I wonder if Anders keeps his own journals. Where would he keep them?
Anders laughs. “I do keep my own journals but in a secret place. Only my replacement will have access to them once I pass or leave my position, as is tradition. Many Alphas keep the same tradition. It’s a way for the former Alphas to leave their legacy behind and help guide the future Alphas in their current role. It was once thought of as a way for the future Alphas to understand the foundation of how the pack came to be and hopefully to prevent the current Alpha from repeating mistakes from the past.”
Anders pauses. Emotion crosses his features, but he quickly masks it and offers me a small smile.
“History lessons are designed to teach future generations how to analyze and solve problems in the present and understand the past leaders and previous cultures. They’re supposed to strengthen our critical thinking skills. Today, with social media, technology, and, well, just the basic understanding of history being manipulated, we have forgotten who we are and where we came from. As shifters, we forgot how to rely on our basic animal survival instincts.” He turns to the shelf full of journals. “As the head guard, I try to teach the recruits the importance of who we are, what we protect, and what we represent. That is why the history of the LS territory is the most important lesson the recruits learn.”
I look down at the journal. I could learn so much, not just from these journals but also from Anders. I hand the journal back to him. I don’t want to ruin it, and I don’t know where I will go once I heal. Maybe, one day, I can return, and he will let me read these precious artifacts of our history. We can sit and have meaningful conversations about the past.
Anders finally takes the journal after studying me for a moment and places it on the top shelf. “It will be here when you are ready to read them, although I prefer it doesn’t leave my office.”
I furrow my brow, unsure how to interpret his words. I don’t want false hope, so I glance at the floor and nod.
He rests his hand on my shoulder. “All this talk about journals and history gives me an idea.” Returning to his desk, he opens a drawer and passes me a leather-bound book. Imprinted in the leather, filled with gold overlay, the cover depicts an emblem. A dark green emerald sits in the center, and diamonds embellish each corner of a triangle.
I delicately trace my fingers over the design, loving the way it feels. I open the cover to reveal a blank page. I arch my eyebrows. What is this?
He clears his throat. “I know that you can’t remember anything prior to waking up in the clinic, but I think this might help. Journal writing isn’t just about documenting events. It’s about reflection. You could write about your experiences, discoveries about yourself, maybe even your nightmares.”
I run my hand over the emblem again. This looks expensive. I can’t accept this. I shake my head and give the journal back to him. But he doesn’t take it.
“The emblem on the cover is the guard’s crest designed by the first head guard. The emerald represents the Emerald Pack. The white diamonds represent the white wolf species. I think this was meant for you, Little One.”
Hanging my head, I fight the tears that threaten to fall. I fidget, unsure why Anders is so invested in my wellbeing. When the doctor decides to discharge me from the clinic, I will most likely be sent to an orphanage. With my memory gone, I cannot aid Anders in investigating my attack. Because I’m not from this territory nor belong to the Emerald Pack, there really is no reason to investigate it, unless someone reports a missing child to the guards.
Anders narrows his eyes. “You are definitely not going to an orphanage, and because you’re still recovering, according to Dr.York, you will be here for a while.” He chuckles softly. “You’re quite observant, aren’t you?”
I scoff. I don’t have a choice. My vision sucks. I can’t talk. My only option is to listen and take note of my surroundings. I never know when someone will attack or betray me. So, I must be prepared. One can never be too sure, and I won’t repeat the mistake of assuming I will stay with a pack when I am not asked. The memory of Alpha Agnus returning me to the guards still stings.
“On second thought, you’re not as observant as I thought,” Anders counters, forcing me out of my internal rant.
My eyes widen. Anders is talking to me as if I spoke aloud. I cock my head to the side. How is he doing this?
He laughs. “It’s not me. You are doing it. It’s quite a neat little talent. I have not encountered many shifters who can mind-link outside of their animal form, including very powerful Alphas.”
I shake my head. Alphas? I am no Alpha. How does a mind-link actually work? Did I do it on purpose, or does it just happen? Like the twins, they can communicate only with each other through their link.
“You think too much. It makes me wonder, when you find your voice again, if you will talk nonstop, like you do in your head.”
I snort.Can you blame me, if the only conversations I can carry occur in my own head?
Grinning, he replies, “Alpha Agnus warned me you were a bit of a wiseass.”
Chapter 21
Falling Into Routine
JESSICA
EIGHT YEARS AGO:
June 30, 2016: 6:45 a.m.
Emerald Pack Clinic
The guards and I adopt a comfortable routine. Ean visits in the morning and takes me for a walk around the training facility. Then, I meet Anders in his office, where I sit with him for a couple of hours. If a situation happens and needs his attention, I curl up in one of his chairs and read the journals of the original head guard. I take his other books to the clinic and pore over them every night.
Charlie picks me up at Anders’s office to walk me to my room. The first time he stays with me, he brings his guitar and sings. I become mesmerized by how he moves his fingers over the strings and simultaneously fingers the keys, intrigued by the coordination required to strum, change notes, and sing simultaneously. The music causes the pain in my body to subside. My heart doesn’t ache. My nerve endings don’t jump.I feel safe. When I close my eyes, I feel whole again, alive—not broken, scarred, and stuck in a clinic room. After a few songs, I ask Charlie to teach me how to play. Giving me his flirty smile, he obliges, and now, he teaches me every day.
