Chapter 18 Dangerous Gifts
Ryder POV
I don't leave her room. Can't leave her room. Not when my mind won't stop running through every terrible possibility of what her power means.
Jolie sleeps hard, her breathing deep and steady. She's curled on her side with her hand still in mine, and even in sleep, she looks exhausted. Whatever she did to heal me took something out of her.
My ribs ache where the cut used to be. I lift my shirt in the dim light from her window and study the thin scar. Hours ago, this was a gaping wound that should have laid me up for weeks.
Now it's barely visible.
I ease my hand from hers and stand, every instinct screaming at me not to leave. But I need answers, and Doc's the only one who might have them.
The medical cabin is dark except for a single lamp burning in the back room. I find Doc hunched over his desk, writing in one of his leather journals.
He looks up when I walk in. His eyes go to my ribs, visible through my torn shirt, and his expression sharpens. "That looks better," he observes, his gaze lingering on the healed skin with professional curiosity.
"We need to talk." I close the door and flip the lock, the metallic click echoing in the quiet space. "And it stays between us."
Doc sets down his pen with deliberate care, the instrument hitting the desk with a soft tap. "What happened?" he asks, his tone shifting from casual to alert.
"Jolie healed me." The words sound insane even as I say them, tasting impossible on my tongue. "Not just cleaned my wounds. Actually healed them. Closed them completely."
He stands slowly, his chair scraping against the wooden floor as he moves around the desk with measured steps. "Show me," he commands, though his voice remains level headed.
I lift my shirt, exposing the barely-there scar. He examines the mark with steady hands, his fingers probing where the deep gash used to be, pressing and testing the new skin. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't look surprised.
"This was bad," he says quietly, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "I saw it when you came in earlier. Down to the muscle."
"I know," I reply, my own voice tight with the memory of pain.
"And now it looks weeks old." He steps back and crosses his arms over his chest, his posture defensive and thoughtful. "How does she feel?"
"Exhausted. She passed out right after." I drop my shirt, letting the fabric fall back into place. "What is she?"
Doc moves to his bookshelf and pulls down a thick volume bound in cracked leather, dust motes dancing in the lamplight as he disturbs years of settled air. "Let me ask you something first," he says, turning back to me with the book in his hands. "Did anyone touch her while she was healing you?"
"No. Why?" I ask, though dread is already pooling in my stomach.
"Because if they had, she might have healed them too." He flips through pages covered in cramped handwriting, his fingers moving with practiced ease through the ancient text. "Healing wolves don't control their gift when it first manifests. It pours out of them to anyone nearby."
My blood runs cold, ice spreading through my veins at the implication. "How many people know about healing wolves?"
"Everyone who matters," he answers grimly, finding the page he's looking for and setting the book on the desk with a heavy thud. "They're rare. Maybe one in ten thousand wolves. The Council's been collecting them for centuries."
"Collecting them," I repeat, the word feeling hollow in my mouth.
"Taking them from their families. Training them to serve the powerful." Doc's voice goes flat and emotionless in a way that tells me he's seen this before. "They call it protection but in reality it's slavery."
I stare at the book, my vision tunneling on the page. The sketch shows a young girl with her hands on a wounded wolf, her face twisted in concentration or pain. "They'd take her," I say, the realization crushing my chest.
"They'd try." Doc meets my eyes, and I see the warning there, the truth he doesn't want to speak. "The Council has the authority to relocate any wolf they deem a strategic asset. And a healer? That's the most valuable asset that exists."
"Over my dead body," I snarl, my wolf rising to the surface, fangs bared.
"That might be what it takes." He closes the book carefully. "Healing wolves don't just mend wounds, Ryder. They can cure diseases, reverse aging, even bring someone back from the edge of death if they're strong enough. Wars have been fought over healers."
I lean against the desk, feeling the weight of this settle on my shoulders like a physical burden, pressing me down. "She doesn't even know what she is," I mutter, more to myself than to him.
"She will soon enough." Doc pours two glasses of whiskey from the bottle he keeps in his bottom drawer, the liquid amber catching the lamplight. He hands me one, the glass cold against my palm. "The ability usually manifests in childhood. If it's showing up now, something triggered it."
"Stress. Trauma." I down the whiskey in one swallow, welcoming the burn that sears down my throat. "Being thrown out of her pack."
"Probably." He refills my glass without being asked, the whiskey glugging into the tumbler. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
"Keep her safe," I state simply, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world.
"From the Council? From every alpha who'll want to claim her?" Doc shakes his head, his expression a mix of admiration and pity. "You can't fight the whole world."
"Watch me," I challenge, meeting his gaze with determination in my own.
He studies me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face for something. "You're mated to her," he finally says, understanding dawning in his expression.
It's not a question, but I answer anyway, the words coming out as both confession and declaration. "Yes."
"Then you need to understand something." Doc leans forward, his expression grave, his hands planted flat on the desk between us. "The Council doesn't recognize mate bonds when it comes to healers. They'll separate you without blinking. And if you fight back, they'll kill you and take her anyway."
Rage burns through my chest, hot and violent, my wolf howling for blood. "They can try," I growl, the words vibrating with barely contained fury.
"This isn't about pride or territory." Doc's voice rings out in the room. "This is about survival. Hers and yours. You need a plan better than 'fight everyone.'"
He's right, and I hate it. "What do you suggest?" I ask through gritted teeth, forcing myself to think strategically instead of emotionally.
"Keep it quiet. Don't let anyone outside the pack know what she can do." He takes a drink, his throat working as he swallows. "And teach her to control it before it controls her."
"How?" I demand, frustration bleeding into my voice.
"I don't know." Doc spreads his hands in a helpless gesture, palms up. "I'm not a healer. But if she can't manage her gift, it'll drain her dry. I've seen it happen before."
The thought of Jolie burning herself out trying to save others makes my wolf snarl, a sound rumbling deep in my chest. "Then we figure it out."
"You're going to need help." Doc refills both our glasses, the ritual giving him something to do with his hands. "Real help. Someone who understands healing wolves."
"You know someone?" I ask, hope and suspicion warring in my gut.
"Maybe." He hesitates, his gaze sliding away from mine briefly. "There's a woman up north she used to work with the Council before she went rogue. If anyone knows how to train a healer, it's her."
"Then we find her," I say with finality, already making plans in my head.
"It's not that simple." Doc downs his whiskey in one practiced motion, his face grimacing at the burn. "She doesn't exactly advertise her location. And if the Council finds out we're looking for her, they'll know why."
I stand, feeling the exhaustion from the night catching up with me, my muscles protesting the movement. "I don't care. Find her. Whatever it costs."
"Ryder" he starts, concern etched in the lines around his eyes.
"She's my mate," I interrupt. "And I will burn down the whole world before I let anyone take her from me."
Doc nods slowly, acceptance settling over his features. "I will make some calls. Quietly."
"Do it." I head for the door, my hand on the knob before I stop and turn back. "And Doc? Thank you."
"For what?" he asks, genuine confusion in his voice.
"For not running away," I say, the admission costing me more than I expected.
He smiles sadly, the expression not reaching his eyes. "We're a pack. Where would I run to?"
I leave him there and head back to Jolie's room. She's still sleeping, but she's kicked off the blanket and curled into a tight ball, her knees pulled up to her chest. Even in sleep, she looks like she's trying to take up less space, to make herself smaller.
I climb back onto the bed and pull her against my chest, her small frame fitting perfectly against mine. She mumbles something incoherent and burrows into my warmth, one hand fisting in my shirt with surprising strength.
"I've got you," I whisper into her hair, breathing in her scent lavender and something uniquely her. "No one's taking you. Not the Council, not your old pack, not anyone."