Blood Moon (MalexMale Paranormal Fantasy)

Chapter 6 ∞ DAIRE

I spread out the supplies from my weapons pack, taking inventory of my 'bag of death,' as Peter calls it, cataloguing all of the different herbs I can add while I'm away from Mt. Elant. Might as well stock up on everything that I can since I'm going to operate under the assumption that soon I will be facing my uncle. Since leaving the security of the priestesses' island, it's been hard to shake the sense that he's finally discovered my lie and is hunting me, waiting to pop out from every shadow and stake me.

"That's quite the travel kit," the omicron wolf husks out, peering over my shoulder at where my items are categorized across the cot in the pack's clinic.

"It comes in use."

He leans over to pick up a bag of meadow fire herb—mixed with my blood and applied topically, it can eat through someone's skin. He inspects it with a breathy chuckle. "I bet it does, Master Warder."

I run a hand through my thick hair and take in the soft sunlight and serene white walls. "Do you keep all of the pack medicinal herbs here, like a warder's garden?"

I stretch my arms over my head, restless. Since meeting Reeve, it's like a living current fires under my skin. Like I could punch through walls and sprint for days. The kind of buzz that usually accompanies drinking blood.

The omicron must notice as he adopts a decidedly paternal tone. "No, only what I need a ready supply of. Why don't we take a walk through the grounds, you can see the herb gardens and the greenhouse? I'd be happy to show you around." He cocks his head toward my bed stash. "Show you where you can replenish your goods."

"Thank you, Omicron."

He nods, a smile lingering when a tall, built male springs through the door and announces, "I'm here," like we'd special ordered him for delivery.

He nods a quick greeting in my direction, as if he finds vampyres in the clinic every day, before he diverts his attention to the elder wolf. "Sorry to barge in, Omi, but that rash on my arm is back again." His eyes are a startling aquamarine against golden skin, coloring you would never find on a vampyre. Our skin is typically pale, at least paler than the wolves' more tanned and darker tones, and our eyes are usually either green or brown—or in my case, a mixture of both.

I don't know this male, but he radiates ease in a way I've never experienced around any wolf aside from the omega. Their aggressiveness and possessiveness known to dominate every encounter I've had with one.

With an inhale, I know that this male is close to the alpha, his scent resembling both Alpha Zane and Young Alpha Reeve.

"I'm Rainer Rimeara," he says and grins—the same sort of troublesome grin that Peter gets before proposing a wild adventure.

"This is our visiting master warder," the Omicron explains, stepping to Rainer's side with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "And this is our alpha's oldest son by a year, soon to be twenty-two, so you are nearly the same age."

The old male takes Rainer's arm, extending it for a better view. He leans in close, spectacles low on his nose, and pokes around the purplish-red raised bumps spreading from the inner forearm up into the crease of the elbow. "We can try that same salve as last year and see if it works any better."

"I can help," I offer, and they turn their heads my way. "It's crimlock rash. Rare this high up in the mountains, but I saw it each spring in my own lands." I look over the irritated skin to assess the severity. "I'll need oil from an olirie plant."

The omicron's eyes brighten with excitement as Rainer asks, "Are you sure?"

I nod, relieved to finally be putting my years of studying healing methods to use. "Positive."