Luna Paige's Arc

Chapter 5 of 10

By morning Michael was burning up. Luna found him slumped at the breakfast table, one hand flat on the wood like he needed it to stay upright. The silver wolf pressed against his knee and whined. She touched Michael's forehead. Hot. Too hot. "It's the claim," she said. "The pack pulled on it last night. It's pulling back on you." "Charming." He tried a grin. It slipped. "I thought I was just hungover on fear." She got him upstairs. The steward brought cold water and clean cloths and left them alone. Luna sat on the edge of the bed and laid a wet cloth on Michael's brow. His skin was damp. His eyes tracked her when she moved. "The herb woman would know a cooling draft," she said. "I can ride out and be back by dusk." "No." His hand closed on her wrist. Weak grip. Definite. "Last night the wolf broke a kennel to reach me. If you leave, and I get worse, he goes through a wall to find you. Then the pack comes back for him. Then we lose everything you bought." She knew he was right. She hated it. She stayed. She sponged his neck. She read aloud from the book of wolf customs, skipping the pages about mates because her face went hot when she reached them. He caught her skipping and asked why. She said the print was smudged. He laughed, and coughed, and asked her to read those pages anyway. She read. Pack bonds. Chosen bonds. The old rite where a wolf brought flowers cut under a full moon and laid them at a door. Michael listened with his eyes closed. When she finished he said, "So that's what you were doing. With the one flower. At my door." "That was a bribe," she said. "Was it." She didn't answer. She wrung out the cloth. By afternoon his fever broke. He slept an hour. When he woke his color was back and his hand found hers on the coverlet like it had been waiting there. "You didn't go," he said. "I couldn't." "Because of the claim." "Because of you." He looked at her a long moment. Then he tugged her hand until she leaned down, and he kissed her. Careful. Brief. A question, not a claim. She answered it. When she sat back up the silver wolf had put his chin on the bed. He watched them both, calm, the way a brother watches and decides not to interfere. "I still have to break the curse," she said. "I still have to be a wolf again." "I know." "I don't know what that means for this." "Neither do I." He squeezed her hand. "Figure it out with me." She nodded. Outside, the afternoon light moved across the floor. The cure could wait one more day. The man could not.