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11
Remedy
I’d say the guys were crazy… except I feel a sliver of something within me.
In my womb.
Which—I know. It’s crazy-town talk.
And maybe I am crazy. But I also know I shifted into wolf form today and their explanation of it makes sense. Not to mention the fact I do feel something inside me. Maybe a wolf-shifter baby is more powerful than a regular human baby? It’s the only thing that makes any sense at all.
“You okay?” East asks, his face warm and it puts me at ease. The guys say we’re only a mile from their house and the walk has been pretty painless. I’m not scared of the bear as long as they are with me. We even find my backpack where I’d left it during my bear-fight.
“I’m just trying to process everything. It’s a lot.” Exhaling, I reach for East’s hand.
“Any questions?” he asks.
“Do you guys, like, have jobs?”
East smiles. “Everyone in our old pack—about one hundred males right now, work for the pack leader’s company, Forest Trek. They take tourists on hikes and expeditions and stuff.”
“But not you?”
“East lifts an eyebrow, looking at me in a way that tells me he has a story. “It’s not that simple. We refused to take the mates Malik, our leader, had chosen for us and it put us on the outs with the pack.”
“You mentioned that last night.”
“Right, well, he can’t technically kick us out, but he assigned us the grunt jobs.”
“So, what’s a wolf shifter job that is grunt labor?”
“We patrol the territory. Mostly it’s a lot of walking in circles. Not very glamorous.”
“Why not get a job in town?”
“If we quit Forest Trek entirely, we lose our pack.. There aren’t any other shifter wolf packs in Alaska. It’s not something we we’re prepared to do. And now that you’re pregnant, I’m glad we never did.”
“You think it’s real, this pregnancy?”
“I hope it is,” he says, squeezing my hand.
My eyes are still on his face, his thick beard, and the warm hand holding mine. “Why? I’m a stranger.”
He just shakes his head. “No, Remedy, you’re family.” He points up ahead, and my eyes land on a house.
Not just a house. A storybook cottage ripped from the pages of Snow White or Goldilocks.
“Welcome home,” East says. “I hope you like it.”
He has no idea what those words mean to me. What this place means to me.
But I plan on explaining everything, right after I take a nice long bath.
* * *
I run my hand along the butcher-block counter, over the river rock fireplace. I open a linen closet and find it stuffed to the gills with down pillows and hand-stitched quilts.
“This is not a bachelor pad,” I say, but it’s not really a question. “What gives?”
“It was my aunt’s place, Callum says. “She wasn’t a shifter, and she died a few years ago. I inherited it. We moved in after we left the compound.”
I nod, taking in the rugs on the hardwood floor, the narrow staircase leading to the bedrooms upstairs. “Sorry about your aunt.”
“It’s alright. It’s been a few years, and we weren’t very close.”
“East told me about some of the stuff that went down with the pack. So, the rest of the pack lives on a compound?”
Cal nods. “Yeah, and we still have every right to live there, we just wanted some space. And… this place is pretty nice.”
“More than nice,” I say, taking in the drapes and the plush couches, the bookshelves lined with books, the purposefully placed artwork on the wall. “That bay window reading nook is just a little too perfect.”
Cal shrugs. “You like it? It seems a little old-fashioned.”
“It’s cozy. I love it.”
We walk upstairs. East and River have left to get groceries, and Cal’s job is to make sure I get settled in.
He shows me the three bedrooms—iron bed frames and steamer trunks and small identifying markers of each of the men. Cal helps me figure out which room is whose. River’s room has a ton of journals on the desk. Cal has the hunting knives, and East has the Frisbees.
“Why do you like old-fashioned things. most women I’ve met wants things modern and new. They wouldn’t be thrilled with the idea of moving into a dead woman’s house.”
We head to the bathroom at the end of the hall—with a claw foot tub, in all its perfect enamel glory. Cal turns on the shower, and I sit on the toilet while it heats up.
“I may look like a girl from the other side of the tracks, but I think every girl, somewhere deep inside, dreams of a space that is inviting, nestled deep in the woods, safe from the storms of the world.” Twisting the ends of my hair, I avoid his eyes. “Or maybe that’s just me. A girl who remembers packing every worldly possession in a black plastic garbage bag before being dropped off at yet another foster home. Like I was nothing but trash.”
