Page 35

Petra rubs a conductor in a thin layer on his chest, the cool, oily substance not exactly pleasant.

She doesn’t say anything to prepare him before pressing the fingers of both hands over his heart, gathering all the force into one spot until Sascha can feel their pulses align.

When the pressure comes just shy of pain, Petra inhales slowly.

Then the actual pain begins.

For the average shifter, a magic infusion is only meant to feel warm and expansive.

Petra described the sensation as having a full bladder, which was funny to Sascha at the time.

It stopped being funny when the spinning sickness warped what was supposed to happen, that warmth ratcheting up until it was a fire racing through Sascha’s inner channels.

He feels overstuffed, not just full. Like he might vomit up everything Petra’s putting into him, a scorching trail through his system.

But he never does, which is almost worse because it leaves the burning to fester in his stomach.

Sascha moans and writhes, distantly aware of Petra murmuring comforting words that do nothing to soothe him. It’ll be worth it, he tells himself despite the feverish haze. All he has to do is get through this, and he’ll be able to find Avery. That alone makes it more bearable.

When the pressure finally eases, Sascha gags. His body is soaked with sweat, limbs shaking.

“Stay with me,” Petra says, wiping a cool cloth over Sascha’s brow before using it to clean the conductor off his skin. “You’re fine; you did good. I’ll get you water. Don’t move. I swear I’ll make that feel like a walk in the park if you budge an inch.”

Sacha couldn’t budge a damn fraction of that, even if he wanted to, which, at this point, he does not.

The next intervals of awareness are marked by glasses of water and regular checks of his temperature and blood pressure. Sascha doesn’t know how much time passes before he wakes up enough to ask. Petra isn’t even in the room, but the light from the window suggests early evening. It’s been hours.

Sascha stirs, because this time he actually does have a full bladder, and does his best to call Petra with a sore throat.

Despite the summons being quiet and scratchy, she hurries in. “More water?”

“The opposite,” Sascha croaks.

With a soft laugh, Petra eases Sascha out of bed and helps him to the bathroom. He assures her he can handle the next part, and is fortunate his limbs have unclenched enough that he doesn’t have any accidents. By the time Sascha emerges, hands and face damp, he feels much steadier on his feet.

“I think it worked,” he informs Petra with a weak smile .

Petra’s responding smile is equally anemic. “That’s good. I have bad news.”

Sascha swallows hard, trying not to immediately fear the worst. “What’s up?”

“Celeste is here. And something’s got her real, real heated.”

“Fuck. Well, I don’t need to go to the pack house, I can just?—”

“You misunderstand me,” Petra interrupts. “She’s here .”

“In the clinic?!”

“Yeah. Waiting for you to wake up. Your dad is on his way to… address it. She wants me to heal one of her enforcers, but I said I wouldn’t so much as touch a member of another pack without my alpha’s word.

” Petra bites her lip. “There’s another problem.

The enforcer Celeste wants me to heal is one of her werecreatures. ”

Spine going ramrod straight, Sascha thinks immediately of Beryl. “Not the were-tiger, right?”

Petra shrugs. “I don’t know what their animal affinity is. Just that Celeste is claiming this enforcer was maimed by that… by Avery.”

If Beryl is here in rough condition, that means Avery won. Right?

Inhaling deeply, Sascha goes to get dressed. Petra gives him privacy, which she doesn’t always, but he appreciates her trusting his ability to stand and put on pants without help.

“What should I prepare myself for?” he asks when he leaves the medical room.

Petra shrugs. “I really don’t know, but we aren’t going down until your dad gets here.”

For once, Sascha has no desire to argue. “Are you sure I can’t just jump out the window and escape this confrontation entirely?”

That wins him a single short laugh before Petra shakes her head.

“Unfortunately not. I wouldn’t want to risk you having an episode on impact after such a risky procedure, but also, you wouldn’t make it ten paces without either Celeste’s enforcers or ours noticing you. We have to handle this the mature way.”

“Damn.”

They aren’t left waiting very long. When he arrives, Samuel’s barked orders resonate from outside, and Sascha hears the front door slam when his father enters the clinic to engage Celeste. Both Petra and Sascha sigh, then make their way down the stairs, Petra insisting on going first.

“—the disrespect of you showing up on my territory making demands of me and my son, who is ill?—”

Sascha grimaces. His father always talks about him like he’s helpless. He’d open the door to protest, but Petra waves him back, holding a finger to her lips so they can listen to Celeste’s reply.

“I demand information, Samuel. The alpha werecreature maimed my enforcer, and I’m seeking accountability.”

“Seek it from him, then. I won’t argue.”

“That’s my intention once I know his whereabouts. I’m certain that your son ”—her tone is dangerously sarcastic—“will be able to give me what I need.”

“Over my dead fucking body,” Sascha hisses through gritted teeth.

It’s the wrong move, and he knows it even before Petra shoots him an annoyed look.

The shifters in the waiting room go still, having heard Sascha’s voice, giving Petra no choice but to open the door to let them out.

Even though Sascha couldn’t be safer with his father in the room, Petra keeps him behind her.

“Alexander,” Samuel says tightly. “How are you feeling?”

Just as tense, Sascha responds, “Better. I heard I was needed.”

Celeste spreads her stance so she looks larger than Samuel, but the attempted wave of her alpha magic is nothing compared to Sascha’s dad, standing calmly with his hands clasped in front of him.

She takes Beryl by the shoulder and pushes them forward, the rough gesture in no way resembling genuine care for Beryl’s injuries.

When Sascha squints and tilts his head, the splotches of blood on Beryl’s clothes don’t even look that bad.

Celeste’s rabid indignation suggested much worse.

“The werecreature you’ve been fraternizing with did this to my enforcer.”

Without caring to consider his words, Sascha replies, “Your enforcer has been tormenting Avery, so I’m not surprised he fought back. Did you expect him to just, like, take it?”

Neither Petra nor Samuel look pleased, but they also don’t interrupt him.

“Tell me where he is,” Celeste demands.

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth, and Sascha is so overcome by the sickening realization that he has to press his palm to his stomach.

The pull he noticed earlier is still there, now oriented differently.

Does that mean Avery left the lake? He must’ve, if he was confronted by Beryl.

Sascha’s eyes slide to them, wondering if they’ll say anything revealing, but they don’t.

They stand motionless, watching silently.

When Celeste growls, Samuel says, “My son says he doesn’t know where the creature is.”

“And you believe him?” Celeste snaps before Sascha can argue—again—about referring to Avery as something subhuman.

“Are you calling my son a liar?”

With an incredulous snort, Celeste responds, “His actions up to now haven’t exactly inspired confidence, have they?”

Sascha’s father pauses, then turns to him. “Alexander, do you know where the werecreature is?”

“Avery,” Sascha corrects. When Samuel merely levels him with a patient stare, Sascha gives in and says, “No,” begrudgingly.

“There’s your answer,” confirms Samuel.

Sascha would be pleased by his father’s trust, were it about any other topic.

He’s glad he doesn’t have to lie, but the unknown keeps his stomach roiling.

“I’ve been at the clinic recovering for several days.

” He carefully doesn’t say what he was recovering from .

“I don’t know where Avery is, and I haven’t spoken with him. ”

Celeste inspects him for several seconds, but upon finding nothing she can argue with, turns to one of the werecreatures behind her—the solid woman with nut brown skin, who choked Sascha out when they were attacked at Dennings farm.

She gives Celeste a nod, black hair escaped from a messy bun bobbing in front of her eyes.

Celeste frowns at Sascha, then looks at Samuel.

“Sorry for my doubtfulness,” she says, not sounding sorry at all.

“I’d like your help searching for the werecreature alpha, Samuel. ”

“Why can’t your wolves just track him?” Sascha blurts before thinking the better of it. He doesn’t believe Celeste can’t find Avery with her own resources, and confronting that head-on is the only way he can figure to get an answer.

It doesn’t seem a question Celeste wants asked, but Samuel prompts, “Yes, Celeste, I am also curious.”

Celeste pauses before saying, “I suspect he has some form of cloaking magic, like Zuhr.” She gestures to the same woman, clearly not realizing she just exposed her own magic-wielder. Celeste isn’t facing Zuhr, so she doesn’t see her face twitch.

Meanwhile, Beryl drops their gaze to the floor.

Sascha isn’t an expert at body language, but he can tell even Celeste’s own werecreatures don’t appreciate her flat-out lies—hilariously, boldly put out despite accusing Sascha of being the liar.

It’s all Sascha can do not to spit the truth back at her, but Petra catches his eye, and he holds back.

Avery doesn’t have a scrap of magic he can use to hide from expert trackers, or even amateur ones.

He barely knows how to properly wield alpha magic.

Even Samuel’s disbelief is visible; everyone in the room knows Celeste’s agenda to pressure Avery into submitting to her control. There’s no point in escalating with her motivation clear.

After a prolonged silence that grows increasingly tense, Samuel says, “Well, Celeste. I wish you luck in finding the werecreature and seeking whatever accountability you need for your enforcer’s…

injuries.” He waves dismissively in Beryl’s direction.

“My son needs to focus on healing, so I’d appreciate if your pack would vacate the clinic now. ”

It’d be prudent for Sascha to feign compliance before planning his next move. Regardless, he opens his mouth, probably to say something he’ll regret, only for Petra to cut him off by stepping on his foot. Sascha has the good sense to smother his yelp.

“That’s a good idea, alpha, thank you,” Petra says, already ferrying Sascha toward the door to her apartment.

If his father responds, Sascha doesn’t hear it. He lets Petra push him upstairs, and by the time they crest the landing, he’s gone entirely numb.