Page 35

It’s been two days since the ceremony and Ivy hasn’t stopped vomiting and complains of headaches and chills. I’ve had the fireplace going in the house ever since, and won’t let her work, which she hasn’t argued about. That alone is a red flag. Most of the time, she sleeps, and when I wake her to eat, we argue over her not being hungry. When I’m home, I usually have her in my arms, praying to the Moon Goddess she’s okay. People have asked where Ivy has been, and I explain she’s a little under the weather. Nothing big.

I’m in the kitchen making some beef broth, hoping she’ll eat it and keep it down. She wouldn’t even let me call the doctor, because she doesn’t want to come off weak. Ivy claims people will judge her, especially since she just went through the ceremony. No matter what I say, she refuses and puts up a good fight. If she couldn’t walk or talk, I’d have her in front of the doctor immediately. As much as I’m Alpha, I want to respect her wishes. Her experience through the ceremony put a lot of stress on her body, so I’m hoping this is its way of purging itself.

My mother stops by to check on Ivy.

“Where is she?”

“Sleeping.”

“It’s four in the afternoon, Larc.”

“Ivy’s been sick since the ceremony. She’s been sleeping a lot, which is good. Obviously, her body needs the rest.”

She gasps.

“You didn’t take her to the doctor?”

“She won’t go. She says her body is in the healing process.”

My mother huffs and charges up the stairs before I can stop her. I’m standing by the door watching her touch Ivy’s cheek, who remains sleeping. She pushes the comforter down to check her neck wound and tsks.

“Look at her wound, Larc. It’s still red, and she feels warm. She could have an infection.”

I curse myself for listening to Ivy. She was so convincing and adamant she only needs rest. I assumed she felt warm from the fireplace and being under the blankets. Although I have questioned her vomiting, which she countered with eating something bad.

Ivy’s still sound asleep, and it worries me. I check her bite. It has started to scab, but the area is red. I mind-link Felix, asking him to bring a golf cart over to my house. Instead of arguing with Ivy, I throw the covers off her, carry her downstairs, and I try to dress her in a coat, hat, and gloves. This jostles her awake, fussing and claiming I’m overreacting. She’s yanking off the hat while I’m putting on her scarf, and when I put the hat back on, she yanks off the only glove I managed to get on.

“Ivy!”

Again, the sporadic tears. This woman is like a leaky faucet. She’s been crying on and off over the past two days. It’s not like her.

She’s huffing and crying.

“Let me sleep it off.”

My mother steps in.

“Ivy, you need to see a doctor. You might have an infection.”

Her fight dwindles, so I scoop her in my arms, and as we step out of the house, Felix pulls up in the cart and jumps out. Once we’re bundled inside, he takes off toward the mess hall. My mother’s worried expression has heightened my anxiety. She doesn’t get nervous unless it’s serious. I drive to the clinic with Ivy cuddled in my lap. Our newest member of the community, Dr. Alten, joined us six months ago, which I’m glad about. We’ve been short of female doctors, and male doctors aren’t allowed to touch the females. It’s our way of ownership. In general, no male should touch any mated female. Ivy’s mine. If I ever caught a whiff of male on her, there’d be hell to pay, and possibly draining of blood.

There are a few people in the waiting area. When we enter, they bow their heads, and the receptionist comes out.

In a lowered voice, she says.

“Alpha Larc. Luna Ivy. How can we help you?”

Ivy’s asleep again.

“Ivy has been sleeping and vomiting over the past couple of days. I’d like Dr. Alten to take a look at her.”

“Oh, yes. Let me go tell her.”

The receptionist disappears, returning shortly after, waving us into a room. When I place Ivy on the bed, she stirs awake, brushing her hair aside.

“I told you I’m fine, Larc.”

“You’re not. Sleeping and vomiting for two days isn’t fine.”

Dr. Alten comes in while we’re arguing.

“Alpha Larc. Luna Ivy. What seems to be the problem?”

My little sprite is well enough to smart talk.

“Nothing. I’ve been tired, and Larc won’t let me sleep.”

I growl, “Ivy—”

Dr. Alten cuts in.

“Alpha. Could you please return to the waiting area?”

“Huh?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Luna Ivy myself.”

With a huff, I leave, sitting there with my arms crossed over my chest. I’m livid. First, Ivy smart talks me, and then the doctor orders me out of the room. What the fuck?

Unfortunately, I can’t allow my anger to show in front of these people. The young man we rescued, Reed, is here for stitches, and there’s a werewolf mother with her small child. When we saved Reed, he had muscle but was thin. Now, he’s built from doing construction work we’ve recently branched out into about four months ago. Surprisingly, we’ve acquired two contracts for a gas station/auto shop, and another for a parking lot. It’s not much, yet it’s a good start, and I’ll take it.

Reed and I make small talk until he’s called into a room. The werewolf mother and child are playing a boardgame. Watching them has me fading into my own daydream about mine and Ivy’s pup. We’re walking in the afternoon with the baby. It coos in my ear. My eyes get droopy, and I fall asleep.

I wake to find Dr. Alten and Ivy in front of me, and I sit up, wiping my mouth of drool.

Ivy smiles at me.

“Your snores scared all the patients away.”

Dr. Alten laughs and says to Ivy.

“I want you off your feet for the next couple of weeks and take those pills I gave you. Can you do that for me?”

“I can.”

I stand, asking Dr. Alten.

“What’s wrong with her?”

She shakes her head.

“Why don’t you bring your Luna home and make sure she rests?”

“What are the pills for?”

Dr. Alten turns and walks out of the waiting area. My mouth is hanging open by the blatant disrespect she showed her Alpha.

I point in the doctor’s direction, anger spurring me on, and say to Ivy.

“Did you see how she ignored me? Her Alpha? She joined our pack recently, but—”

Ivy takes my arm, turns me to the door, and says.

“Come on, let’s go home. I’m hungry.”

Dumbfounded, I allow her to lead me outside in the cold.

“You’re hungry?”

She rests her head against my arm and nods.

We take the golf cart back home while Ivy tells me how she’s feeling better and would like a cheeseburger. I laugh at her change in hunger, promising I’ll grill her a double. For privacy, she goes upstairs to call my mother to let her know she’s fine.