“That’s not what I asked,” he replies patiently, his voice low and steady.
Once again he waits me out. “I did. Right after… right after it happened.”
“And?”
“And nothing, man,” I reply, angry he’s pushing this. “It didn’t help, so I stopped going. He’s taken enough from me. I already have nightmares. I won’t let him win by reliving it all inthe daylight too.” Never mind that I’ve already considered going back to therapy, I’m not ready to talk about this with Garrett yet, especially not right after reliving the worst night of my life.
“It isn’t about him winning. It’s about you losing out on getting your life back because you can’t process what happened to you.”
“You try fucking processing it! I thought I was going to die, Rett, how am I supposed to just get over that?”
“I don’t know. But I know you start by asking for help.”
Too tired to hold on to my anger, I let it drain out of me. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“I know someone—a vampire. His name’s Mohinder, and he’s a therapist who specialises in working with supes who’ve been through traumatic experiences. Between everything that happened to you at the hands of The Raven, then suddenly finding out you’re a demon, I’d say you’ve got trauma to spare.”
An almost-laugh escapes me, surprising us both. “No kidding.” I sigh. “Where’s this guy based? I don’t think I’ll feel comfortable leaving town until I’ve got a better grip on my powers.”
“He’s here in Crystal Lake. Most sanctuary towns have at least a couple of therapists.” Huh. I suppose that makes sense given that a lot of the supes moving here have been or are still in danger.
“Why him and not someone else?” If there’s more than one therapist in town, surely it would make sense to see who’s the best fit for me. Shit, I can’t believe after one conversation Garrett’s already got me seriously considering going back.
“Because he uses a vampire ability called compulsion on his patients to help them talk about and work through traumatic experiences without the same emotional toll.” Interesting. Sounds kind of like the supernatural community’s version of EMDR.
Garrett looks at me hopefully. For someone who’s supposed to be a tough Alpha shifter, he sure is good at giving puppy eyes.
“Give me his contact info.” Rett grins. “I’m not promising to do anything other than think about it,” I warn, but it’s no use. The fucker knows he’s got me.
He hands back my mobile, then rolls his shoulders back. “How about a tour of the house?”
“Sure.”
If I thought this place looked enormous from the outside, I was mistaken. The house is downright gigantic. Seriously. It stretches back much farther than I’d realised, and there’s a basement level. It’s not your average dingy basement where you store random stuff you’re sure you’ll need again at some point either. No, the pack house basement is an entire level with multiple rooms and a high ceiling. It must be a pain in the arse to heat in the winter. The same could be said for the rest of the house—it’s got that drafty old manor feel but with modern appliances.
“This is the sparring room.” Garrett leads me through a set of double doors into a cavernous space with an honest to goodness boxing ring in the centre. There are shifters dotted around the space. Some are even practicing with weapons, and I’m unable to contain my shock when my eyes land on the pair of shifters closest to us.
“Is that asword?”
Rett chuckles. “Yeah. Don’t forget supes live long lives. Some of the older pack members like to keep their old-school skills sharp—no pun intended.”
Noticing our attention, they lower their weapons, and the taller of the two women wearing black leggings and a sports bra walks towards us, her light tawny-brown skin glistening with sweat.
“Alpha, who’s your guest?”
“This is Jared. He’s an old friend. Jared, meet Neith. She’s on the town’s protection team.”
Her pin-straight ponytail swishes when she cocks her head, dark-brown eyes assessing me. “You’re not a shifter.” Her pupils slant, then revert to circles so quickly I almost miss it. She’s not a wolf shifter like Rett then.
“No,” I reply, looking to Garrett for reassurance.
“You seem weak, but my instincts tell me you’re powerful. Why?”
“Oh,” I tug the dampening amulet out from beneath my henley. “Probably because I’m wearing this.”
“Are you aware your friend’s amulet is unsafe?” she asks Garrett, completely ignoring me.
“We’re handling it.”
