After
Daniel Rivers glanced at the kid in the back seat of his Land Rover.
He lay curled up, eyes closed, forehead pressed against the cool window pane. Hanging up his phone, Dan let the car rumble to a stop. He saw Darren pull up beside him and glanced back again, before getting out and opening the door to the back seat.
The young man, Charlie, blinked up at him. Dan felt something like a shock go through him.
He was short, thin, and dwarfed by the oversize, frayed hoodie he wore over a stained T-shirt and rolled up jeans. His sneakers were more duct tape than canvas. Matted black - or perhaps dark brown - hair partially obscured his face and his body language was still more wolf than human.
His face was covered in a sheen of sweat. Did he have a fever? How long had he been out there...up in the mountains, all alone?
Dan reached out a hand to unbuckle him. Charlie stopped him with a growl, getting out stiffly and staring up at the house they had stopped in front of.
It was a medium-size, one story wooden house on low stilts, with worn steps out front leading up to a wide porch. Lights were on inside the house and dark woods surrounded it on every side.
Charlie frowned. Dan replied to his silent question, careful to give him his space.
"Well, you see, this is where one of our pack members lives. Our nephew, Morgan. The thing is, he has a gift for healing animals - werewolves too. He's studying veterinary science down in Colorado College but happens to be home for the weekend.
"Our Alpha is here too - I gave them both a call earlier. Anyway, Morgan says he'll take a look at you - if you want, that is. Tonight. If you don't mind me saying...you don't look so good."
Charlie barked a laugh. "Yeah, you've caught me on an off day."
His voice was surprisingly low and raspy, with a hint of a southern drawl. It was...alluring. He pulled on the sleeves of his hoodie to cover his hands, shivering.
"I'll see your nephew. Thank you, Dan."
Dan grinned, shrugging, and chiding himself silently. He had no business thinking of this youngster as alluring. Dan wasn't looking for any more temporary affairs. He needed someone his own age.
"You the Beta, Dan?" Charlie asked as they walked up to the house, Darren trailing behind them.
"How'd you know?"
"Just a hunch."
Dan offered his arm to help the injured wolf up the stairs but Charlie ignored him, pulling himself up by the railing and limping towards the front door.
Backing off, the older wolf held open the screen door for him, gesturing Charlie forward. Without hesitation the thin figure stepped first into a brightly lit living room, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the yellow light.
He could not help watching those thin, narrow shoulders. Small, skinny, wounded, and alone, Charlie strode confidently into the room. He stood up straight, looked levelly ahead, and didn't look one bit afraid. Looking at him, Dan felt something swell in his chest.
Was he a runaway? A lone wolf? Or... A rouge?
And why in the world...wasn't he greeting their Alpha?
Kit squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and limped into the room with as much swagger as he could muster without falling over.
It was a bit like being drunk, the way he felt flushed and the way the room way spinning. Except he knew it was exhaustion, starvation, fever, and blood-loss. Might as well throw in dehydration and hypothermia.
A chair scraped back and a broad-shouldered, good-looking, Asian American man rose to his feet. Muscled showed through his tight black T-shirt but his posture was neither aggressive nor arrogant. Instead it was relaxed and assured, effortlessly commanding.
Nothing in his appearance and everything in the way he held himself revealed his position.
Kit had no doubt that he was not just an alpha werewolf - he was the leader of this pack, its Alpha. Tall, he had crew-cut black hair, light brown skin, and almond-shaped black eyes that watched Kit unwaveringly.
Behind him sat two young men playing black jack at a round wooden table. One was white, the other black. Both had frozen, cards in their hands, apparently waiting.
"I...would like to request permission to cross your pack lands," Kit tried, watching for their reactions. No-one moved.
"So disrespectful," Darren muttered from somewhere behind him. "Isn't he going to greet Ronan properly?"
"Shut it, Darren." Dan's low, rumbling voice spoke near Kit's ear. "Charlie... aren't you going to offer you respects to our Alpha?"
"Of course. Remind me how, would you?" Kit replied softly. He could feel Dan stiffen and pause, but then the low reply came, calm and reassuring.
"Just walk up to him, bare your throat, and say, 'I, Charlie Carr, offer you my respects to you, Ronan Park, Alpha of the Rivers Pack and Guardian of its Territory."
Kit took a deep breath and walked forward as if he was not wounded, looking Ronan in the eyes and keeping his hands buried in his pockets. One step away from him he stopped.
Pushing back his hood with one hand, he leaned forward and bared the side of his long, smooth throat. He ignored the sharp intakes of breath and their stares when they saw his face, keeping his eyes trained on Ronan as he repeated the words. No longer disguising his soft southern accent, he let them roll off his tongue and saw the others lean forward unconsciously, listening.
Tension hung in the air. He was in a room full of unknown werewolves, on their land. If he failed to navigate this right then he might never leave this room.
"So," he purred, "Dan has been telling me that his nephew is a gifted healer."
A young, slender man with floppy light brown hair and grey eyes stood quickly from the table. Ronan held up a hand and he stumbled, halting.
"Where did you come from, Charlie?" the Alpha asked.
His voice was low and calm. He was clearly not the type to lead with fear...but something in his expression convinced Kit he expected a swift and truthful answer.
"I'm not a runaway if that's what you're thinking. And you have no obligation to help me, but if you're not going to then I'll be leaving. Because I really don't have much time to waste."
He held the Alpha's gaze. Finally, Ronan nodded, letting Morgan come forward.
Dan relaxed, walking over to the couch and taking a seat. He saw Charlie smile at Morgan and shake his hand, Morgan blushing and ducking his head. Dan's nephew was tall and lanky, like a teenager that's grown too much in a short period of time and not quite gotten used to his height yet.
He bore a strong resemblance to Dan and Darren except for his youth and fairer colouring. Darren snorted, sinking down next to his older brother.
"Hanging your head like that won't work this time, Morgan," he taunted. "That kid's short enough to see up your nose."
Morgan's blush deepened and the young man next to him placed a hand, feather light, on the small of his back.
Charlie raised one straight eyebrow.
"I hear you're a healer, Morgan," he said.
"Well, I'm... Um, yeah, I can do a bit."
"He's studying to be a vet!" Darren called over. Charlie ignored him.
"And you're willing to take a look at me? I can't pay you - you could just drop me off at a free clinic tomorrow."
Morgan looked surprised. "No! Of course I want to help! I know I'm young, but I've helped out all my life. My grandfather was a werewolf healer and my parents were veterinarians. I have half their clinic packed up in the garage... This isn't my first time."
"Great. If you mind me asking, have you treated a lot of festering wounds? Infected ones?"
"Not...not in humans."
"Well, I have. I used to work as a paramedic in San Fransisco a few years back. So, how 'bout we take a look at this together? What do you say?"
Biting his bottom lip, Morgan nodded. Darren looked skeptical.
"You were a paramedic? How old are you?"
"Twenty-one. And I did my training straight after high school."
"Bullshit! You don't look a day over sixteen."
Dan was tempted to agree with Darren (which was rare enough) but instead he remained silent, watching as Charlie turned back to Morgan.
"Do you have first aid supplies ready? And your tools?"
"Yes...of course."
"Then would you mind if I clean up a bit while you get set up?"
"Um...sure. Bathroom's down the hall. " He nodded down one of two passageways leading away from the living room.
"Oh - this is Justin," he added, glancing at the other young man at the table.
He looked about the same age as Morgan and had dark brown skin, coffee-coloured eyes, and short, tightly curled black hair. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and a shirt and jumper, making him look a lot more responsible than Morgan in his T-shirt on top of long sleeves.
Morgan bustled away, clearly already thinking about what he needed to collect. Justin smiled, watching him go before turning to Charlie.
"There are towels underneath the sink. Help yourself, and call if you need anything," he said quietly.
He had a deep, pleasant voice that he rarely used to speak to anyone other than Morgan. He was a kind, responsible 19-year-old, but reserved. Dan knew that Darren was still suspicious of Justin, even though almost one year had passed since he'd joined their pack.
Then again, his little brother was suspicious of everything.
Charlie limped up the corridor, wobbling and steadying himself with a hand on the wall.
"Think he'll be alright?" Dan asked his Alpha.
"I think he seems very stubborn," Ronan replied, "And that's a good start. As for the rest... we'll have to leave it up to Morgan, won't we?"
Kit stood glaring at his reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror. He knew that being alone in his current state was a bad idea, but there were some things he needed to check.
The first thing he had done after making it to the bathroom was sink down onto the toilet seat and go through the contents of his bag.
Not too bad. His supplies were mostly intact, some ruined by moisture or mould. He had taken two aspirin and two ibuprofen against the pain, swallowing them dry before digging out a small vial of manufactured adrenaline.
Then he dug out a pocket knife and slit a side seam open, digging out a wad of plastic ID cards. He stuck one in his pocket and replaced the rest.
Werewolves were were usually resistant towards drugs, painkillers, and infections. But Kit's body was in such a poor condition that it ought to kick in quickly. He just had to get through another hour or so...
The brief shower had hurt like a bitch but been incredibly blissful as well. Rivulets of blood and grime had swirled down the drain and now that Kit was looking at his reflection, he had to admit that he almost recognized himself.
How do I manage to still be so fucking pretty, he thought, disgusted.
Even with blue shadows beneath his eyes they were captivating - large and hazel and framed by long, thick, curved lashes. His lips were cracked and bleeding but still plump and pink, inviting.
He didn't see how they could still mistake him for a teenager. Sure, he was small. And he looked androgynous. But his seven months in the Rocky Mountains had stripped away the last of his baby fat, leaving only bone and sinewy muscle behind.
Although his ribs and collarbones stood out, his slender limbs were strong and the outline of abs showed on his stomach.
Kit's hair had grown longer. He had rubbed some soap into the matted curls and run a comb through the tresses, and they now hung past his shoulders, gleaming mahogany.
His cheeks were flushed from the shower and his eyes were glazed over with fever.
His entire body was covered in bruises and scratches that he didn't remember picking up. Blue, purple, green, and yellow, with pale skin showing next to old white scars and dark pink newer ones.
One look at the wound on his back made him feel like throwing up.
It stretched from his right shoulder across his back down to his tail-bone, four swollen, parallel claw marks. They were shallow down most of their length, but bright red with blackened edges, purple-crusted and oozing yellow pus.
Kit didn't bother putting his shirt back on. For one thing, it would hurt like hell, and for another, he would just have to take it off again to show Morgan. He pulled on his jeans (they hung noticeably looser on him now than before he went up into the mountains) and walked back into the living room.
His painkillers were kicking in, he was cleaner than he had been in ages, and he felt more like himself than he had since -
Don't think about that. Focus.
Wearing nothing but his jeans and boxer-briefs, wet hair dripping onto his shoulders, he grinned at the four werewolves staring open-mouthed at him.
"Shall we get this show on the road, boys?"