Page 7

Chapter Seven

A LARIC HELLS

Focusing on finding Irene has only led me down one path…coveting and lusting over my secretary.

Lila Winter has worked for me for less than a week. That’s a few days too many.

The woman with killer heels and black skirts that hug her curves has been in my head twenty-four fucking seven. I told myself I’d see her for what she is.

An employee.

But Goddess help me, I’ve been feeding myself that same bullshit, and my wolf still hasn’t gotten the memo.

Take the meeting earlier, for example. Lila defended herself like a pro.

Sure, I gave her the ammunition to destroy Amanda, but everything after that? That was all her.

She didn’t just stand her ground. She owned it. She made it clear she’s not here to be pushed around, and by the time she finished speaking, every person in that damn room was staring at her in shock.

I didn’t show it, but I was proud.

Hell, I wanted to tilt my head, pull her into my arms, and kiss her in front of everyone because—fuck, baby, you were impressive.

“Alaric? Are you even listening?”

The perfume-smothered voice drags me back to reality.

Amanda Brighton.

The last woman I want in my office.

Yet here she is, standing in front of my desk, lips painted red, lashes fluttering.

I should have shoved her out the second she followed me here. But in my haste to avoid Lila after the meeting, I let her stay.

“You were saying?” I ask dryly.

She smiles. It’s the kind of smile meant to make men worship at her feet.

I’d rather declaw my wolf than do that.

“It was a little hitch,” she says, feigning innocence.

“Back there, in the meeting…I wasn’t prepared, but I can assure you, I’m better than her.

I can do this job better than she can. I know this company inside and out.

I know you better than anyone. And, well, my daddy assured me he’d spoken with you about me getting this job.

I’m not meant to be some secretary to an assistant manager, Alaric, I’m meant to be—”

I exhale sharply, my patience razor-thin.

I remember her father all right. Albert Brighton is one of the respected elders of the pack.

A few weeks ago, he pulled me aside at a pack meeting, scotch in hand, and told me Amanda would be a valuable asset to H Industries.

I gave him a curt nod and said I’d consider it.

That’s where my consideration ended.

“Does your father own my company?” I ask, my frustration bleeding into my voice.

Amanda stiffens. “No, but I—”

“Then let me handle the inner workings of my company.” My tone is sharp. “You and Lila Winter underwent the same interview. She passed. With flying colors. If I decide that you belong under an assistant manager, then that’s where you’ll work.”

Her lips part, eyes wide, like she can’t believe I’m saying this to her.

Maybe I’ve finally snapped.

Maybe I’ve spent too much time watching my secretary, pretending the Mate bond isn’t pulling me toward her like a damn gravitational force.

Locking my fingers together on my desk, I dismiss her. “If that’s all, you can leave.”

I see the anger flicker across her face, hear the sharp inhale of breath before she storms toward the door.

But just before she steps out, I give her one last warning.

“My secretary tolerated your nonsense today,” I say, voice low, steady. “But try to humiliate her again, and you’ll be cleaning my office floors whether your father is a respected pack elder.”

She slams the door behind her, but the fear is there.

She knows I don’t make empty threats.

I barely have a second to breathe before my phone buzzes.

Ethan’s name, my right-hand man who’s been helping me find Irene, pops up on my phone screen.

I answer the call.

“Boss, we have a lead.” His voice is gruff.

My muscles tighten. “On Irene?”

“There’s a hospital that might have records from when she was a child,” he says. “The files are old, but if we can access them, we might confirm whether she’s alive.”

The last lead we got was from a healer six years ago, and she wasn’t any help because she succumbed to dementia before I could even reach her. She couldn’t remember her own name, let alone remember who Irene was in the first place.

But this? This is the first real lead in years.

I should be thrilled.

Instead, as I grab my coat and walk past Lila’s empty desk, the thought of finding Irene tastes like rusty nails on my tongue.

The hospital doors hiss open, spilling us into a space that reeks of sickness and sterility.

It smells like antiseptic, ammonia, stale coffee, and beneath it all, the faintest trace of blood.

I grit my teeth as my wolf shudders.

Too clean. Too sterile. Too wrong.

The sharp overhead lights reflect off the polished white tiles. Nurses move too fast, wheeling in gurneys, pushing carts, their footsteps a frantic click-click-click against the floor.

A man wafts to us from a nearby room.

A baby wails somewhere down the hall.

The whole place hums with life, but it’s a kind of life that lingers too close to death.

The hospital chokes me.

The walls feel tight, the air stale. My wolf paces beneath my skin, his fur bristling in discomfort. He wants out.

Ethan, who’s standing beside me, taps my shoulder and jerks his chin toward the reception desk. “I’ll ask about the records here. The healer in charge is Dr. Wells. You might have better luck talking to him than me, boss.”

Right. If he can't get the records from the nurse, the healer in charge might have access to them.

I nod. “We regroup here in twenty minutes.”

Ethan gives a sharp, “Yes, boss,” before walking off.

I watch as he slides into conversation with a blonde nurse, his easy grin already in place. Most men wouldn’t be able to flirt their way into confidential hospital records, but Ethan Maxwell isn’t most men.

I picked him to be my right-hand man for a reason.

I take the opposite hallway, my boots echoing off the cracked tile floors as I move deeper into the wreck that is St. Bishop’s Hospital.

St. Bishop's is one of the oldest hospitals in Phoenix, which was founded for our kind. It's council-approved, pack-funded, and where werewolves used to and are still going to when human hospitals aren't an option.

Yet looking at it now, it’s worse than I expected.

The walls are yellowed, water-stained, and peeling in some places. The beds, the few they have, are separated by thin curtains, barely offering privacy. I pass a frail old man sharing a bed with another patient, his breathing labored.

Sad to say, the stench of cheap disinfectant barely covers the scent of sweat, infection, and decay.

This place isn’t a hospital. It’s a waiting room for death.

If Irene ever got treated here as a child, I wouldn’t blame her if she ran away the first chance she got.

I check the time. Seven minutes left.

Thirteen minutes of searching and nothing.

I’m about to flag down a nurse to ask about Dr. Wells, when a sound catches my attention.

Soft. Light. Familiar.

It’s a laugh, I realize.

I turn sharply, muscles locking, instincts sharpening.

At the far end of the corridor, sitting on a hospital bed, is a tiny girl.

She’s swinging her legs, clutching a pink teddy bear that’s twice her size.

And for some reason, I can’t fucking breathe.

The black curls. The bright green eyes.

Something slams into me, hard and fast, like a punch to the ribs.

My wolf stiffens, ears pricking.

Everything inside me tightens, and I’m already moving before I know what I’m doing.

The little girl looks up just as I reach her bedside, tilting her head in curiosity.

“You’re big,” she says, like I'm the eighth wonder of the world.

A huff of amusement escapes me. “And you’re small.”

She’s wearing a pink dress coupled with pink shoes. My guess is, she’s a huge fan of pink.

Her eyes widen like I just told her the greatest secret in the world.

“That’s true! But Mommy says I’ll be tall if I eat broccoli and be good,” she says solemnly.

My wolf eases slightly, watching her with an intensity that should unsettle me.

I laugh before I can stop myself. I don’t laugh. Ever. But something about her pulls at something dangerous inside me. Something I don’t understand.

“What’s your name?” I ask, scanning the area.

A bunch of the patients here are huddled together, but the little girl is all alone.

No one else is near her bed.

No nurse. No adult. No “mommy” despite her mentioning her mother.

Diverting from answering my question, she hugs her teddy bear closer. “Mommy says I shouldn’t give strangers my name.”

I can’t help but grin. “Your mommy’s a wise woman.”

She tilts her head, considering me. “You don’t look like a bad man.”

I shouldn't be proud at her assessment, but I am.

My lips twitch. “And what does a bad man look like?”

She scrunches her nose. “They frown a lot. And their eyes are mean.”

She studies me again, then nods approvingly.

“You don’t have mean eyes,” she declares. “And Bear likes you.”

Who the hell is Bear?

“Bear?”

“My teddy bear.” She points at the teddy before adding, “Mommy and I named him Bear.”

I smirk. “Creative.”

It’s an absurd name, but still cute nonetheless.

She beams. “And I’m Lina.”

Lina.

The name settles in my mouth, like it’s taunting me to try it against my tongue.

Why does it feel like I already know her?

“And why are you and Bear here, Lina?”

She huffs, flopping dramatically on the bed behind her, and I have to hold her teddy bear for her in case it suffocates her.

“I ate a cookie,” she says guiltily.

I raise a brow. “A cookie?”

She nods seriously, looking at the ceiling, “I’m not supposed to eat cookies ‘cause they make me all itchy. But it was a chocolate chip cookie, and my friends were eating them. I just had one bite.”

If it made her itchy, then she probably had an allergic reaction to nuts, because I doubt it’s the chocolate.

Like she can actually catch the thoughts in my mind, she suddenly sits up, her eyes sharp. “You believe me, mister, right?”

Her calling me “mister” should not be hilarious, but her expression, together with her frank gaze, makes me shake my head in amusement. “I believe you, Lina.”

She swings her legs, shrugging, “Mommy is going to be upset. But I’m better now. I’m not sick anymore. Promise.”

I glance around again. Still no sign of anyone.

Why the fuck is no one watching her?

“And where’s Mommy, Lina?”

I should be looking for Dr. Wells. I should be calling Ethan.

But my feet stay rooted to the spot. I haven't interacted with kids much in the past. Kids have always disgusted me.

The little things are heathens that barely listen to a word said to them by adults, but somehow Lina changes my view on that.

“Patty went to call Mommy at work. She also said she’s bringing me chocolate!”

My case still rests. The nuts in the cookies brought her to the hospital if the so-called “Patty” is bringing her chocolate. I’d give her all the chocolates she wanted in the world if she so much as asked me.

“Yeah? How about we wait for Patty together?”

I sit beside her, still holding Bear, still listening.

My wolf isn’t moving. He just watches. Listens. And in the back of my mind, one thought won’t go away.

Lina looks familiar.

A little too familiar.