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“Where’s Trystan?” Ridge asks me as they join me at the doorway.
I shrug. “Lost him on the way to the bedroom.”
“We’ll find him on the way out,” Archer murmurs, casting one more glance back at the healer. “Let’s go see my father.”
10
Sable
The late afternoon air is hot as we leave the healer’s cabin.
Part of me wants to remain behind and keep an eye on Dare. Not just because we’re leaving him half-conscious and with a total stranger—which would be grounds for absolute terror if I were in his shoes—but because I feel somewhat responsible for his current state.
But I know if I say that out loud, I’ll get a lot of blowback from the other three men about how it’s nobody’s fault but Dare’s for running out into the wilderness and picking fights with witches.
Maybe it’s because I’ve done my fair share of dealing with shitty things in my life, but I’m more inclined to see that Dare’s behavior had a trigger, and that trigger was me becoming a witch. So in a roundabout way, it is my fault. I’m still hurt over him running away, and over the way he’s rejected me even being near him since he showed back up. Mostly though, I hurt for him and the deep, underlying pain he feels over the loss of his pack. I’m not stupid enough to ignore the fact that it’s my transition that brought all his pain back to the surface.
Behind me, Ridge closes the door to the healer’s house, and I follow Archer down the path. What I want doesn’t really matter right now anyway. I doubt the shifter healer really wants me underfoot while she works. Plus, I’m not sure it’s a good idea for me to be around strangers right now; it’s imperative nobody finds out about the witch inside me. So I don’t mention my desire to stick around.
We navigate back up the narrow dirt path away from the healer’s cabin and onto the main road that cuts through the East Pack’s small village. There are a few people out and about, doing chores or going about their everyday lives, but not nearly as many as in the North Pack’s town. Most of the houses here show no signs of life beyond the misty swirl of smoke coming from their chimneys. Shifters are home, but nobody is showing their faces.
“Where is everybody?” I ask, unable to quell my curiosity.
Archer grimaces, and his green eyes flash around the surrounding village. “The recent attacks have put much of my pack on high alert. My father has instituted sheltering rules, as well as a nightly curfew to keep everyone safe.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize your father was still doing alpha duties.” I blink, surprised. “I thought he was really sick.”
“He is,” Archer replies in a quiet voice, his gaze fixed on the empty road ahead as we walk. “He’s bedridden most of the time. He can’t get out and do the things he used to. But he’s still alpha of our pack, and his mind is still sharp. I take care of some of the day-to-day of running the pack because he’s too weak to do everything. But the official last word on anything belongs to my father.”
“So you’re like his emissary,” I say. “Acting in his stead while being advised by him.”
He offers me a small smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Exactly. It’s not how things are usually done, but it works for us.”
On the other side of Archer, I notice Trystan’s lips press together. Both he and Ridge have been listening silently to our exchange, and clearly, Trystan doesn’t approve of the East Pack’s setup. I don’t know much about shifter packs, and I’d like to ask him why he’s so disapproving. Archer is a great guy, and he clearly loves his father if he’s working to help him carry out his alpha duties. But I don’t have time to ask.
Archer has brought us to the other side of the village, where a small walkway leads to a modestly
sized home. Like the healer’s little cabin, this house is set off the beaten path and well away from other homesteads around it, giving it an air of privacy. Our conversation stalls as he pulls a key ring from his pocket and opens the front door, then ushers us inside.
As he closes the door behind us, he glances at the other men and sighs. “Just so you’re aware before we go in… he’s in rough shape.” He looks pointedly at Ridge and Trystan. “He’s not the man you remember.”
Ridge grasps Archer’s shoulder with a grim frown. “I’m sorry.”
Archer shrugs. “It is what it is. I don’t want you walking in there expecting more than what he is. He’s the same old Malcolm, just… not as strong.”
There’s raw pain in his eyes as he turns away and heads down a dark hallway. We pass a living room with all the curtains closed, where white sheets cover every piece of furniture. I assume this isn’t a house that sees many guests anymore, and I feel even more heartbroken for Archer and his family. The next arched doorway opens onto a small dining area illuminated by a dim overhead light, though the curtains are closed in here as well. A brunette woman in sapphire blue scrubs sits at a rustic mahogany table munching on a sandwich.
“Ah! Archer!” She stands to greet him with a hug, and she’s so short and curvy that the top of her head barely reaches his shoulder. “I didn’t even hear you come in. I expected you to be gone much longer.”
“We ran into some trouble,” Archer says, keeping his response vague. “How is he?”
“The same.” She plants her hands on her hips and glances around at the rest of us with curious brown eyes. Close up, I can tell she’s older, with a sprinkle of gray around her hairline and crow’s feet at her eyes. “Would you like me to whip up something to eat or drink?”
Archer shakes his head. “No. We won’t be long.”
“Well. If you change your mind.” She smiles at us, then sits back down in front of her sandwich to resume eating.
“That’s Hope, my father’s home care nurse,” Archer explains as we leave the dining room. “She operates as a kind of assistant while also monitoring his health and medications. And companion too, I guess. She kicks his ass in card games almost every night. I never hear the end of it.”
