“None of you bonded like that,” Mother replies, saving them from one of my rants. “I raised strong-willed babies with cast-iron stomachs and razor-sharp claws.”
I wince at her wolven description of us. While it’s true that I grew up in the same den without the modern conveniences of running water or electricity, I couldn’t be more different than the rest of the family. When they found me in the woods, I doubt I was much stronger than these little hatchlings. Some days, I wonder if my intestinal problems are really the genetic disease ulcerative colitis, or if they’re a result of starving in my first days of life. How long was I alone in the woods? What else found me before the Werebrown family? It’s not a stretch to guess unhealthy bacteria found me first—on the dirt floor of a forest, there are millions of harmful bacteria, right?
What if all my painful flares could be cleared with probiotics, a different diet, or many of the other things I found on the human’s internet?
“That’s right,” chimes in Dad after he catches my gaze. “Even Alette toughened up with you bruisers as her teachers. Those little birds are delicate and wouldn’t survive in our pack the way she did. The Werebrown family is tough, but my little girls are the toughest of all.”
Sarah wraps Dad and me in her arms, struggling to hug us around her giant belly. I know Dad’s tough girl talk is because he’s worried about Sarah more than he’s letting her see. That’swhy we’re here, when the rest of the werewolf community has birthed pups in their dens since the dawn of time.
Sarah’s carrying five pups, when Mother only carried three in her first and then two in her second. Michael’s family is cursed with single litters, so they’re thrilled to have so many pups coming at once. Dad’s happy too, but I can read him like a book, and he’s scared for his little girl.
“We love to win over families on the fence with these cute little guys,” Liam says as he walks the ten feet to the elevators. Why does he watch the floor display count upward before pressing the call button? Wouldn’t pressing the button summon the nearest elevator? Why does that strike me as odd?
“Next, I’m going to take the parents-to-be to the emergency room to go over intake procedures, so they know what to expect if they aren’t checked in when the big day arrives. The rest of you will take separate elevators. The café in the basement is where we will all meet up, so head there for your complimentary lunch. I highly recommend the sirloin.”
“Score!” yells my brother Kip. He exchanges high fives with my other brothers over my head. Sometimes they make me hate my four feet nine inches height. Okay, I hate being so short all the time.
The thought of sirloin churns my stomach too. I don’t think I can handle the grease right now…but then again, the roughage of a salad sounds just as painful. Mother shoots me a sympathetic look when her werewolf hearing catches the angry growl of my guts. I had another flare last night that had me crying on the floor. Mother came to check on me and found me sobbing in the outhouse for the fourth time this week.
Sarah, Michael, and Liam disappear into the first open elevator.
Maybe this is the opportunity I need to confront Mother. With Sarah settled but not popping yet, I have a tiny window of time to be the center of attention. How will they react when I ask about going on a wellness retreat for people with gastrointestinal issues? While I doubt they’ll trust the crunchy instructors—since they aren’t doctors like at Haunted Health—I would hope they would respect me enough to let me go. Will they understand I want to explore alternatives to a lifetime of diarrhea, or will they just see it as me escaping to the human world?
Even though joining the human world would mean a career…a purpose…healthcare based on the relationship between a patient and her doctor, not a pack leader…central heating and cooling in an actual dwelling… I could control my life instead of listening to a pack leader I hardly know. He doesn’t know my body as I do. In the human world, these choices are made by the individual or, at the very least, the individual’s parents. Pack dynamics don’t match human conditions…
Maybe my parents are more intuitive than I give them credit—
“Sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was backing up,” I say to the ogre standing too close to me.
“Your wheelchair, miss,” he says in a voice that makes the hairs on my arms stand on end.
“Oh no, that’s the other Werebrown. I’m not pregnant,” I say with a laugh.
“We must escort patients to their rooms in a wheelchair. Hospital policy, miss,” he says with a frown behind his tusks.
“But I’m not a patient. It’s Sarah—”
“I’m so sorry, Alette,” Dad whispers as he grips my shoulders tightly. “Master Grant demanded it, and you wouldn’t listen to reason.”
“Please understand that we don’t want you to live a life of pain,” Mother says as Dad pushes me into the wheelchair. “It breaks my heart to find you crying every night. Once you have the J-pouch surgery, you can return to the pack and live a normal life.”
“No!” I shout as I fight the hands on my shoulders. I have no hope against Dad’s werewolf strength, and the ogre is holding me down as well. My traitorous brothers fight my kicking feet and waving arms to secure my limbs to the chair with metal straps. “I have a plan. Please listen! Please! There’s a nonsurgical way!”
“We’ve listened to you cry and sob as you wait it out, honey,” Mom says as tears roll down her cheeks.
"It’s for your own good. You will thank us when it’s over,” Dad says through gritted teeth.
“Alette, stop being a baby,” Kip yells in my face.
“Yeah, sis, act like a werewolf,” adds my brother Scott.
“That’s the point,” I scream as hysteria threatens to take my thoughts. Strapped into a wheelchair, I yell at my family through the closing elevator doors. “I’m not a werewolf! I’m a human! I have more options! Just listen—”
I fume as the ogre orderly punches buttons and whispers into a radio. My heart hammers in my chest with rage. How dare they! I’m an adult. They can’t just throw me into a hospital against my wishes. I have rights! Certainly, there’s some legal—of course, there’s not…because they’re werewolves. The pack leader’s word is law. That means Dad went to Master Grant withmy pooping problems. I’ll never be able to look the bear shifter in the face again.
I hate them. I hate my guts. I hate their guts, too.
“This place is better than anything in the human—”
