Page 4 of Wolf's Fate

Doc had more or less replaced my physician, which was great on one hand for costs, but on the other, he waswaymore involved than what I was used to. I had meal plans, workout regimes, including minimum exercise minutes per day, a sleep journal… It was a lot.

I couldn’t really complain—though clearly I was since I was complaining right now—because, in truth, I did feel better. Doc wasn’t an imposing man. He was almost fully human; he didn’t have the bulging muscles or thesolidlook about him like the others. He was lean, average height, and could blend easily in a crowd. However, when the crowd was one of shifters, I bet he stood out.

No, Doc wasn’t like them—and yet somehow, I followed his health plan religiously. He didn’t scare me. I didn’t know himwell enough to disappoint him. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I would get punishment if I didn’t stick to his plan. He reminded me of a stern headmaster. Content when I was compliant, but one foot wrong and I would be writing lines until the end of time.

Lily had taken note of the change in my health plan, and while she hadn’t said much, she obviously approved.

In truth, so did I. I noticed a difference in my energy levels. I had an appetite, and with the exercise and calorie management, I was actually gaining some weight and strength. My normal walk home, which used to take about thirty minutes, was now carried out in twenty. More importantly, I could walk home and back without overdoing it.

I’d had a few spells of ME since my return because, while Doc could tell me what to do and when to eat, he couldn’t control my sleep pattern. He couldn’t stop me from seeing what I saw when I closed my eyes.

He couldn’t put an end to the insights I had into his world.

Once more, my mind had come back to Caleb.

Always, always Caleb.

He wasn’t even that good-looking.Liar.

He was grumpy.True.

He was a terrible conversationalist.Not true, he just kept certain things from you.

Hewas a liar.

That one I didn’t need my internal monologue to repeat, which I already knew. Caleb had told me himself that he lied. He’d warned me. Repeated it several times throughout our time traveling to meet Cannon and the others.

Our short time together had been fraught with nothing butadversity, with a few scatterings of amicable times. Caleb Foster was not someone Ishouldmiss, but I did.

A lot.

I also worried about him, because although Cannon or the shaman would tell mewherehe had gone, they didn’t tell mewhy. I knew that they knew. I knew it was bad. I knew that his being alone was not good for him. They hadn’t needed to tell me that—I drew it every day, sometimes more than once, just like I had the afternoon that Doc put the sketchbook in my hands and told me to show them.

He was on a mountain. I didn’t know which one that was called Shadowridge Peak. I had googled it, but I wasn’t surprised to find no search results. I assumed it was a mountain with a peak. Didn’t all mountains have peaks? I knew it wasn’t near them, but I thought it was still in Colorado. Maybe. Or Wyoming, or Idaho, or Montana…or any of the states that housed the Rockies.

If he was even still in the Rockies. Or in America.

My head hurt thinking about it. About him. But how could I not? The need to draw him, to catch glimpses of him, to know that he was safe, it was constant.

The other constant thing was the darkness descending on him.

Don’t get me wrong. No one would ever describe Caleb as fluffy or light—the thought alone made me giggle—but he wasn’t exactlydarkeither. He was still approachable. Kind of. He wouldn’t hurt you. Much. Chewing my lip, I tried to stop my negativity. But it was so hard because I was severely pissed off with him.

I could still see him walking away andneverlooking back.

I wanted to lie, even to myself, and say that I didn’t remember everything in the chaos that ensued, but I did. I remembered it all. Running to the door, screaming into the emptiness for him, and silence was my only answer. After I went back into the room, a sketchbook was thrust into my hands, and I was told to draw.

And I had.

I had drawn it all.

“Show us, Willow,” Doc told me. “Show us what we’ve done.”

I hadn’t been able to keep hold of the pen. I’d dropped it, and then after the second or third sketch, I wished I’d been able to drop it again, but my grip had been firm, and there was a better chance of Caleb coming back than me letting go of that pen.

The sketches were full of pain. Brimming with anger. Saturated in hate.

Scenes of death, human and wolf alike. Caleb was featured in them all, appearing as I had never seen him.