Page 22 of Rejected By My Shadow Alpha
"Wolfsbane," I answered.
"You'll want to see this," he said without preamble. "Alex got into one of Alfred's offshore vaults. We have paper trails. Accounts. Money trails tied to money laundering, illegal mining in some African countries like the Congo, and the sale of ammunition to terrorist groups to instigate tribal rivalry and unrest. This could bury him."
A slow fire started behind my ribs. I gripped the device tightly.
"Good," I replied. "I'll be back before midnight; I need detailed information on this."
"Copy that."
The line went dead.
I stared at the trees for a moment, then pulled out my encrypted device. Moonleaf had left me a message.
"Hey, were you able to locate the young wolf?"
"Yes, I did. Your valerian root idea worked on the fractured limb. You have a gift."
I hit send before I could stop myself. Moonleaf will remain my secret place of comfort and peace. She replied while I was still packing my surgical bag.
"Glad it helped. Some of us were made to break. Others were made to heal the broken."
I shook my head and grinned in disbelief. Who talks like that? Moonleaf's manner of expression would always be an enigma to me.
Chapter 9
Ruby
Liora's laughter drifted through the open kitchen window, a sweet, bell-like sound that tugged a reluctant smile to my lips. From behind the kitchen screen door, I kept my gaze on her, one hand subconsciously curled around the dish towel as I dried a bowl, my eyes immediately catching the silvery glint of her hair dancing in the sun, her tiny feet dancing between marigolds and lavender.
She looked like a myth. A living, breathing piece of the moon, ethereal and soft and glowing. I saw the way people stared like she was a goddess who stepped down for a moment to play among mortals, and I hated that because wolves stare too long when something looks different, and difference draws danger.
She was in the garden, our garden. Nia and I had planted it from scratch when we arrived in Littleton. We had rows of lavender, sage, marigold, calendula, thyme, and a host of plants that lined the wooden beds, a haven of green tucked safely behind a white fence. It had been a sanctuary for us both. Forme, it was healing. For Liora, it was a playground and a place to daydream, chasing butterflies.
Today, she played with June, the neighbor's pup. They were chasing butterflies, or maybe the butterflies were chasing them. I paused at the threshold, watching. Her little friend, June, was clapping and squealing beside her, pointing as the butterflies suddenly lifted, as if the wind had whispered only to them.
And then I saw it.
Liora turned her face upward, her ocean-blue eyes glowing, not just reflecting the sun, but lit from within, like moonlight trapped under glass. The air around her thickened, humming with static. A low wind began to whip through the garden even though the sky was still, rattling the fence and sending flower petals flying like confetti.
Then came the sound, a deep, thrumming vibration that rose from the earth, not loud, but powerful. The kind of sound that settled in your chest and made your bones feel hollow. The butterflies didn't just rise, they exploded into the air in a flurry of color, swirling in a perfect spiral around Liora's head, their wings beating in unison like a living storm. The young pup beside her gasped, stumbling back with wide eyes.
I heard a dog barking in the distance, probably attracted by the sound from the garden, and I ran out, afraid the sound might attract some neighbors. "Liora!" I called, panic spiking in my chest as I ran toward her. "Stop!"
She blinked, startled, and just like that, the wind dropped. The butterflies scattered. The energy vanished, sucked back into the earth like it had never been there.
June gasped, clapping her hands. "Did you see that?!"
Liora froze, then turned slowly toward me, guilt written in the line of her small shoulders. She lowered her head, her eyes darting around, afraid to meet my stern gaze.
I reached them in seconds, my eyes flicking to June, who was still wide-eyed and buzzing with awe.
"June, sweetheart," I said as gently as I could. "It's time to go home now."
The little pup blinked. "But we just got here."
As June hesitated, I crouched by a patch of silverbloom, a tiny, rare herb Nia had once said was used by the old healers to cloud memories. It only worked on the young or weak-minded, and only for brief flashes of time. I plucked a few petals, crushed them gently between my fingers, and cupped them close to my lips and whispered the old words, letting the scent drift toward her.
June blinked, her eyes going soft. She looked around, dazed. "What's going on?"
