”
Once the second platter of meat arrived and the beta—who finally deigned to introduce himself as Fletcher—had shoveled the slimy mess down Noah’s throat, Noah felt better. Horrifically weak, but not helpless. Steady enough to choke on the entrails and object, not that Fletcher listened.
“I need my muscle relaxants. My migraine pills,” Noah mumbled between bites, but Fletcher didn’t pay attention to that, either. When he asked for his glasses, the beta pushed to his feet and returned with them minutes later, though.
The wire frame had bent.
The right lens tipped up worse than before from the bridge of his nose. Noah could barely look through the bottom edge of the lens. He ripped them off and gently tried to bend the frame back into shape. When he failed, Fletcher snatched the glasses away to try as well. When he handed them to Noah and Noah returned the glasses to his face, the frames rested more or less on his nose. Sort of. Mostly. Still a little cock-eyed, the thin wire design hadn’t been durable enough to withstand a second involuntary shift. Noah counted himself lucky that the frame hadn’t snapped.
The problem was, he still couldn’t see. He squinted at Fletcher and then, scowling foul temper, Noah tore his glasses off. “Must have scratched the lenses.”
“Humans make them practically bullet proof these days.”
“Then you smudged them.” Noah pushed the glasses away.
“Maybe your vision’s improving.”
Noah’s eyesight hadn’t changed since he was thirteen so he didn’t bother to answer that nonsensical insanity. “This is why I can’t shift.” He glowered at the beta. “Shifting messes up everything.”
“Nothing’s broken that can’t be mended,” Fletcher said, ignoring Noah’s contemptuous grunt. The beta tucked the mangled glasses into his pocket. “Eat.”
When he’d finished off the food, Fletcher peeled a pressure stocking up Noah’s bad leg and shoved his feet into new tennis shoes. Then, he straightened Noah’s leg for the brace. Fletcher had trouble positioning and strapping him into it. Exhausted, Noah was little help. He could hardly keep his eyes open. Couldn’t make his fingers work, either. Fletcher left him on the floor near the door, returning with a pair of sweatpants and scissors. “Wade said to give you clothes that covered up more of you, if that made you comfortable.” The beta glowered. “Even though it inconveniences everybody else.”
If the shifter expected Noah to relent, poor him. Not a chance.
Fletcher stuffed Noah into the sweats, which were big on him. His hips and legs were lost in cotton even with the added bulk of his brace. Fletcher cinched the drawstring waist tight and hacked off several inches of fabric at the bottom. If Noah ever made it to his feet again, he wouldn’t trip. It wasn’t pretty, but acres of fabric curtained his scars now.
“Rest. Your mate will call for you soon.”
* * *
The beta poked him awake later. Muscles tight after who knew how long laying on the hard floor, Noah rubbed sleep from his eyes. He accepted a fresh plate of food from Fletcher. He’d eaten half of the chicken before his stomach reminded him that eating uncooked meat was gross.
“I can’t do this,” he whined, belly roiling in fierce objection.
“Your mating bite has almost healed. He won’t like that.” Fletcher grinned. “Good sign, though. You’re growing stronger.”
He handed over Noah’s forearm crutches so Noah could make it to the bathroom without injuring himself. He washed the chicken from his hands and his face. Someone, probably Fletcher, had left a new toothbrush and a comb for him on the vanity. By the time he emerged, he almost felt human. When he cracked that joke, Fletcher grimaced. “The alpha needs you below.”
His nerves jittered, tension stiffening his shoulders as he followed the beta out of Wade’s rooms and into a corridor wide enough for three shifted wolves to walk side by side. Marble
Once the second platter of meat arrived and the beta—who finally deigned to introduce himself as Fletcher—had shoveled the slimy mess down Noah’s throat, Noah felt better. Horrifically weak, but not helpless. Steady enough to choke on the entrails and object, not that Fletcher listened.
“I need my muscle relaxants. My migraine pills,” Noah mumbled between bites, but Fletcher didn’t pay attention to that, either. When he asked for his glasses, the beta pushed to his feet and returned with them minutes later, though.
The wire frame had bent.
The right lens tipped up worse than before from the bridge of his nose. Noah could barely look through the bottom edge of the lens. He ripped them off and gently tried to bend the frame back into shape. When he failed, Fletcher snatched the glasses away to try as well. When he handed them to Noah and Noah returned the glasses to his face, the frames rested more or less on his nose. Sort of. Mostly. Still a little cock-eyed, the thin wire design hadn’t been durable enough to withstand a second involuntary shift. Noah counted himself lucky that the frame hadn’t snapped.
The problem was, he still couldn’t see. He squinted at Fletcher and then, scowling foul temper, Noah tore his glasses off. “Must have scratched the lenses.”
“Humans make them practically bullet proof these days.”
“Then you smudged them.” Noah pushed the glasses away.
“Maybe your vision’s improving.”
Noah’s eyesight hadn’t changed since he was thirteen so he didn’t bother to answer that nonsensical insanity. “This is why I can’t shift.” He glowered at the beta. “Shifting messes up everything.”
“Nothing’s broken that can’t be mended,” Fletcher said, ignoring Noah’s contemptuous grunt. The beta tucked the mangled glasses into his pocket. “Eat.”
When he’d finished off the food, Fletcher peeled a pressure stocking up Noah’s bad leg and shoved his feet into new tennis shoes. Then, he straightened Noah’s leg for the brace. Fletcher had trouble positioning and strapping him into it. Exhausted, Noah was little help. He could hardly keep his eyes open. Couldn’t make his fingers work, either. Fletcher left him on the floor near the door, returning with a pair of sweatpants and scissors. “Wade said to give you clothes that covered up more of you, if that made you comfortable.” The beta glowered. “Even though it inconveniences everybody else.”
If the shifter expected Noah to relent, poor him. Not a chance.
Fletcher stuffed Noah into the sweats, which were big on him. His hips and legs were lost in cotton even with the added bulk of his brace. Fletcher cinched the drawstring waist tight and hacked off several inches of fabric at the bottom. If Noah ever made it to his feet again, he wouldn’t trip. It wasn’t pretty, but acres of fabric curtained his scars now.
“Rest. Your mate will call for you soon.”
* * *
The beta poked him awake later. Muscles tight after who knew how long laying on the hard floor, Noah rubbed sleep from his eyes. He accepted a fresh plate of food from Fletcher. He’d eaten half of the chicken before his stomach reminded him that eating uncooked meat was gross.
“I can’t do this,” he whined, belly roiling in fierce objection.
“Your mating bite has almost healed. He won’t like that.” Fletcher grinned. “Good sign, though. You’re growing stronger.”
He handed over Noah’s forearm crutches so Noah could make it to the bathroom without injuring himself. He washed the chicken from his hands and his face. Someone, probably Fletcher, had left a new toothbrush and a comb for him on the vanity. By the time he emerged, he almost felt human. When he cracked that joke, Fletcher grimaced. “The alpha needs you below.”
His nerves jittered, tension stiffening his shoulders as he followed the beta out of Wade’s rooms and into a corridor wide enough for three shifted wolves to walk side by side. Marble
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