Being hurt is exhausting.

Obviously, getting hurt isn’t fun. It freaking hurts. It’s in the name.

But there’s feeling a little under the weather cause you’re a bit banged up, and then there’s being hurt.

Your poor body is working overtime trying to fix itself, and that energy has to come from somewhere.

It’s the worst part of being injured. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a fan of constant pain any more than the next guy, but that soul-sucking weariness it’s worse.

It pulls at you like a leech, draining your will to move, to act, to do anything more than lie in bed and feel miserable.

I was no stranger to being heavily injured, and if not for being a Telss, I would have permanent disabilities from some of my more violent escapades.

So, with that in mind, I stared at the mage healer with mixed emotions.

On the one hand, he was a mage. But on the other hand, he was taking months off my recovery time.

Quinton was a short, rotund man who looked to be somewhere in his late fifties. He was a mage, though, so the guy could be in his hundreds for all I knew. He had a severe face and bushy grey eyebrows that always seemed to be pulled down in a scowl.

Quinton, and the two others had worked on me for the last week. And after that measly seven days, I was patched up enough to escape bed rest.

It was amazing. It wasn’t werewolf healing, but it was still literal magic.

I didn’t understand all the complexities of healing magic, but the gist of it involved purifying your aura until it was as close to unaspected as possible, then imbuing it with a will to heal.

There was a whole lot more that went into it, but it went over my head.

Despite having a resting ‘disapproval’ face, he had one hell of a bedside manner. I don’t think I’d heard him raise his voice, much less shout. I liked him, which was awkward for me as it clashed with my instinctual nervousness around Clan mages.

He stepped back from the bed and clapped his hands. “We’re done for the day. Gertrude will treat you tomorrow.”

The three healers, one from each Clan, worked without any of the rivalry or hostility that I had half expected. They were trying to impress me, make their clans seem nice and shiny so a yokel Telss might want to join up. But they were doing it by making themselves look good instead of the others look worse.

It shouldn’t be surprising. They were healers. It took a certain kind of person to work that magic and it made sense that they’d rather build themselves up in my eyes than tear the others down.

“Thank you, Quinton,” I said with a nod.

“We appreciate it,” Bobby said from his spot, leaning against the wall.

The Pack never left me alone with mages, even the healers. Something I was very grateful for.

Oh, the mage clans wouldn’t try to nab me openly. Not since the Northwoods made a claim.

I was firmly under their protection, and any attempt on me would be considered an attack on the werewolf's authority.

But all the polite smiles and tacit understandings wouldn’t stop a ‘rogue element’ from bursting through the wall Kool-Aid Man style to kidnap me.

The healer packed up and headed for the door.

Rodgers sat in the corner, causally flipping through a book and despite his relaxed posture, his bright blue eyes tracked the healer as he left.

Bobby strolled over, the top of his blond hair pulled back into a pseudo bun. It wasn’t quite long enough for it, so it looked kind of ridiculous, but the man wore it with so much confidence that it worked.

The same rule of overbearing confidence translating into fashion held true with the rest of his wardrobe, bright green shorts that rode up his legs higher then I would have dared and a light blue tank top.

The werewolf was right around six feet tall, with a leanly muscled build and a face that…well, he looked like he could be a surfer boy heartthrob in any chick flick from the early 2000s.

“So, how’d the latest patch job go?”

I chuckled, though the sound sent a bolt of pain through my side. I had been healed a remarkable amount in the last week, but I’d still come close to dying. My body was far from whole.

“I’m feeling like a few miles of bad road.”

Bobby scowled. “I thought you were getting better?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I felt like the whole, torn-up highway before.”

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He grinned, his blue eyes sparkling. “Progress is progress!”

I started to climb to my feet, and Bobby helped me. I fought down a shudder at the contact. The last few weeks had curbed some of my aversion to touch, but it was far from gone. Having the living touch me without trying to tear me apart was helping, but only to a point.

“Thanks,” I said as I wobbled on my feet.

Bobby hovered close, ready to step in at a moment's notice.

I felt weak, uncomfortably so, but I was standing.

I took as deep a breath as I could without straining my side.

Wonderful.

Being cooped up was definitely worse than the pain.

Bobby tilted his head to the side. “Blair’s back.”

I stared at him for a second. “You know, it’s the little reminders that throw me.”

“Huh?” Bobby arched a blond brow.

“Werewolf senses and whatnot. I know that they’re ridiculously past human, but it’s things like hearing Blair pull in from across a giant mansion that drive that point in.”

Bobby nodded. “I think I get what you mean, but in reverse.”

“Oh?” I shifted, the manor’s wooden floor creaking underfoot.

Before Bobby could answer, the door opened, and Blair stepped in. She must have booked it to get here so fast.

She wore a leather bomber jacket, a white T, and loose black sweats—werewolves tended to like clothes that could be thrown off at a moment's notice.

The woman was around 6’2, with a build closer to a Greek statue than a person—damn werewolves—and- my train of thought was cut off as she rushed forward.

“Your walking! How are you feeling?” She clasped my shoulders as if afraid I would topple over.

Which was fair, all things considered. I hadn’t exactly been a picture of health.

“I’m feeling better, Blair,” I chuckled. “Practically good as new!” I tried to roll my shoulder but stopped halfway through. I wasn’t quite good as new.

She frowned and then wrapped me in a careful hug. I stiffened, then returned it.

She was…warm. And that didn’t feel like a bad thing.

She stepped back, reluctantly letting my shoulders go. I could tell she was still tensed, half expecting me to topple.

While her concern was touching, I wanted to move more than be coddled right now.

A week in bed had driven me half insane.

“Care for a walk around the manor?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

Bobby and Rodgers headed for the door with us but went left as we turned right.

“Going to go harass Laurel,” Bobby said.

Rodgers chuckled. “I’m going to check on the graveyard.”

Blair and I meandered through the twisting halls, chatting idly. We strayed away from serious topics and just talked about anything and everything that crossed our minds.

It wasn’t as if we hadn’t talked over the last week. She had been a frequent visitor to patient Alder. But I couldn’t stress enough how much I hated being bedridden, so walking and talking felt like magic.

We passed by an intersection, and Jack bounded out of the hall on my left to crash against my leg. Since the cat weighed all of ten pounds, he bounced off me like he’d struck a wall.

That didn’t seem to bother the little guy as he quickly wrapped himself around my leg, purring steadily.

“Hey, Jack. I’d pet you, but I’m not bending down right now.”

The cat meowed in protest but subsided as Blair scooped him up.

She brought him close, and I obliged the cat, scratching him under his chin.

He purred, then bundled up in Blair’s arms.

It looked a little ridiculous, the tiny cat and the werewolf, and I couldn’t help but smile.

After a few more minutes, I decided to steer the conversation toward a less cheerful topic.

“Any big news?”

Blair scowled, the humor crawling away from her face. “Nothing major. The war is still a cold one. Back alley brawls and fights in isolated towns.” She idly scratched Jack behind the ears.

“The Barrow King is pushing at the edges of a lot of places but isn’t committing to any of them, which forces us to spread thin. We outnumber his known allies, but his spirit magic and ability to raise and control undead makes it so he can suddenly increase his forces at any given place much faster than we can.”

She brushed her hair behind one shoulder.

“And from what we can gather, he is pulling in more allies fast.”

“Oh. Super.“

Blair nodded. “Yeah.“

I studied her expression. Something more was bothering her, something more specific than the general ‘we’re at war’ thing.

“What’s wrong?“

She glanced at me and raised her brows. “Am I that easy to read?“

I shook my head. “No. Typically trying to reach you is like trying to read a stone wall. I’m just that damn good.“

She chuckled. “What’s bothering me is that this war doesn’t make sense. Solomon wasn’t known for being a fool before all of this. But he’d have to be a push things like he is. He doesn’t have the firepower for it.“

She gestured with one hand as she talked, keeping Jack cradled against her chest with the other.

The cat followed her gesturing intently.

“There are powerhouses outside of the Pact—ancient beings closer to gods than anything else. Hell, there might still be gods out there wandering around. But as far as we know, none are allied with Solomon.”

She paused, and Jack filled the silence with a meow.

Blair gave him another idle pat before continuing. “He has some strong people on his side. Even a few that can contend with spooks like my parents and some of the other faction leaders.” She stared down the hall, her gaze distant.

“But not strong enough to contend with the old monsters allied with the Pact. Not with things on the level of the Adjudicator.“

I frowned. “So, if he’s not an idiot but has still committed to this, the question is…what are we missing?”