Page 57 of Before the Bond
“Most of our older research is in there,” Caleb explained at the time.
Donovan pushed himself off the counter once he knew what I was reading.
"You'll want to stay inside once it starts," Donovan finally said.
He hadn’t changed. I looked at him over the rim of my mug. "That's not going to happen."
Donovan set both hands on the counter across from me and said, flatly, "Caleb may have given you the details of a wolf shift. But it's not the same as being in the room when it happens.Especiallythe first time. They're not themselves."
"Jake’s my patient," I said, equally flat. "He's been my patient for weeks. I'm not watching from a window."
Donovan studied me the way he always did. He opened his mouth, no doubt about to argue.
I stared at him hard. At this point, nothing was going to hold me back.
Donovan's eyes swept over me. Maybe he recalled all our past arguments about Jake’s care. Maybe he thought I was too stubborn to back down because I chose to stay in a place with literal werewolves. Maybe he just felt bad for me and wanted to be nice.
Donovan raised a finger. "Stick to Caleb,” he said. “The moment Jake shifts, you keep your distance. And if I tell you to move, you move."
I kept my face neutral. "I’m glad we could come to an agreement.”
Donovan left without another word. I finished my coffee and took that as his version of a yes.
Jake was already awake when I got to his room.
He sat up in bed, the blanket pooled at his waist. He stared at the window, as he had many times before, but this time I noticed his knuckles white around the book he was reading.
"You're not supposed to be conscious yet," I said, half-jokingly. "The pre-shift protocol clearly states that you need to rest during the day.”
"Pre-shift protocol," he repeated, amused at the term. Then, slower: "Is that the medical term for ‘before you go crazy and feral’?”
“You’re not going to go crazy.”
Jake laughed shakily. “You never know.”
I pulled up his chart. "How's the pain?"
"Six."
"Don't lie to me."
Jake was now tapping the side of the bed. "Seven. Maybe seven and a half." He looked at the ceiling. "It feels like my bones broke and didn’t set right, and then smashed against one another even more.”
“You’re usually eight,” I said, jotting it down. “Got it.”
The room went quiet as I went over the rest of his assessment. I looked at Jake. He was still staring hard at his lap.
"Are you scared?" he asked.
I glanced up. "Of tonight?"
"Of any of it, all of it,” he murmured. “I know it's a lot to take in. Even now, after everything."
I set the tablet down. I knew better than to lie to Jake.
"A little," I said. "But not the way you mean. I'm not scared of wolves or packs or any of that. I'm scared of not being useful when it matters."
"You're already useful,” he said. “And even better, you’re fun to be around.”
