"And your father—" "Wait, who's Beep?" Doc and I ask at the same time.
"I don't want to talk about him," she dismisses both questions.
I'm so used to people kissing my ass, I'd long forgotten what it was like to have someone unimpressed by my status. Even Doc, though he's a far more genial person, a beta with more gentle energy, is well respected not just in our community, but amongst all shifters—she just waves her hand, brushing him off.
"Okay. I'd like to take some blood. I want to run a few tests and find out why you were sick and why your wolf was suppressed. I promise I'll get you answers. You just have to trust me."
Mona slows her pacing. She crosses her arms and glares at him for a minute. Her eyes dance like she's having a conversation with herself. And then she comes to a decision, and I can't mask the relief I feel when she nods her head once.
Doc prepares to take her blood for testing. And while my mind races with questions—important ones, worrying ones—I can't help but stare. She's a complete dichotomy.
Delicate features, a heart-shaped face framed by wisps of copper hair that have escaped a messy bun. Pillowy soft lips. The upper is a little fuller than the bottom lip, both thick and bee-stung. Her pale skin is covered in a constellation of orange and brown freckles, which dot her rounded, soft cheeks. All marred by small cuts and bruises.
Crystal-clear blue eyes, bright and sharp as the Adriatic Sea. And they blaze with fury and annoyance, even as her pupils react to my presence. Every time she scents me, feels me, she reacts, but refuses to allow herself to be vulnerable.
Even in torn, bloody clothes, she's amazing. Which reminds me. I duck outside the room while she and Doc keep talking. Heather and Joey left a while ago, so the hospital is empty as I walk down the hall. We always have stores of clothes in every communal building, and the hospital is no different. I dig through one of the drawers near the entrance and find something clean and small enough to fit her. When I bring it back into the room, she seems surprised.
I hold it out, like a cat holding a dead mouse—an offering for her attention and affection. Since she's finished with the blood draws, Doc directs her to a shower down the hall. She disappears for a few minutes, and while there are a million things to discuss, Doc and I sit in relative silence.
He keeps opening his mouth to say something—comment on the oddities, ask questions, who knows—but ultimately huffs and waits patiently.
Mona returns a few minutes later. She looks better. Her skin is brighter with all the dirt and blood washed away. Everything about her screamsomega—from her petite five-foot-nothingframe to the delicate shape of her neck leading to gentle, full curves hiding beneath an oversized t-shirt. The pants fit, at least.
Her scent is stronger, too. Jasmine floral. Sweet, with rich honey undertones. It drifts through the air, beckoning me closer. I take a deep inhale. I could subsist on her essence alone. There're so many layers to her. Wild and untamed. Unknown. Floral, sweet, but with a calming omega quality, which sparkles like magic beneath it all.
Utterly perfect.
And then she yawns, and though it's barely afternoon, she's had a trying week—longer, I suspect—so I suggest we call it a day so she can get some rest.
"I'll take you to where you'll be staying while we figure things out. You'll be safe, I promise."
She eyes me skeptically, thinking about her answer before ultimately nodding.
"Doc, come by later to check on her?" I ask, though it's hardly a request. He knows if he didn't show up I'd come looking.
"Of course. Mona, more sleep will do you good. Do you need any more pain meds?"
She shakes her head. "I'm all set. I'm pretty hungry though."
"There's food where we're going." I try not to sound overly excited. Or needy, when she doesn't give me all her attention. She just nods and looks around the room, as if to say goodbye to it, before shrugging and heading outside, ahead of me. I follow like a lost pup, with Doc at my back.
Doc waves us off as I direct Mona to my truck.
The door barely shuts before she rounds on me and begins peppering me with questions.
"Is Doc really centuries old?"
I chuckle under my breath as the truck lurches over a pothole once we get going. "Yes. Six, I think."
"Holy Jesus. That's incredible. Is he… he's not an omega like me, right?"
I shake my head, confused by her question. When I glance over, the arctic flecks in her irises catch the sunlight. It takes me a second to refocus on her question. When I do, the realization of what she's asking comes to me slowly.
"Doc's a beta," I say, turning back to the road. "I guess you're new to all this. You can feel it, though, right? The hierarchy?"
"You mean the different kinds of wolves? Why some seem stronger than others?"
"Hierarchy, yeah. It's not just our scents. You can feel the power imbalance. An alpha's magic is different. It's heavier. Blazing, at times. Like the sun. A beta feels more like… a roaring fire. More stable, but still strong."
