2. Love is a Thorn
12 years later
Sona age 25
Arden age 26
Conri age 27
Auryn age 70
“By the godsdamned moon goddess, how stupid are you?”
“If ‘stupid’ has tiers, and one of them is ‘in love,’ then…that stupid.”
“Flattering. Lay down. And keep your muzzle shut.”
Sona clamped her hand on the young male’s shoulder, forcing the young male to sit on the patient's bed before he could think to get any closer. He grunted in pain and begrudgingly obeyed.
“Shit,” she breathed when he lay fully on his stomach. “How big was this thorn bush?!”
Del’s nervous chuckle broke into another hiss of pain. “Not as big as my love for you, Mistress Sona—”
Sona plucked a thorn from the Epsilon member’s ass. He yelped and she smile widely at his shock. “Love is like this thorn,” she told him brightly, inspecting it between her tweezers. It was rather large, enough to pierce through his trousers when he toppled into the spiny plant. “Painful, protecting something pretty and sweet.”
She dropped it into the waste bucket that housed an apple core a blood-dabbed towel of a pup’s scraped shin. Del’s jaw gaped. “Easily tossed aside,” she mused without much amusement. Her smile faded and she went to work plucking the rest. “You know I have a mate, Del. Your puppy love for me is adorable, but—hold still, you whelp. You call yourself a guardian?”
“Protecting our borders from rival packs is far less painful than this,” Del protested, flinching with each thorn removed. “And ‘puppy love’ is for pups. I’m twenty—”
“Five years too young. Goddess, you even got one in your neck, dummy.”
“I thought you were a healer. Aren’t healers supposed to be, I don’t know, nonjudgemental?”
“Insulting our patients again, granddaughter?”
Sona yanked the last thorn and glanced back to smile innocently at her hunchbacked grandfather walking into the room from the infirmary’s attached garden. “Without rancor, Pa. You can sit up. I’ll get you a change of shirt.”
As she moved into the clothes pantry, Sona heard Auryn say, “I thought I told you to stop being a lovesick pup trotting after my granddaughter, scoundrel?”
“My soul seeks its piece, Master Auryn,” Del sighed dramatically. “Life as a member of Moonvalley’s Epsilon is a thankless, loveless existence.”
Sona snorted, fighting a smile, and tossed him a clean shirt, setting a bowl of water beside him to clean the blood that got onto his skin. “I recall joining the Alpha’s guard is by choice, not an obligation.”
“Gah! Of course it’s an obligation, Sona! It’s pride. Honor! It’s as satisfying as being in love.”
“I beg to differ,” Sona mumbled, earning a smack of Auryn’s cane to the back of her knees. “Ouch.”
“Go see Grayhide.” Auryn took Del’s sullied clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket. That was how every patient every day went—their easy teamwork, acting off one another without a word as if able to know exactly what the other needed. It never failed to make Sona grateful for him. She couldn’t have gotten half as far without an instructor, much less a parental figure. “He’s just shaken up after—”
“After the breach. I know.” Sona’s irritation faded and Del grew subdued. All of Valleytown was stunned by the sudden border skirmish. “Redbone seems greedy lately.”
“I wished I’d been there. I would’ve shown those brutes.”
Sona finished cleaning the now-healed pinpricks. Though the moon goddess spited them with the curse of the werewolf transformation, she still gifted them with supernatural healing. Broken bones and deep wounds took time, but small cuts were gone in a blink.
“Shown them what?” she began, but Auryn silenced her with another whack. “Alright, alright. I deem you clear, Del. Buy roses from a shop from now on. Am I understood? And buy them for unmated females. Maybe one of them will be your missing piece.”
He was no longer mischievous, giving her a grateful smile. “I hope so, Mistress. Forgive my foolishness.”
She patted his cheek. He’d been coming to her for years with silly wounds and excuses and she’d grown fond of him. And she was glad he wasn’t at the border a week ago to deal with the Redbone wolves. A youngling like him with Moonvalley blood wasn’t hardened enough to face off with such a cruel opponent.
“Forgiven. Now go enjoy the rest of the day in the sun.”
“I obey every order, Mistress,” said Del brightly, and loped out of the shop, leaving the door open as it was.
The summer sun’s rays flooded the room and bounced off the few mirrors, sending faint rainbows on the walls of jars and herbs. Sona breathed in the dancing dust motes before turning to Auryn. He’d aged into his seventieth year just last month and on that day announced his retirement from his practice. That had saddened Moonvalley, but there was no unrest knowing Sona would be just as well.
His eyesight was no longer as sharp and soul-reading, his gold hair long turned gray and wispy, his hands trembled, and his knees were worn from decades of countless hours of countless days on his feet tending to wolf after wolf. His patience with her was likely thinner as well.
But his advice was never unclear. He was right; Conri needed her at his side to comfort him through the itched mental wound.
“I’ll take your tea,” Sona said with a careful hug.
“Good. The big jug. The more tea…”
“The more ease to the heart. Thank you, Pa. I’ll likely stay the night. You’ll be alright without me?”
“Of course I’ll be alright,” Auryn snapped without malice as she hovered in the doorway. “I’ll be self-sufficient ’til I’m dead.”
She laughed. “Thought so. Bye.” With his returned farewell, she closed the door behind her, flipping the sign on the door of Goldhealer’s Cure Shop to Closed, and marched down Herb Street with her earthenware jug of jasmine tea.
Around her, Valleytown, rightfully nestled in the basin of a green-blanketed valley, thrived on its daily chores. Pups ran between legs and hopped across rooftops despite shouted warnings; seamstresses were out mending in the warmth; farmers sold their wares on shouts; butchers carried fresh catches; Epsilon guards strolled by in their fine green and white uniforms edged with their own fur sheared off from their wolf forms as a part of their initiation. A few she had grown close to tending so many wounds winked or nodded at her.
The Alpha’s manor was up the slope overlooking the rest of the town that was built over time by his predecessors, a simple but large marvel of white stone and green roofs. She hiked up to its gates, let through without fuss—she was the Gamma’s mate, after all—and entered the double doors into the grand foyer to admire the handiwork of her birth pack: the gold inlays in the floor and wall trimmings, sculptures of running wolves, even candlesticks for the green and white candles.
A few attendants worked around. Sona noticed Vallea Koray, the Luna’s personal aide, stride in—and immediately found herself the subject of the usual ice-cold glare.
“I’ve yet to get you to tell me why you hate me,” Sona told her as she ascended the grand staircase.
“It’s not hate,” called Vallea as she stormed off in the opposite direction.
That’s relieving, I guess, Sona thought as she navigated the halls to the Gamma’s wing. Each werewolf pack’s leader presented themselves in the way they wanted, humble or not. The Roshan family always saw themselves as more than just Alphas and Lunas, but as kings and queens, their son more than just a Beta, but a prince. The rightful heir to the entire pack.
And it was the Gamma’s job to protect them all. Which was more than a little pressure.
Conri’s office was the only door open. She heard him sigh from the end of the corridor. Heart growing heavier with every step, she knocked once on the doorframe as she reached the threshold. “Conri?”
His head jerked up and he breathed, “Sona,” his voice cracking on it. His long stride ate up the room when he crossed it, taking her face between his hands and kissing her deeply. She tasted alcohol on his lips, but he didn’t reek of it; she was glad he wasn’t a heavy drinker.
She sank into the kiss, momentarily forgetting her troubles, moaning into her mate’s mouth. It had been almost a week since they’d made love and she’d begun to feel deprived of touch and pleasure even in that short time. Werewolves’ sex drive was not a tame thing.
The kiss broke gently. “I brought you this,” Sona whispered, lifting the jug. “For your nerves.”
“I know what will soothe my nerves.” Conri took the tea in one hand while the other pulled hers to his desk. She automatically knew his intent and managed to kick the door closed. The tea was set on the floor while Sona had the privilege of being hoisted up and set on the desk. “I’m sorry, my love.”
Her arms wrapped around his neck, drawing his head forward so his crown rested on her shoulder. His palms encompassed her waist with his thumbs pressing into the flesh above her hipbones as if holding onto her anchored him. Conri was more than half her size in height, breadth, and sheer muscle. The werewolves of the Leto pack were known for their quiet, brooding brawn. Sona felt small and safe in his arms which were almost comically large. Lately, though, they were beginning to feel foreign.
But she was a healer. Soulmates or not, Sona could not leave a grieving mind or body until she deemed it healed. She couldn’t fully heal Conri’s hurt, but she could try and ease the ache.
“Me, too.” She stroked his wavy brown hair damp with perspiration. Summers in Moonvalley were never mild. “Look at me.”
He drew back to meet her eyes. His were storm clouds and hers was clear sky. They were opposites made for each other. She’d learned to read the storm. “You’re angry,” she noted. “With whom?”
Conri closed his eyes and shook his head. “No one. Let’s talk about something else. What did you bring?”
“Jasmine tea. We vowed to always tell each other the truth, Conri Grayhide, and we always know when the other is withholding it.”
His mouth quirked at her commanding tone. “You’re not as demure as you used to be, my missing piece.”
“Your found piece,” she corrected, fingers now brushing the stubble of his cheeks. His face was as familiar as her own. “And when I have to deal with so many whelps off hurting themselves, one learns to develop a habit for tough love.”
Conri’s hands squeezed her hips and growled, “Tough love, you say?” His mouth found hers again, his tongue slipping inside to explore as if he hadn’t dozens of times already. His knees pushed hers aside so he could stand between them.
She was wearing a thigh-short dress; his hand slid it up to brace his palm on her thigh, thumb rubbing circles to the inside of it. Her breathing hitched and she had to stop the instinct to close her legs—because she wanted to open them further.
Conri’s lips found the ridge of her jaw. It sent shivers down her spine and barreled to her pulsing core. Both hands were pushing up her dress and then her bare ass was on his desk. Thank the moon goddess she wasn’t sitting on important papers.
He tugged it up and over her head, tossing it on the floor, storm cloud eyes roving her body up and down. They never failed to spark when he looked at her. “I still like these,” he said huskily, hands cupping her breasts heavy with heat.
Sona attempted to tug his waistband down, trying not to let her mind whisk away by carnal desires. But his touch made her melt and she just wanted to be satiated. She felt her inner wolf emerging in the form of her canine teeth elongating to thick fangs and nails growing sharper.
Keep yourself in check, Sona Mai, she commanded herself. You’re supposed to be mildly upset with him. Don’t succumb to basic urges.
Conri yanked down his trousers in one pull—and she completely caved.
A/N: A kind reminder to comment constructive criticism, please and thank you.