"Mel."
"—a compound I make from—"
"Mel. He's not a healer."
"Oh."
I sag back against the floor.
"Then why would he know about moonbright?"
She hesitates.
"Kestria."
"My brother." Her fingers pick at the blanket edge. She's not looking at me. "He's, um. He's the—"
"The what?"
"The alpha."
I stare at her. "The alpha."
"He knows."
"He knows about everything. Mel, he—" She stops. Chooses her words. "He doesn't like it. Wolves coming to you. A human knowing where we are, what we look like, how we get hurt. It's a risk."
"But it's not like I knew. I thought I was treating wolves. Like, actual wolves. What's so wrong about that? Wolves needed help. I helped them. That's how it works." "I know." "I'm not a risk if I didn't know what I was looking at."
"I know, Mel."
"Then what's his problem? I'm a very nice and usefulhuman—"
"Mel—"
"But they need help anyway, so they come to me. Which means he can't exactly let his own people bleed out to make a point."
"Yes."
"So he just grits his teeth and tolerates it."
"That is a very accurate description of my brother, yes."
"So what, he's—" I wave my hand, grasping. "Is he like you? I mean, obviously he's like you, you're siblings, but when he shifts—is he bigger? Do alphas work differently?"
"He's bigger. A lot bigger. Strongest in the pack. He's been alpha since he was twenty-three."
"And he's how old now?"
"Early forties."
Early forties. Someone's been running a pack of wolves for almost twenty years. Where do you even stand? Is there a rock? Do you just be tall and angry until everyone listens?
"And he's never—visited? Himself? Never come to check on the strange human who keeps patching up his people?"
"You'd have to ask him."
"Kestria."
