“Don’t you dare blame my nephew for your own shortcomings, Astra,” she says, her voice remaining level, almost gentle, but the words cut deep. “Marcus is a promising young wolf with a bright future ahead of him. Boys will be boys, and if you can’t handle a simple herb-gathering task without making excuses, perhaps you’re not suited for this work.”
My mouth falls open in disbelief. “Shortcomings? I risked my life to get these herbs because your nephew and his friends—”
“Enough.” She waves her hand with the same gesture she uses to dismiss minor concerns, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll pay you half the usual rate. Consider yourself lucky I’m paying you at all, given your poor performance.”
“Half?” The word comes out sharp, my chin lifting defiantly. “I gathered everything on your list. These are the exact herbs you requested.”
She counts out a handful of silver coins with the same careful precision she uses when measuring medicines for other pack members. “Take it or leave it.”
I stare at the meager payment, my jaw clenching. This won’t even cover the cost of the healing salve I need for my leg, let alone help me save up for winter supplies. My hand moves toward the basket handle, resolve hardening in my chest.
“If you’re not paying me full price, then I’m not selling these to you,” I say, my voice determined as I’m about to lift the basket from her desk.
Before I can fully grasp it, Healer Morrigan’s hand shoots out and snatches the basket away from me, her eyes flashing with irritation.
“You can either take half the price or walk away empty-handed,” she snaps. “Choose quickly. I have more important matters to address.”
“That’s not fair!” The words burst out of me, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “I risked my life for those herbs. I went beyond the territorial boundaries after sunset and barely escaped from a shadow bear. You wouldn’t do this to any other pack member!”
Healer Morrigan’s eyes harden. “Fair? Life isn’t fair, Astra. If you were a proper shifter, you wouldn’t have to ‘risk your life’ for such simple tasks. A real wolf could have handled those juveniles and gathered these herbs without drama.” She leans back in her chair, her plump figure settling comfortably. “This is the least you can do for the pack, considering you’re nothing more than a burden to us.”
Her words hit me hard. But instead of cutting me down, they fuel something fierce inside me. I square my shoulders and meet her gaze directly.
“No other shifter dares to venture past the territorial markings,” I say proudly. “I’m the only one who does. The only one brave enough—or stupid enough—to risk my life for herbs that grow in the most dangerous parts of the forest. Herbs that you need, by the way.”
Healer Morrigan’s expression darkens. “And yet here you are, making excuses and demanding praise for doing what you’re paid to do.”
Arguing with her is fruitless. Her attitude toward me will never change. Like the rest of the pack, she considers my life expendable. Why else would I be the one forced to risk my life every week for her prized herbs?
“Can you at least heal me with your magic?” I hiss, the pain burning through my entire leg. “I can barely walk.”
She glances down at my injured limb with the same expression she might use for a minor inconvenience. “Selene!” she calls to one of the younger healers, her voice returning to its usual warm tone. “Bring this girl a bandage.”
“A bandage?” I protest, my voice sharp with disbelief. I lift my torn pant leg to show her the deep gashes. “Look at this wound! It’s deep, and it’s still bleeding. With proper healing magic, it would close in minutes.”
The young healer, Selene, approaches with a simple cloth bandage, her eyes sympathetic but her hands trembling slightly. She clearly doesn’t want to cross Healer Morrigan.
“This is a serious injury,” I continue, my voice growing stronger with each word. “If it doesn’t heal properly, I won’t be able to collect herbs next week. I need to be able to walk through the forest—”
“Not my problem.” Healer Morrigan reaches into a cabinet behind her desk and pulls out a small glass vial filled with a murky, brown liquid. She tosses it to me. “Here’s a basic healing tonic. It might help with the pain.”
I stare at the vial, recognizing it as the weakest remedy they produce—one usually given for minor scrapes and bruises, not deep claw wounds. My jaw tightens as I lower it to my side, my movements deliberate and controlled.
“This won’t be enough for injuries this severe,” I say, my voice neutral despite the anger burning in my chest. “I need—”
“You need to get out of my office,” the head healer interrupts with a deceptively kind expression. “Take your half payment and your tonic and leave. I have real patients to attend to.”
I stand there for a moment, gripping the pathetic healing tonic and staring at the small pile of coins on her desk. Everything in me wants to storm out empty-handed, to maintain some shred of dignity. But I need those coins, meager as they are.
“Fine,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. I take the coins with steady hands, meeting her gaze the entire time. “But if this injury is not healed by next week, I won’t be going into the woods for your herbs. You should look for another shifter willing to risk their life.”
She half rises out of her chair, clearly angry, but I’m already shuffling out of her office.
My back is straight despite the pain shooting through my leg. The other healers avoid eye contact as I pass, probably having heard every word of my exchange with their boss. As I exit the healing center and step back into the evening air, I can’t help but think that sometimes the creatures in the Wyvern Woods show more mercy than the people in my own pack.
Clenching the tonic bottle, I make my way toward the edge of the settlement, where I’ve been allowed to live.
Exhaustion accompanies the burning sensation in my leg. The bear must have hit an artery because the bleeding hasn’t stopped. If I were fully human, I would be dead by now. Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t allow them to fall.
I can’t.
If any other shifter had an injury like this, they would be admitted to the infirmary and given the best care possible.
But I’m not any other shifter. In fact, I shouldn’t even call myself a shifter.
I was born with a latent wolf. Shifters like me are typically killed at birth, but my mother was the previous alpha’s daughter, so I was spared.
I don’t remember much of my childhood, but I recall my mother’s warm hands cupping my face and telling me to hold on, that everything good will come my way eventually. I don’t know when that warmth disappeared or when she died. One day, she simply wasn’t there anymore, and I was expected to look after myself.
Finally reaching the very end of the settlement, I open the gate of the small, faded cottage next to the woods. A small cat is napping by the front door, and she stretches when she sees me.
Luna.
She showed up when I was young. She was a kitten herself. And she has been here all these years.
I unlock the door with a groan. “Sorry, Luna. Let me deal with this first.”
After hobbling into the kitchen, I pour some water in a basin and carry it to the small living room, along with a clean rag.
I settle onto the worn couch, wincing as I prop up my injured leg on the coffee table. The basin of water sloshes slightly as I set it down. Luna jumps up beside me, her amber eyes studying my wound with the kind of concern I never get from my own pack.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I murmur to her, dipping the rag into the water. “I know it’s bad.”
The cold pressure against my torn flesh makes me hiss through my teeth. Blood has dried in crusty streaks down my calf, and fresh crimson still seeps from the deepest gouges. I work methodically, wiping away the dirt and blood, my hands surprisingly steady despite the pain.
Once the wound is clean, I uncork the pathetic healing tonic Healer Morrigan gave me. The cloudy liquid looks more like muddy water than medicine. I pour it directly onto the gashes, hoping against hope that maybe it will work better than it looks.