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ONE
IRIS
Iris smelled the musk of distant wolf shifters. She shook her head as she plucked the chamomile from its stem.
“It just figures,” she said, placing each flower, one by one, delicately inside a wicker basket.
No matter how she tried, she could never seem to shake the beasts that always surrounded her. They waited for her in every corner of the country, even in exaggerated seclusion.
She had run as far as she could from where she was born. But packs were always around, unknown to the quaint and well-mannered humans of a nearby town. Every community seemingly had its pack waiting to scoop her up, looming in the background and hidden from society.
She had gotten so tired of running and, eventually, realized there wasn’t much of a point anymore. It was her choice whether to join or remain on her own.
Not too far away, a cabin that had seen better days sat surrounded by overgrown, swaying trees and vast, unkempt gardens dotted with every color of weed and flower. The paint had chipped in many places, the roof was worn from passing storms, and the windows were dust-covered and neglected. It wasn’t much, but it had been home for a bit.
The soreness in her back screamed at her from frequently leaning over. She grabbed several more chamomile flowers before seeing no more worth harvesting, their yellow bulbs drooping over and their flowers long since wilted. With each pluck, she found herself forming a pile of chamomile in the basket before straightening and stretching her spine.
“Not much value here,” she reminded herself, trying to fight through the discomfort. “I just have to get it done today.”
It almost made the inconvenience of growing the flora worthwhile. Truthfully, it wasn’t hard to grow, but it also wasn’t easy to find, and it set her back a bit if she had to buy it. But her patients deserved the best, and they depended on her to provide them with what they needed.
She sniffed the air, taking in the scent of wolf shifters again. It drove her to a world she had long since left behind and almost sent her animalistic urges into overdrive.
If she wanted to make it on her own away from the overblown drama of wolves, she needed to focus. And that meant not letting the musk of strangers get the better of her or her shifter half.
But there was something so familiar and enticing about the scent. It took her memories to a dark place, but in that darkness was a faint tinge of nostalgia. Even more, she sensed distress hormones in the wind as though something was struggling to stay alive.
“It’s none of my business,” she said before humming to herself. “Just keep your head down, Iris.”
She had intervened before when she wasn’t welcome, and it had not ended well. Now, she preferred the humans to her own kind. At least with humans, she didn’t have to worry about them physically overpowering her and abusing their authority.
Basket in hand and stepping over overgrown weeds, she made her way forward until she reached a tight cluster of trees.Between the gnarled and graying trunks was a well-hidden fence enclosure that she unlatched, feeling the rain-soaked wood give in her hand.
The tree cover was thick, and she watched her step, careful not to trample any rare mushrooms. A harsh wind coasted over the trees, sending the branches swaying and rattling. Eventually, she reached a spot where the light permeated the canopy … the real point of her journey.
Flowers and herbs of every conceivable color and shape dotted the grass and tilled soil, illuminated by the scattering rays of the overbearing sun. And despite the floral essence, she could still smell the damn wolves.
On her knees, she picked the brahmi from the ground cover, placing the leaves in the basket. These could be used to treat anxiety … something she suddenly now suffered from due to the thoughts of her past life coming to the forefront. As she plucked the leaves from the ground, tearing at the dirt and soil, she recalled how hard she had to fight for her independence from her old wolf pack.
Every pull at the flora and every crawling motion took her into her past, where she relived the abuse of a cruel and apathetic pack leader. In her heart, the notion of peace and tranquility that her birth pack brought her was tempered by a deep feeling of betrayal. She had pledged herself to her pack, and her pack had pledged itself to her, but the deal wound up rather one-sided.
She started to wonder if she’d ever feel at home again in a pack. Being alone was certainly liberating, but there was part of it that had always felt so unnatural to her.
Meanwhile, she enjoyed the feel of the mud on her well-worn hands, her fingernails chipped and neglected. Living among nature was therapeutic. Her knees immersed themselves in the earth’s cool moisture.
“Just one more bout,” she said, pushing back up to her feet.
Already, her basket was full. But there was still one more crop for her to retrieve. It had taken years for her to grow the yellow leaves on the tall mullein stalks used to heal lung issues and make throat lozenges and cough syrup.
Concerning another wolf pack, she wasn’t going to surrender her freedom so easily, trading one master for another. She was grateful the nearby pack members hadn’t approached her, even though she could feel their eyes upon her at almost every moment. They looked like trouble.
Picking up the basket and taking care not to step on anything on her way out, she eased open the gate. Then she noticed, more insistently, the scent of the wolf’s musk in the air. She could feel it entering her nostrils, flowing in through her mouth, and stilling her heart. As she approached her cabin, it became stronger.
There was something so familiar about it. It almost felt like … home.
A few yards out from her cabin, she saw him.
“Oh, my God.”
