Page 42 of Red

“Thank you.” I open the box and start sorting out supplies.

Lirea strolls in and Nikki takes a seat on the opposite table.

“How’s Stark doing?” Lirea asks. “I haven’t seen him.”

A long sigh comes from Nikki.

I move to the other side of the box. “You’ve talked to him?” I ask.

Nikki’s eyes glance down, not hiding the exhaustion we are all feeling. “I don’t want to worry you two, but he’s stressed. The other night, he paced for hours, trying to figure out a new plan. You three can barely keep up with the injuries and our cohort is only so big. Stark’s stretching himself as thin as possible, being everywhere the injured can’t be.”

“I’m sure he’s being safe.” Lirea rests her hand on Nikki’s.

She tilts her head into her friend, and a small sob breaks into the small room. “We’re supposed to be planning a mating ceremony, not war tactics,” she sniffs.

I grab a tissue and hand it to her—even though I might be the one who needs it. That tightness in my chest creeps back as I try to remember the slow breaths Jocko coaxed me through. I haven’t talked to him alone in weeks. Every time the door opens, I listen for his voice, but nothing.

“I’m going to rest, so I can be useful tomorrow,” I say, heading for the door.

“Good plan. Night,” Lirea says with a tired smile.

Nikki nods, still wiping her eyes.

Back in my room, I drag my feet to the bathroom and lock the door. It’s time for another hair dye session. While I’m rinsing, the door to my room slams shut. A double knock comes on the bathroom door.

“I’m going to be a bit,” I say loud enough for him to hear over the running water.

“I’ll wait,” he calls from the other side.

Twenty minutes later, I close the bathroom door behind me. I didn’t get a chance to wipe everything down and he loves to ignore my privacy.

“Do you need something?”

Stark leans against one of the bed posts. His dark hair points in all directions, and his arctic eyes have red around them. He’s safe. My heart slows a bit from its anxious rhythm.

“I heard you’ve been helping with injuries. I wanted to thank you in case no one’s bothered to.”

“I don’t mind. I’m good at healing.” Time is no longer standing still while I’m stuck here.

“I remember.” He runs his hands under his shirt and pulls it up to where four scars should be. A well-defined six pack stares back at me, and I swallow at the sight of a V angling below his waistband.

“I, um, that’s different. I’m helping by holding hands and passing supplies over.”

Good thing he drops his shirt. It’s distracting. The man gave me a book, and it’s all I think about whenever I’m not helping wounded werewolves. I should resent him for not letting me leave, though I know he doesn’t make the final decision. No one has given me a book, not in that way. Pratt did to occupy me and educate me. Stark pays attention to me, though I can’t figure out why he bothers, with so much on his plate. He got so close with that book, but he has no idea.

“Still, thank you.”

“Is it bad now? What changed these past weeks?”

He sighs and sits on the rug at the end of the bed. I take the cautious choice and sit across from him on the edge of it, crossing my legs. My hair drips onto my bare shoulder.

“I don’t know.” He wipes his face. “We can’t risk going closer, and most of these wounds are from long-distance shots.”

“Oh, that’s . . .” I don’t have a good comment to make, so I give up and wait to see what else he will say.

“If we knew their plan, anything about them, it’d be helpful, but we can’t just waltz in and ask. In human form, we can blend into a large crowd, but a camp hunting us is different, and it’s a huge risk I refuse to take.”

“What can you do then?”