The Ugly Luna

CHAPTER 7

It's distant, coming from somewhere past the east wing. I follow it until I round a corner and the smell hits me: copper, thick and everywhere.

The pack hospital doors are propped open. Wolves are being carried through them, some on their own feet with an arm slung over a shoulder, some not moving at all.

Blood streaks the stone floor in long smears where people have dragged each other through. Healers move in every direction at once, shouting things I can't follow, and nobody stops long enough to tell me what happened.

I stand frozen in the doorway.

A woman lurches out of the crowd toward me. Her hands are red to the wrist, her dress soaked through at the front, her eyes wild and rimmed raw.

"You." Her voice cracks down the middle. "We haven't had blood in this pack since before I can remember, and it happens the same time you show up—"

"What?" My brows furrow.

Her hand cracks across my face before I blink. My head snaps sideways, my ears ringing, a sting blooming hot across my cheek.

I don't move. I can't. My whole body has locked up, and she's already drawing her hand back again.

A grip closes around my arm and pulls me back so hard my feet leave the floor for a second. I quickly spin around.

Adrian.

He steps between us in one smooth movement, his broad frame shielding me completely. Every muscle in his body is taut, his shoulders squared, his presence commanding enough to bring the hallway to a standstill.

His voice is quiet when he speaks, but there's steel beneath every word.

"That's enough."

The woman freezes. Her breathing turns ragged as her raised hand slowly drops back to her side. She doesn't argue. She doesn't even look at me anymore.

Only then do I really look at Adrian.

My breath catches. Blood. It's everywhere.

Dark stains soak the front of his shirt. More coats his forearms, drying in uneven streaks, while a smear reaches the collar near his neck. Some of it has already turned a deep rusty brown, but fresh crimson still glistens in places.

My heart lurches.

"Oh my goodness..." The words barely make it past my lips. My eyes race over him, searching desperately for the source of the blood. "What happened to you?"

My voice comes out thin and unsteady, barely louder than a whisper.

"Not mine," he says. Before I can ask anything else, he takes my hand and starts pulling me through the crowded hospital.

I stumble after him, weaving between healers and wounded wolves. The frantic shouts fade behind us as I half-jog to keep pace with his long strides.

"What happened?" I ask, breathless.

He doesn't answer. I glance down at our joined hands before looking back at him. His jaw is tight, his expression unreadable.

"Adrian."

He doesn't answer until we're back in our room. Without a word, he guides me to the edge of the bed. I sink onto the mattress, watching him as he disappears into the bathroom. A moment later, he returns with the small jar of healing cream from the medicine cabinet.

He kneels in front of me. The sight alone makes my chest tighten.

Carefully, he dips two fingers into the cream before gently brushing it across my cheek. His touch is featherlight, as though he's afraid of hurting me.

I flinch anyway.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

I'd forgotten all about the slap. The woman's furious face flashes through my mind. My brows draw together. The omegas and then her. It couldn't all be a coincidence.

If the pack truly believes I'm cursed, her reaction suddenly makes sense. But why? Nothing had happened. My thoughts screech to a halt.

No... something had happened.

"Adrian. What happened?"

"Rogue attack."

The words land like a stone in my stomach. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

His fingers still against my cheek for the briefest moment before he resumes smoothing the cream over the swelling.

"Because I told them not to."

That stops me cold. "What? Why?"

"I didn't want you concerned with something like that."

I search his face. "Something like what, exactly?"

"Anything traumatic." He screws the lid back onto the jar and sets it on the nightstand, but he doesn't move away. "I don't want you anywhere near it."

"I'm a werewolf, Adrian." A small, incredulous laugh slips out. "Blood isn't exactly new to me."

"I know."

His eyes lift to mine, calm and unwavering.

"But as long as it's within my power, you won't have to see more of it than you already have."

Warmth spreads through my chest despite everything. A small smile tugs at my lips.

"That's sweet." I rest my hand over his for a moment. "But you don't have to protect me from this. I'm used to it, actually. I worked at the hospital with my mother."

Something changes. It's so subtle I almost miss it. His entire body goes unnaturally still, as though every muscle has locked into place.

His gaze sharpens, fixed on me with an intensity that makes my smile falter.

"You worked in a hospital." His voice is even. Too even.

"Mm-hm." I nod. "My mom was one of the pack's healers. She taught me almost everything she knew."

For a heartbeat, he simply stares at me.

Trying to lighten the mood, I smooth the wrinkles from my skirt and push myself to my feet.

"Speaking of which, I should probably head back. They looked like they could use all the extra hands they can get."

The moment I take a step, his hand closes firmly around my wrist.

Not painfully. Just enough to stop me.

"You're not going anywhere."

I blink and look down at his hand before meeting his eyes again.

"Adrian?"

"No." The single word is quiet.

A knot tightens in my stomach.

"Is everything alright?"

His jaw flexes.

He doesn't answer.

I hold his gaze, and with every second that passes in silence, the certainty grows heavier in my chest.

It's bad.