Page 37 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
I’m about to turn away when I catch an odd scent. Suddenly, I advance on the servant, grabbing the bundle of laundry from her arms.
“Commander!” she cries out in alarm, startled by my sudden action.
But I don’t care.
I can smell blood. Fiona’s blood.
I stare at the shirt in my hands, my fingers tracing the unmistakable dark stains.
“Commander?” the servant asks, still on edge. “Is something wrong?”
“Where did you get these clothes?” I demand, my voice rough.
She steps back, eyes wide. “From the healer’s office, sir. Master Jerry asked that they be laundered discreetly.”
“Jerry’s office?” I shove the laundry back into her arms, my mind racing. “When?”
“Just now, sir. He said they were to be cleaned thoroughly.” She clutches the bundle protectively. “I don’t mean to pry, but—”
“Thank you,” I cut her off, already turning away. “You’ve been helpful.”
I stride through the palace corridors, my pace quickening with each step. The scent of Fiona’s blood clings to my senses, driving my wolf into a frenzy of protective instinct. Something is very wrong, and Jerry has answers.
I find him in his office, grinding herbs and tinctures with methodical precision. He looks up when I enter, his expression swinging from surprise to wariness when he sees my face.
“Erik,” he says carefully. “What brings you here?”
“Why were there clothes with Fiona’s blood on them in your office?” I don’t bother with pleasantries. My wolf is too close to the surface for diplomacy.
Jerry sets down the mortar and pestle he was using, taking his time to answer. “Patient confidentiality is something I take very seriously, Erik.”
“Don’t evade the question.” I close the door behind me, lowering my voice. “I need to know what’s happening to her.”
“Perhaps you should ask her yourself,” Jerry suggests, his tone gentle but firm.
“I’m asking you.” I step closer, my patience wearing thin. “As commander of the army and defender of the palace, I need to know if someone under my protection is unwell.”
Jerry sighs heavily, removing his spectacles to rub the bridge of his nose. “You know that’s not why you’re asking.”
We stare at each other, the silence stretching between us. Finally, he relents.
“She’s not adjusting well,” Jerry admits, his voice dropping. “She has been ill.”
“What kind of ill?” My heart pounds against my ribs.
Jerry hesitates. “She’s been coughing up blood. At first, I thought it was because she wasn’t accepting her wolf, that she was rejecting a fundamental part of herself.” He meets my gaze directly. “But now, I’m not certain what’s causing it.”
The floor seems to sway beneath my feet. “How serious is it?”
“She’s getting weaker,” Jerry says, each word falling like a stone. “Her wolf is fading. If this continues...” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.
“She could die,” I say flatly, the words tasting like ash.
Jerry nods once, his expression grave. “I fear she might not survive if we can’t find the cause soon.”
I stagger back, gripping the edge of his desk for support. The room spins around me. My wolf howls in anguish, the cryechoing inside my skull though no sound escapes my lips. “Does she know?” I manage to ask.
“Yes.” Jerry’s voice is soft with compassion. “She’s aware of her condition.”
