Page 42 of Son of a Witch

The doctor lifted my prison sleeve and secured a strap around my bicep, tightening it, cutting off my circulation. “This will sting a little,” he said as he swabbed the crook of my elbow with a cleaning wipe.

My heart leaped into my throat when he removed the needle from the wrapper, combining it with the first blood collection tube.

I leaned away from the sharp tip. “I … I don’t like needles.”

“It’s best if you look away then,” the doctor schooled me. “Think about the music. The reason you wrote it. Your inspiration behind it.”

Yeah, I could do that. Turning my head to stare at the wall, I tapped each note on my thigh, remembering every single one like I’d written it yesterday. I hissed as the needle pricked my skin. My pulse elevated, thumping hard, distracting me. Quick beats pounded in my head rising in tempo and speed. I was losing grip on the symphony.

“Just a little more,” the doctor eased the strap on my upper arm, letting the blood flow to my extremities, relaxing the numbness spreading to my fingers. “One more tube and then we’re done.”

I wanted to bark out a laugh. Done. We weren’t even close. I had to endure more tests. Scans on my body and I hated enclosed spaces. This procedure was really going to test me. I wished Astra or Tor were here to guide me through it. Talk to me, sing to me, distract me in any way they could. But they didn’t even know I was here.

The doctor poked and prodded me everywhere, making me cough, stuck wooden spatulas under my tongue, testing every possible system in my body. I winced at each touch that burned my skin and insides. But I bared it to follow an order and to find out what was wrong with me. The whole time I worried what they’d find, if they’d discover something serious that would eliminate me from missions.

“We should have your results within the week, Mr. Fielding,” the doctor advised me at the end of all the tests. “Come back in two days and I’ll have a report for you and the warden.”

CHAPTER15

Raze

Growls followedme everywhere I went. Suspicious eyes burned holes in my back. Male werewolves trailed me to the wood pile to collect more wood. Stalked me when I went fishing for food this morning. I gripped the string carrying my catch. For fuck’s sake, I couldn’t take a piss here without someone knowing about it.

Home sweet fucking home.

I didn’t know what was worse—this camp or prison. Both felt crowded, strangling, and suppressive. Followed everywhere by shifters instead of guards. No privacy besides in my cabin. Laboring with the shifters, cutting wood, harvesting vegetables, washing and hanging our linen and clothing, building new cabins for new families. The sanctuary had a strong sense of community, supporting every member. I just wished I felt a part of it.

Better than nothing, though. I could be homeless, fighting off deadbeats and drug addicts for sleeping space and some cardboard.

Sarah indicated if things went well with the commune, and they welcomed me, I could start on a cabin for my pack and have a place for them when they emerged from the Guardians. I didn’t count my chickens.

I thumped my three fish on the outside table provided for hunters to descale their catches or skin their meat.

Out of my peripheral vision, I caught the two dickheads on my tail the last four days, keeping an eye on me.

Steele. One of Dash’s men, leaning on the column of the pergola. Silent and not much of a talker, like me. Conveyed his expressions through his eyes.One wrong move, and you’re dead.

And some other wanker from the camp called Mike. A small-dicked asshole who thought he had ownership over the unmated females. He pulled out his hunting knife and stabbed it in the column. Weasel thought he intimidated me. Threats like that only pissed off my wolf more and made him target number one to bite if things got out of hand.

I sliced off the fish’s heads and descaled their bodies with rough jerks of my hunting knife. Innards spilled all over the table as I gutted them.

“You want to help out here?” I growled at them. “Pitch in for the pack? Or just watch me all day long?”

No answer besides a knife slicing through wood.

I growled at the disrespect shown to the wood that went into making the shelter. I jabbed my knife at the little weasel. “That tree sacrificed its life to provide shelter.”

Mike stabbed it again, and fury scorched my veins.

Two steps carried me to the punk. My hands clamped around his throat, tight but not enough to cut off his air. Enough to show him I was done with his bullshit threats.

“I don’t want any of your women. I’ve got my own mate back home.” Home. Fuck. The prison wasn’t my home. Where my heart was. With her, always. I released him and shoved him backward. “So you can fuck off. Got it?”

Mike rubbed at his red throat and scrambled away like the insecure bitch he was.

Steele cracked a smile. First one the whole time he babysat me for Dash. Glad I entertained the asshole. I was sick of the surveillance. Sick of the judgment and lack of trust because of my size, strength, and threat to the smaller, weaker shifters.

Steele snatched two logs of wood and tossed them onto the fire below the boiling vat of water. Fire dampened at the intrusion as flames licked at the new wood. I took comfort in the elements as one of my only friends.

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