Page 6 of Cold Moon

Still, Skye took a rolling table held up by only one side and slid it around my bed. The tabletop stretched over the blanket—a strangely cozy throw that looked like it might have been hand knit. He set my cup of water there.

“If you need anything”—he reached for a remote attached to my bed by a cord—“there’s a button here, so you don’t have to shout. And if you want to watch TV, this controls the channels.”

His hands fluttered anxiously, adjusting the blanket and sheet for me, scooting the water closer so I didn’t have to stretch.

“Thank you, Skye.” The way he looked after me, cared even for the enemy, was sweet, but I didn’t think I needed the television. All I needed was a month-long nap, or maybe to never move again.

He bit his lip, making a pale dimple in the soft flesh just below the edge of his front teeth. “No problem.”

He skittered off after Alpha Grove, and though the clinic was mostly made up of one large room, I couldn’t see the pair of them through the curtains Skye pulled around my bed, the area at the foot left open to look out on the TV and chairs on the far wall.

I tried not to listen to them, but it was hard to miss Skye’s harried whisper. “Do you think he’ll make it?”

I could almost imagine the purse-lipped expression Alpha Grove shot at the curtain around my bed as he sighed and answered softly, “I do. But I’m not sure what we’ll do with him when he does.”

4

Skye

Linden wanted me to go home. Or maybe better put, he didn’t want both Dante Reid and me in the clinic at the same time now that he was conscious. Since Dante couldn’t exactly stand, let alone leave, that made me the one in the way of the goal.

On a normal day, Linden was in and out, and I spent more time in the clinic than he did, handing out the odd bandage and calling him if he was actually needed.

Today, he stayed at his desk long after he usually would have headed out to do his house call rounds, and got back from them far earlier than usual. Then when Colt arrived to take him out to lunch, Linden asked him to bring lunch to the clinic instead of going out with his mate.

Worse yet, Colt had glanced over at the closed curtain around the bed, then at me, and nodded.

I’d thought that when Colt had come, when Linden had mated, I’d have a real ally there. He was the most independent omega I’d ever known, which was saying something since our pack second was an omega, and she was terrifying. I’d figured he’d be the first person to say I could handle things on my own.

Unfortunately, Colt had pretty much turned into a second Claudia when he’d moved into Grove House. The two of them were thick as thieves, and they hovered equally, worrying over me like I was a bag of flour they had to take care of for a high school class.

“Have you eaten, Skye?”

“How are you feeling, Skye?”

“You look a little pale, Skye. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I loved them, loved that they cared about me, but I was absolutely sick of being coddled. Sick, really, of being sick.

My watch buzzed to tell me my heart rate was too high, and I let myself fall back against my chair, trying to let the tension go out of me as I breathed, slowly and steadily.

“Maybe you should take the afternoon off, Skye,” Linden suggested.

I did not scream in frustration, which I think was big of me, but my watch instantly buzzed again. “I was thinking I’d work on my blog,” I answered with a smile, motioning to my little desk with the laptop I used. “Someone in New Jersey asked about the comparative nutrition of canned, frozen, and fresh vegetables, and I’ve been working on an answer for them.”

Linden’s lips twisted down in a frown, and I tried not to visibly cross my fingers. Either he was going to tell me to take the laptop home to work on it, or he was going to get into the discussion of eating well to treat the Condition in three, two...

“Sterling is one of the biggest producers of processed vegetables in the world,” he said, leaning forward at his desk with a deep sigh. “As much as I’d like to be able to say that people can save time and money by eating something other than fresh, organic produce, it always runs the risk of being a problem.”

“But not everyone can afford fresh, organic produce,” I pointed out. “This guy is living in a one-bedroom apartment with two other guys, trying to pay his way through college. It’s hard enough for me to eat healthy, and I basically live next door to a farm. How’s he supposed to?”

Linden scowled his “why don’t people take care of each other” scowl. “What about his pack? Won’t they help?”

There was a tiny cough behind the curtain, and we both turned to stare at it. I’d gotten so wrapped up in the argument that I’d forgotten why I had started it: to distract Linden from his weird attempts to protect me from Dante Reid, who frankly, at the moment, couldn’t defeat a kitten in battle, let alone me.

Linden stood from his desk and went to slide the curtain aside, peeking in. “Doing okay?”

Of course he would open with that, when Dante had clearly been trying to make a comment on whether everyone had a pack that would support them.

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