dane as I lead the way to my room.
"Didn't wanna bias first impressions." He shrugs. "'Specially Ambrose's."
I guess this makes sense. Ambrose' dragon nature lets him see past disguises. He'd known Noah was a Wolf from the moment they met, and had even guessed at Julian's Fae heritage. He could usually tell when people lied, and when they were hiding something.
"Besides," Dane goes on, "I figured whatever the story, it's best to hear it straight from the source."
"'The source' is unconscious," I remind him, as he, Noah, and I move out of the way to let Chloe and Ambrose examine Kit.
"Not merely unconscious," Ambrose says, laying his hands on Kit's bare chest and sweat-dampened brow. "Dying, I'm afraid."
A funny feeling shocks me in the gut, like little hooks made of ice, digging deep.
"What?"
"I said he's dying," Ambrose reiterates, looking up at us, his red-brown eyes lit with their strange, inner fire. "How long's he been like this?"
"Ju–just since last night," I stammer. "Well, I mean, I found him last night. I don't know when he got hurt."
I swallow a sick feeling and cross my arms over my chest, adopting a Dane-like stance to hide my agitation.
I don't know what it is with me, but whether it's animals or people, lost puppies or injured Mortaines, I can't bear to see suffering and not help. Plus, being the one who 'found' him, I feel strangely responsible for Kit.
"Can you heal him?" I ask.
Ambrose pulls the blanket away to examine the fever-wracked form beneath.
"I can heal physical harm. The effects of poison, even. Infection is a different matter," he says. "The microorganisms causing it are perfectly 'healthy,' in their own way. I might be able to burn them out with dragonfire, but... In this state, I'd likely kill the boy, as well."
The ice hooks twist a little deeper, but Ambrose goes on.
"Fortunately, I haven't given up my day job," he adds with a wink. "I am a doctor, remember — of veterinary medicine, but a doctor, nonetheless. Between my skills and Chloe's, I think we can do some good."
Chloe sets her doe-skin medicine bag on the bed and leans over Kit, brushing sweat-dampened, honey-colored curls away from his face. Then, gingerly, she peels off the masking tape I'd used to fix the bandages in place, and examines the wounds beneath.
"Poor thing," she murmurs, her quiet voice soft. "What happened to him?"
"No idea," I say, lifting my shoulders in a shrug. "All I know is he said his name is Kit Mortaine, he thinks his sister wants him dead, and he asked for asylum here."
"These Mortaines," Ambrose asks, without looking up, "are they, er...'foxy' sort of people, then?"
"They're Wolves, like us," Noah says.
Ambrose raises a brow. "Wolves, hmm? Interesting."
"What can you tell?" Noah asks curiously, having moved to stand at his side.
"Ah, maybe nothing," Ambrose replies quietly, his accent growing more pronounced as he concentrates on Kit. "Might be he's just a little Wolf — like you, Love," he adds, slipping his arm around Noah's waist and kissing the side of his head.
Dane suppresses a frown. Noah and Ambrose have been mated a year and half now, including the time Ambrose spent in Faerie, but Ambrose still acts like it happened yesterday. I think it's sweet — no one's ever looked at me that way — but Dane thinks it's unseemly.
Maybe he doesn't realize he's the same with Julian.
"He was in Wolf form when I found him," I say, nodding at Kit. "I only got a glimpse, but he didn't seem — uh," I glance at Noah. "I mean, he seemed..."
Noah rolls his eyes at me. "It's okay, Monty. I know I'm small for a Wolf."
"Anyway, I didn't get that good a look," I finish lamely, and shift from side to side, chewing on a nail.
"Well," Ambrose sighs, straightening. "Let me fetch my equipment, and we'll get to work. In the meantime," he adds, quirking a dark brow at me and Dane, "perhaps the rest of you might wait outside."
~ ☾ ~
Taking the hint, Dane, Noah, and I retreat.
Noah sits on the rickety old bench swing on my porch, reading on his phone. He's relaxed a lot since taking Ambrose as his mate, but even dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, he still looks trim and professorial, with his gold-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
Dane paces or looks through his notes on the most recent case he's working. Our brothers, Travis and Martin, still tease him about being a P.I. They even made a mock comic book about it — Dane Hunter: Werewolf Detective! — but as I'd seen it framed in his living room, I guess he likes the idea.
As for me, I gotta keep busy, or I'll lose my mind with worry, so I make breakfast for everyone — biscuits and vegetarian gravy, and a big plate of scrambled eggs topped with shredded cheese, green onions, and salsa.
Dane grumbles about the salsa and the lack of bacon, but he eats it anyway.
After that, I make a batch of chocolate chip cookies, and then scrub my rustic little kitchen clean.
It's not that I really love to cook, or anything. It's just that being a perma-single, unmated Wolf means I've had to learn how to feed myself, over the years.
That, and I'm an emotional eater, unfortunately.
The cookies are half gone, and I've made a plate of grilled peanut-butter and banana sandwiches for lunch (which Noah flatly refuses to eat) by the time Chloe and Ambrose finally emerge.
They both look a little 'green around the gills,' as my dad would say — especially Ambrose, who experiences the pain of those he heals. Noah goes to him, offering his mate support, and helps him over to the couch.
"Well?" I ask, unable to keep the anxiety from my voice or stop myself from twisting my hands together anxiously. "Will he be okay?"
"Aye," Ambrose sighs, pulling Noah down to sit at his side as he leans into the cushions and shuts his eyes. "I reckon he will, now."
"He's still weak," Chloe says, her voice soft but clear. "He's quite malnourished, and it seems he's been badly mistreated."
"Makes sense," Dane grunts. "I've never seen infection take hold like that in a healthy Wolf."
"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" Ambrose murmurs, eyes still closed. "Infection being a sign of illness, and not health."
Dane glowers, which has no effect as Ambrose can't see it.
"I mean in a strong, fit Wolf," he clarifies.
"Agreed," Chloe says, disarming the tension. "We've mended his injuries, but true 'healing' will take some time, I think."
"Can we talk to him?" Dane asks. "Can we wake him up?"
"You could," Ambrose says wearily, "but as his would-be physician, I must recommend against it."
"Hmm. And as alpha of this territory, I need to know what's what," Dane replies. "Chloe?"
"I agree with Ambrose," she says, her voice quiet but firm. "He should rest. However, this concerns my clan as well. This is our territory, too, and the Mortaines have threatened us before. The decision is yours."
Dane nods. "Wake him, then."
I bristle and move to block his path, catching both him and myself by surprise. "Dane..." I warn, a growl at the base of my throat.
He looks at me, brows raised. Challenging an alpha — even when he's my beloved brother — isn't something to play at.
Fortunately, Dane knows me well: protective to a fault. He consciously relaxes his stance, signaling nonaggression, and squeezes my shoulder with his hand.
"I'll keep it short," he says. "In fact, why don't you handle it, Monty? Wake him up, get the facts, that's it."
"Promise?"
"Yeah. Promise." He pats my shoulder, and I relent, moving aside and leading the way reluctantly back into my room.
When we enter, though, I see that part of my job is already done.
Kit is awake and watching us with wary, dark eyes.