Pretty Poison (11 page)

“I also have a business to run,” Noah said during a lull between Wade’s phone calls. “I need my laptop.”

“Your family isn’t cooperating, little wolf.”

“They offered to bring my things.”

“And their scents would be on every item.”

Noah grudgingly relented. If his father and brothers opposed their mating, Wade’s wolf wouldn’t tolerate risking Noah anywhere near them or anything handled by them. Their scents on Noah alone could set off Wade. “A new computer then. One borrowed from the office downstairs would be fine. I need to contact my clients.”

Wade’s mouth thinned. “You’re still adjusting—”

“No matter what your pack thinks, I’m
not
useless,” Noah said, not bothering to mask his anger. ”I have a job like everybody else. It isn’t hanging drywall or electrical wiring, but it
is
work. What I do is as important to me as your company is to you. I can’t disappear like this.”

“Vanguard first.” Sighing, the alpha steepled his fingers over his empty plate. “When you return, we’ll obtain the required computer equipment. I assume you’d rather choose that yourself?”

Floored at Wade’s almost instant capitulation, Noah gaped at him. “Y-yes.”

“Good.” Wade nodded. “We’ll take care of it this evening.”

Reeling from the unexpected ease of his success, Noah wouldn’t let discouragement needle him. The significance of getting his career back couldn’t be understated. Abandoning his clients would be professional suicide, but beyond that, Noah craved the challenges of building and updating his roster of websites. Isolated in their private rooms, waiting for Wade to fuck him, did not appeal. If his job didn’t stimulate his mind, boredom would drive him insane. Besides, he had zero likelihood of convincing city shifters of his worth without a chance to dazzle them with his digital-fu. Shifters flinched at white-collar jobs, and the pack deemed any member who performed those tasks as having offered a great sacrifice to the shifter community. None of them liked being stuck indoors. Lacking the same education opportunities humans took for granted, few shifters excelled at desk work, either. If Noah strutted his computer proficiency, showed them he could contribute vital and sorely needed skills...

Winning his career back had been a huge victory for Noah.

Disappointment lingered, though.

Wade was a busy man. Governing the pack was no small feat. According to Fletcher, seven families lived in the pack house alone. Seven! Forced to avoid them throughout his life, no one was more cognizant than Noah of how many additional families lived in outlying neighborhood enclaves. At least two dozen. Perhaps thirty. Loganville wasn’t a small town, but a pack that large was unusual. The increased numbers boosted Wade’s responsibilities exponentially. Disputes inside the pack and with humans had to be resolved. The alpha arranged jobs and zones of safety for pack families to make homes in the city, too. Kids forced out of public schools due to the dangers of involuntary shifting required training. Alpha wasn’t solely an honorary title. Leading a pack involved cultivating mentors for younger pack members, identifying companies willing to hire shifters, appointing a pack liaison to public schools. Wade dealt with seemingly endless duties and obligations.

Wade also managed a thriving business, the construction company whose headquarters he’d moved to Loganville when he’d become alpha. The man had little spare time, even for a mate. Wade fielded questions from two job sites and settled an argument between several brothers while he and Noah dressed for the day. Noah wore a basic T-shirt and a pair of baggie shorts taken from Wade’s dresser drawers. Since Wade was needed downtown where a new parking deck was going up, the alpha dressed in sturdy jeans, a pale blue oxford, and clunky steel-toed boots, but he didn’t stop issuing orders into his phone while he tugged denim up his legs and over his hips. Nope. His company was that demanding. While Wade handled a scheduling delay via cell, Fletcher handed him a white hardhat, scuffed with several smudges. The two shifters walked to the door of Wade’s private rooms.

“Introduce him to Mia,” Wade told Fletcher, dropping the phone from his ear at least that long. He glanced at Noah over his shoulder. “After.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Fletcher asked. “She isn’t having a good day.”

Wade hesitated, his blank stare taking in Noah. “It’s time,” was all Wade said.

There’d been no goodbyes, no sweet kisses, or parting bid to have a good day. Tucking the scarred hardhat under his arm, Wade said, “Remember: no human medicines.” Then, he glued his cell phone to his ear and marched away.

That lack had niggled ever since.

Noah hadn’t thought he needed affection or a true bond with his mate. Until that minute, Noah felt lucky to have won a shifter as his mate—
any
mate—and devoutly believed he should count his blessings that the alpha had been willing to tolerate a wolf as damaged and strange as the pack believed Noah to be. Most wouldn’t and hadn’t. He was fortunate, too, that Wade respected Noah’s job enough to okay providing another laptop to him, when few in the pack understood or appreciated white-collar careers. Considering some alpha mates concentrated on nurturing the pack and only that, he was lucky Wade had permitted Noah to resume working at all. Tradition argued against it.

In the brief moment Wade had strode away, though, Noah’s heart plummeted.

For the first time, he realized he needed more.

No, he
deserved
more. Other shifters wouldn’t settle for a physical mating and the ties of mutual lust alone. Wade’s confidence that Noah would strengthen wasn’t enough, either. Not if his mate didn’t care for him. If, to Wade, Noah was just another obligation.

After Wade had gone, Fletcher guided him down the flights of stairs, the house again devoid of other shifters. Brooding, Noah maneuvered his immobilized leg into one of two Tahoe’s parked outside the pack house. No one had to force him into the vehicle for this trip, and after the loud and bewildering crush of city traffic, Noah minded the directions of Fletcher, Trudy, and the guard of betas when they led Noah through the eerily empty lobby at the medical complex, too.

“Our agreement with the humans required them to clear areas necessary for today’s tests,” Trudy said when Noah frowned at the echo of their footsteps in the deserted space. She nodded to Fletcher. “Security. You’re too important to risk.”

Irritated, despondent, Noah followed them into the elevators and through the labyrinth of corridors to the lab in the basement. Recognizing her as a member of his usual medical team, he smiled in greeting at the nurse who took three vials from his veins and then strapped the cuff to his arm to measure his blood pressure. “How did your son do in Little League, Beth?” he asked. “Still nervous?”

The medical tech’s shoulders bunched at Fletcher’s thunderous growl.

“Don’t be an ass,” Trudy said to the beta, taking a laptop from another nurse. She opened it and scanned the screen as the nurse bent to tap at the keyboard. “He’s allowed to talk to them, and they can talk to him.” Her attention swerved to Noah, her stare guarded. Assessing. “They’re...friends.”

Fletcher snorted.

Trudy glared at him. “You, above everyone else, should know better.”

“They poisoned him,” Fletcher said through gritted teeth.

“And they won’t ever do that again. Let’s get on with this.” Trudy shifted her gaze to the nurse who had given her the laptop. “Okay. Show me how to run this cursed machine.”

After Beth noted Noah’s blood pressure reading on her own laptop, she checked with Trudy to make sure Noah’s records had synced with the other computer. While the nurse and Trudy reviewed navigating his patient records, Beth—who was indeed a friend—pasted her stare to the floor while she continued Noah’s intake procedure.

“Marcus struck out. Twice,” Beth said under her breath while she handed Noah the neat paper square of a hospital gown. “But he also hit a double during the fifth inning that brought in a run. He hasn’t stopped grinning,” she finished, voice warming. Her gaze lifted, briefly, to the paper hospital gown. “You know the drill. Leave your clothes in the locker. Take off the splint.” She nodded to a facility wheelchair in the corner. “Someone will collect you for your MRI shortly.”

“I told you that your son would be great.” Noah reached out, lightly grasping Beth’s wrist. “Being clumsy isn’t the end of the world,” he said, trying to force the significance of his words into the glance with which he swept his hurt leg. He looked up at Beth. “Striking out sucks, but sometimes, we get a hit that makes everything worth it. That may not be the home run kids or their parents spin fantasies about, but learning to contribute to a team is important.”

Beth blinked at him. “Uh-huh.”

Noah could tell by the line furrowing her forehead that perhaps she
did
understand. Noah hoped she’d feel reassured and tell the rest of Dr. Phares’ medical team and Noah’s family to back off. He’d thrashed his knee again, but he was all right.

He could make this mating work.

Whether Beth realized he’d been talking about more than a kid’s baseball game, Noah might never know, but the tests went more smoothly after that. Fletcher frowned when nurses and technicians chatted with Noah, setting him at ease for the MRI and especially the CAT scan, which always made Noah’s skin crawl, but neither he nor the other betas standing guard warned away anyone else. Noah could almost forget the day was different than other exams monitoring his progress over the years.

Almost.

If his physical therapist, Scott, whose marriage to Noah’s sister had tipped the scales for city shifters to retrieve Noah from his family, hadn’t been replaced by Mike Farrell.

Noah had seen Mike intermittently over the years, when Scott had a day off or the schedule backed up. Being assessed by Mike today wouldn’t have seemed strange if Noah didn’t know Scott wouldn’t have missed
this
appointment for the world. When Noah asked about Scott’s absence, Mike darted a quick glance at Trudy who stared at her laptop. She hadn’t left Noah’s side. Neither had Fletcher.

The city shifters didn’t trust him. Or they didn’t trust his family and the humans. Maybe all three.

Noah’s heart beat a little faster. Part of that was unease. He wasn’t comfortable with Wade doubting him. They’d made a deal and Noah damn well intended to uphold his end of their bargain. But, increasingly, his pulse raced in astonishment. Happy surprise soon overwhelmed everything else.

His range of motion had changed.

Before, Noah’s knee joint was as loose as limp spaghetti. The joint tended to lock with overexertion, which had become embarrassingly clear last night. He frequently hyperextended it, too, tearing and abusing tendons because his knee insisted on bending in directions knees were never designed to bend. Yet, when Mike gently pushed to test his knee’s lateral movement, his leg wouldn’t budge.

What the hell?

Mike’s brow furrowed, but when he tried it again, nothing. Noah was able to flex forward beyond normal range of motion, but not by much. He winced because the knee stung a little, whereas before he hadn’t often realized he’d screwed up until muscles tore.

Trudy leaned over them both, her swinging dreadlocks brushing Mike’s temple. “I’ll bet you twenty he’ll have normal range of motion within a month.” She grinned at Mike. “Shifting during the full moon is best.”

“During therapy, he shifted when the moon was full,” Mike said. “Before.”

“When he was thirteen. The wolf is as much a child as the shifter then.” Trudy wrinkled her nose and straightened. She walked to her perch on a stool. “His wolf is weak and starved, but mature now. That matters.”

“His tibia and fibula are shorter in the right leg than the left,” Mike said, bringing Noah’s knee up.

“Oh, he’ll always have his limp. A severe one. I’m guardedly optimistic he might eventually graduate from crutches to a cane, but the shifter gene can’t perform miracles.” Trudy peered at her laptop screen with a gloating smirk. “The brace will be history, though. Two weeks. Tops.”

Gawping at his leg, Noah watched Mike work the joint. Hope swelled his chest when the knee—his bad knee!—resisted pressure.

“Do my left leg,” he told Mike, eager to know for sure it had stabilized, too. “The left was always steadier.” Hell, it might be
normal
.

Normal. A word that had rarely, if ever, applied to him.

Laughing, Noah whipped his bad leg from Mike’s grip and kicked his good leg forward. “Try it.”

Trudy chuckled, but didn’t glance up from her borrowed laptop. “According to this report, your MRI looks great. I think you floored the human technicians.” She shrugged a shoulder at Mike. “Go ahead.”

When he did, Noah whooped with joy. His knee moved exactly like it was supposed to. No pain. No straining muscles. No hyperextension whatsoever. Mike paled, skin shining sickly white, but continued the range of motion test by pulling Noah’s leg this way and that. He exercised the joint, directing Noah to flex as he pushed, but before Mike rested Noah’s bare foot on the mat in the physical therapy room, Noah knew.

“Normal range of motion,” Mike muttered at Trudy. Who beamed.

Not Mike, though.

Concentrating on his own laptop, Mike doggedly finished logging in Noah’s results. Then, he stared at the blue mat that cushioned the floor underneath them. He sneaked glances at Fletcher, standing with the other betas at each exit.

But he wouldn’t look at Noah.

Why wasn’t the physical therapist smiling? Happy for him? He wasn’t Noah’s regular therapist, but he’d worked with Noah enough to grasp what this kind of news meant to him. For him. “Mike?”

The physical therapist pushed to his feet. “I’ll make sure the hot tub’s ready. The right knee’s a little swollen. You aren’t wincing so it probably isn’t very painful, but—” He pivoted and rushed across the therapy room, toward the showers and the facility’s Jacuzzis, as though chased by demons. When he reached the doorway, his furtive glance at Noah glittered with trepidation. And a hint of fear.