Page 48 of Cold Moon

Now, that twitching muscle in his jaw made me think he might have something to say. I wandered over to his side and leaned against the fence too. “You okay?”

From the corner of my eye, I saw his jaw flex again. He sighed through his nose, looking down at the hoof prints below the fence. The goats were already in for the night, so they couldn’t stand there bleating for attention. Slowly, he shook his head.

“I want to hunt down whoever’s responsible for this, tear them to pieces,” he admitted in a low, soft voice that sent a shiver right down my spine.

Barbara had told me she’d lost her daughter, Ford’s mate, seven years before, to the Condition. Now, all this work we were doing, however good it was and whatever hopes it had kindled for the future, it was also dragging up a whole lot of trauma for people who’d lived and lost.

For once, Ford’s violent alpha impulse wasn’t entirely misplaced. I thought about Skye, how I’d feel if he were gone and the people responsible for it got away with continuing to hurt people. It’d have driven me over the edge, made me into the beast I’d always feared becoming.

That Ford spent his days looking after goats and chickens and plants? Well, that was an incredible amount of restraint, in my book.

“I’m sorry you can’t,” I said quietly, “but we can still make them face justice.”

Ford’s throat worked. He didn’t say anything for a long while, so long I worried I’d said the wrong thing. Finally, all those words he kept inside escaped in a long sigh, and he turned to me.

“Let me give you a ride back to town.”

And that was it. He was holding it together, like an alpha should.

28

Skye

Four days, I was stuck in bed before being able to keep down solid food again. For the first twenty-four hours, even the IV had made me feel queasy, as psychosomatic as that probably was.

By the time we got to four days, I was about ready to go stir-crazy. My mother had spent long enough hanging around, smothering me, that Linden had instituted visiting hours, so she couldn’t be there literally all the time. It had been too long since I’d had a major relapse, and lying helpless in a clinic bed was a lot worse than sitting at the desk, working.

I gave a put-upon sigh when Linden came in smelling of lunch on the last day. He said I could go home the next morning if I was still feeling okay, and even worse than lying in the clinic bed, then I’d be expected to take days off work, lie around, and not even come into the building.

Lying in the bed at the clinic at least had me in the right place.

And... not alone all the time.

“You smell like the Grille’s barbecue chicken,” I said with a sigh.

He lifted a brow at me. “You don’t like barbecue chicken.”

“I’d eat it right now,” I insisted. He lifted a brow and looked at me for a long moment, letting me consider the words. Barbecue chicken. My stomach turned. “Okay, maybe not. It’s got chicken skin on it. It’s gross.”

His lips turned up at the corners, but he didn’t laugh at me. “Yes. It’s disgusting that chicken has chicken skin on it.”

I scrunched up my nose at him. He could mock all he wanted; itwasgross.

He didn’t press the point as he came over and checked my vitals, nodding and frowning and doing his usual Doctor Grove faces as he checked me over.

“Well, Doc? You can give it to me straight. Am I dying?”

It was his turn to give me the stink-eye. “What you are,” he corrected, setting his clipboard on the hook. “Is getting better much faster than ever before.”

He went quiet, and I didn’t answer immediately, letting it sink in. I’d had minor relapses over the years, each resulting in a day or two in the clinic, and then weeks of feeling sluggish and unfocused. But even my most restrictive dietary changes had never done what we were doing now—eliminating every single food made by Sterling.

And now, four days after the worst relapse since I almost died at thirteen, I was sharp as ever, and mostly annoyed at still being stuck in bed.

It was really them.

Ridge and Alexis had found the culprit—the monster that had been hiding under my bed since birth. It wasn’t over. The monster was still a monster, and being pulled, kicking and screaming, into the cold light of day hadn’t killed it or turned it into something harmless.

But everyone could see it now. We had the choice, albeit a difficult one, not always possible, to step carefully around it, and avoid the worst of its teeth.

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