Page 132 of Claimed

I’m mortified. My chin is trembling.

Grey isn’t looking at me like he wants to reject me because I’m a product of this awful place. He looks at me like he wants to fix it all for me. Like he plans to punish those responsible for it.

I move to him and put my arms around him, sinking into him. It takes a second before he wraps his arms around me and presses his mouth to my forehead. He exhales hard.

“I love you,” I whisper, looking up at his beautiful, angry face.

He kisses me again and releases me. His lip is still curled, he’s still enraged, but he says, “I love you, too, Blossom.”

And that’s good. Because these people here can see that when an alpha is furious, he can still be gentle. He’s outraged on behalf ofinjustices and not blaming or taking things out on the innocent for it.

There’s a long beat of silence until Cat speaks up. “I could use some help measuring out this medicine and distributing it. Could a few of you give me a hand?”

“Of course,” I say, dashing tears off my face and squaring my shoulders to pull myself together. “It’ll help?”

“Hopefully, but…unfortunately some are advanced and in liver failure, I’m afraid. But this syrup, every four hours, should help slow the effects of the poison and give most of them enough strength within the next couple of days to start shifting. We’ll administer anti-nausea pills too as soon as Declan and Boyd get back from the nearest town with the stuff I asked them to get. The priority is to help the folks stay hydrated and boost their strength so they can keep their food and liquids down. We’ll fight the fever, headaches, and nausea and once they can gain strength to shift they can heal themselves the rest of the way. I’ve done a quick mental tally, and I’ve got enough of this syrup to last the next forty-eight hours or so.”

Dr. Blakely speaks up. “I’ll have some rushed in from the nearest supernatural clinic. I know of an experimental drug that may also help people shift sooner. I’ll get it sent.”

Dr. Blakely walks past me, giving me a kind smile while dialing on his phone as I move toward Cat. We move to an empty table against the wall that one of the men that came with us is currently washing down with an antiseptic wet wipe. Another comes in with arms full of more supplies from Cat’s van.

Cat, Eloise, and I work together to measure out and set up two dozen medicine cups of the syrup and by the time we’re done, Dr. Blakely is with us again, sleeves rolled up and helping usdispensing fever medicine and anti-nausea meds into other cups to be handed out.

Half an hour later, everyone on a bed has had doses of the medication and Eloise, Martha, and Jane, another of the women of Aunt Shea’s generation are warming up soup that Cat brought as well as making either peanut butter and jam or tuna sandwiches for everyone.

A couple hot plates and two microwaves have been brought in from nearby homes and fresh fruit, bread, and other perishable food has been brought in by one of the betas who went to the supermarket. We now have power to this building at least, as the ones sent for supplies came back with two generators, more bottled water, the anti-nausea meds, and several air mattresses and sleeping bags along with a dozen bags of ice and some more groceries.

***

It’s somewhere after midnight and I’m holding Patsy’s feverish hand as she moans with the excruciating pain in her head.

“Sing us all your pretty dream song, girl?” she requests, face twisting with agony.

Kimmy is crying on her mattress as Cat mops her brow with a cool cloth. She’s having trouble getting Kimmy’s fever down. Roger isn’t doing very well at all. Everything we’ve given him, he’s vomited straight back up.

And the worst part of all of this is how everyone has to look on with sadness or try to sleep amid the weeping and moaning in between sounds of retching from those who are still feeling ill. Thankfully, the anti-nausea meds have helped some.

I know Grey wants everyone in one place, but I hate that everyone is witnessing the agony of the sick.

For Patsy, I begin to sing. And tears stream down my face as I do, but after I get through the first line, my voice cracks as I sing of dreaming love would never die.

There are too many faces pointed at me with fear or pain in them. But this is when my mate moves into the doorway from outside and the look on his face as well as the faint smile and relaxation finally on Patsy’s face gives me strength to keep going, singing through to the line about dreaming he’d come to live years together with me.

As always, I end abruptly before the last line.

Patsy squeezes my hand, a little more strength in her grip than a few minutes ago.

“It’ll be okay,” she tells me and closes her eyes. “I’m gonna rest a while now,” she adds.

“Okay, Patsy.” I touch her cheek before getting to my feet.

***

Not even an hour later, Roger grimaces before he takes his last breath and his heart beats the final time. This happens while I’m holding his hand, mopping his forehead with a cool cloth.

We were too late. This is what that poison does. This is what having a cruel, egomaniac leader does to a village. Dying people young and old, people who can’t have babies, people forced to drink, cook, and bathe with polluted water, people living in fear – unable to even connect with parts of themselves for fear of punishment.

Living like this makes people do what they don’t want to do, makes them into people they’re not.

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