JACK-EYE
Our new influx of Lycans is well-tid; with Owen babysitting the two young children Lyre's beco so concerned about, the others have beco sowhat problematic.
Between the rampant infections and having to rearrange people into hos based on dical need, a few dics who aren't thrilled to be here, and two deaths, there's far too much to handle with both Lyre and Thom disappearing into the underground to find more survivors.
I cross my arms, looking down at our reinforcents. They've been hand-selected by our illustrious king for their discretion and, more importantly, their ability to follow basic fucking instructions.
As a whole, shifters are better known for their physical ability and less for the intellectual side of things. Not that we're stupid—far from it—but too many of us have learned to rely on instinct and the other half of our souls. And wolves might be intelligent, but their intelligence is uniquely prid to survival, not thrival.
Which is why most of our territories tend to struggle financially, though we're also remarkably self-sufficient.
"Any questions?" I ask the newly arrived four, daring them to waste my ti after twenty minutes of running through the situation at hand.
Four heads shake in perfect unison.
Derek is a little older than I am, and while his mustache might make him look like so sort of predator against won, he's also happily mated with four pups of varying ages.
"You." I jerk my chin in his direction. "You're in charge of transporting the two children to Blue Mountain territory. Don't get comfortable here. You leave as soon as Owen clears them for travel."
"Yes, Beta."
"The rest of you," I continue, "we've got survivors with varying degrees of infection and physical trauma. We have food to make, laundry to wash, and deliveries to sort. Our dics are already stretched thin. These are survivors, so rember to treat them with care."
"Understood, Beta," the other three say in unison.
I lead them through the make-shift command center we've established on the main floor of what used to be Fiddleback's alpha lodge. It was once decorated with class and flair, but now it's piled high on every surface with plastic bags from the local grocery store and stacks of cheap throw blankets, along with unorganized clothes from a thrift store haul Owen managed before Lyre went back underground.
Fiddleback's turned into a refugee sort of situation, and we still haven't figured out the long-term logistics here.
After introducing the new Lycans to so of the hospital staff we've forced into twenty-four-seven staffing on site, along with a few of the healthier survivors who've taken more of a leadership role, my nose twitches as a faint and familiar scent rides on the air.
But it's a little wrong.
My steps falter as I turn my head instinctively to its source. Derek almost collides against my back.
"Sir?"
"Familiarize yourselves," I tell them, too distracted now. "Tell if you need anything. Derek, I'll introduce you to Owen later."
"Got it, Beta."
But I don't wait for their acknowledgnt, because I'm already moving toward the scent. My pace quickens with each step, that wrongness growing stronger. It's Lyre but... strange, like a part of her scent is now missing.
My heart kicks against my ribs, an unfamiliar panic rising.
The mont I cross the threshold of our building, my eyes land on Lyre, collapsed onto a sofa and strangely pale. She's unnaturally still and a human dic has his gloved hands all over her.
"What happened?" I bark out, my long legs taking only a few strides to make it to her side, shoving Thom out of the way with sheer presence alone.
The woman doesn't flinch. Even her rainbow-colored hair seems limp. Her chest rises and falls, but too slow for my comfort.
The wizard's red-faced and panting, his shirt so damp with sweat it's nearly transparent, and Lyre's scent surrounds him. But the scent on him is full and normal, reminiscent of the tis she's given him magic.
So why does Lyre herself sll so wrong?
Sam, the human dic who's seen and dealt with far too much over the past few days, doesn't even glance in my direction as he moves his stethoscope to another spot on her chest. "She's unconscious. Blood pressure's elevated, but no visible injuries. Lungs are clear, but her respiratory rate is a little low."
My focus narrows to the woman's face, her lips pale and slightly parted and her skin lacking any sort of healthy flush whatsoever. As if she's bled out, except there's no apparent injury to be had.
So my eyes focus on the trembling wizard, realizing so of the sweat running down his face is actually his tears. "Explain."
He shakes his head a little, smacking at his cheeks with both hands as his glasses go askew. "I don't know. S-She just collapsed. I'm—I'm not versed in healing magic, I don't know what happened. There was no reception… I couldn't just… I couldn't leave her there. I dragged her all the way back. She—She didn't wake up..."
I crouch beside the sofa, leaning in to sniff at her neck, frustrated by the wrongness of her scent. It's definitely Lyre, but I can't figure out what's missing.
"Were you attacked?"
"No, no. We found the, uh. She said it was the center room. She used her… her magic, but nothing happened in there."
"Take a deep breath."
He nods, sucking one in and letting it out as he struggles to straighten his shoulders and et my gaze. But his watery eyes keep turning back to her.
The situation's dire and yet my hackles rise anyway at the attention he's giving her.
Thom bites at his lip, probably sensing the darkness in my eyes, and continues with a calr pace, "She said she found three more groups of survivors and marked the way, but then when we were on our way back, she fell. And now she won't wake up."
My jaw tightens. Lyre hasn't been using her magic at all, brushing us off whenever we try to ask questions. We all know she can't use her magic, but not why.
But Owen probably knows.
He seems to know a hell of a lot more than we do.
But I've seen Lyre work before; she doesn't seem like she would faint like Thom. If I had to guess, she has enough magic in her to be unfathomably powerful. So why would she…?
"Bring Owen here."
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