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I knew both the voice and the scent. “Luke?” I crossed through the well-lit courtyard and joined him in the shadows at the back door of the kitchens. “What the hell, Luke? Who did this?”
He was kneeling on the back steps of the kitchen, holding his hands to his abdomen, over what I instantly suspected was a seeping gut wound. He wore his black Enforcer’s uniform, but his shirt was torn, as if he’d started to shift with his clothes on. Both his shirt and trousers were stained, his fingers covered with blood. The coppery scent hung thick around him.
“Damn, that has to hurt,” I remarked as I approached. “Why haven’t you shifted?”
“Can’t,” he panted. “Wouldn’t help anyway.”
“What?” What the hell did he mean? Wolves could heal from almost any wound.
Well, healthy ones could. I wasn’t sure Luke, or any of the other wolves I’d met here, fit that description. Most of them were smaller and weaker than they should be, their scents diminished. Except for the Alpha and a few of the Enforcers, none of the shifters at Southern seemed to be deeply connected to their inner wolves.
Luke hadn’t answered, but was panting slightly. I shook my head. “It’s complicated, huh?”
He pressed a bloodstained finger to the tip of his nose. “Bingo. Get the door? Medical kit… in the kitchen.”
I grabbed the door and wrenched the handle open. It was harder to open than it should have been. It might have been locked, but no lock was a match for my strength. Then I grabbed the bleeding Southern Alpha Heir and carried him up the steps. Well, dragged him.
“Thanks, Brand,” he managed to say before he pulled away and staggered to the back of the quiet, empty kitchen. But I couldn’t answer. I was frozen, transfixed by a scent.
The room smelled like old grease, food, a male wolf… and something indescribably lush and floral, mixed with a fragrant spice. I sucked in a huge breath and noticed Luke doing the same thing.
“Still smells like her. Flowers. Summer flowers on the night wind, and cinnamon sugar,” he slurred, reaching for a red first aid box on the wall. “It’s… addictive, that scent.”
He ripped his shirt down the front, pausing for a moment, in obvious pain. It only took a moment for him to open the kit, grab the supplies he needed, wipe down his stomach with a clean cloth, and press a gauze pad to the wound. Then he pulled out the medical stapler.
“Man, are you crazy?” I grabbed the staple gun he was trying to press against his gut. “Get on the damned table.”
“Done this before?” he groaned, rolling up onto the stainless-steel prep table.
“Yeah. Not on myself, but mountain life can be tough on the kids. I’ve patched up the ones who weren’t ready to shift.”
“Ready.” He forced out a pained laugh. “Must be nice. How old are the kids… in your pack… for the first shift?”
“At least sixteen for males. Usually, eighteen. Twenty-one for the females.” I glanced at the wound. Thank the moon it hadn’t gone into his intestines. If shifting hadn’t healed him, that would take a hell of a long time to fix. Wolves didn’t get bacterial infections, but damage like this…
“How old were you?” He spoke through gritted teeth as I wiped the sluggishly flowing blood away with a clean dish towel so I could see what I was working with.
“I was thirteen, the youngest ever in my pack.” I smiled, remembering. “It hurt like hell, but I’d gotten into a tussle with a couple of mountain lions, and Dad said I’d earned the pain.” I stopped at the grimace on Luke’s face. “What about you?” I pressed the stapler gun into his gut before he could answer. I needed him to take a breath and push out the abdominal wall, and talking was a sneaky way of making that happen.
“Shit!” he screamed, then panted some more. “I was ten.”
“Ten? Fuck. Were you injured?” That had to be it; there was only about a twenty-five percent survival rate for wolves who shifted before puberty. It was a good thing I’d already hit that when I shifted. But Luke had been a child. I couldn’t believe he’d lived.
“Alpha said… it didn’t matter… if I died.” Luke’s lips curled up, and I could see him fighting something internal. A memory?
“Why not?” I breathed the question.
“I’m pretty sure it’s because he’s never going to let me… be Alpha,” Luke answered when he could breathe again. “I’m just his show wolf. His cover.” He let out a growl. “Hasn’t let me shift almost at all… for years. Keeping me weak… our whole pack weak.”
My blood went cold. “You haven’t shifted in years?”
“Nearly two years. I’m not sure… I could, now.”
Shit. This was insane. I had a feeling Luke would never have shared this if he was in his right mind. Admitting that kind of weakness in the presence of another male shifter was unusual, outside of immediate family.
But this explained so much of what I’d noticed. I’d always thought Luke was weaker than he should be at his age. In fact, Glen and I had argued about whether he was fit to be the Alpha Heir. There were others in his pack much bigger, stronger, and more in touch with their wolves.
But I couldn’t judge him for that, if it hadn’t been his choice. If he hadn’t been allowed to shift for years? I shuddered. The poor guy must be in constant agony. Still, something didn’t make sense. I stared at the bloody gash in his gut, trying to find an explanation for it.
