Page 58 of Hart's Redemption

I avoided answering the question, since I didn’t have a good excuse beyond being so wrapped up in my grief and anxiety that I barely remembered to eat half the time. “I guess I should get going if I’m going to make it to the reserve before moonrise.” Just like that, my mind careened off the tracks back into worrying about Josh. “Shit, how is he handling the moon? Where is he changing? Are they even letting him run? How is he managing his condition? Do they have him sedated?”

Eric rushed to my side, where his hands clamped painfully on my arms as my breath came in shorter and shorter gasps.“Whoa, slow down. Are you trying to trigger a change? Think of it like this: if they didn’t know he was a werewolf before, they definitely do now.”

“That’s… not… funny,” I wheezed. It hadn’t been funny the last time he’d made the joke either.

“Oh, I don’t know. The idea of him mauling some idiotic prison guard is pretty funny. Just imagine it. Bozo sticks his hand between the bars and comes back missing an arm. He’s flailing about, painting a red Picasso on the wall. Meanwhile, your beau is nomming away on his midnight snack.”

I laughed despite myself at the ridiculous image he was painting. “I really hate you sometimes.”

“No, you don’t, but you might after what I have to say next.”

“What are you talking about?” I glanced at him, confusion plain on my face.

His sympathetic look was all the warning I needed and more than I deserved. “Red, you can’t change at the reserve again. Conrad is pulling rank and demanding you run with the pack tonight.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Don’t think of it as running with Conrad or even everyone else. Just come run with me, Tommy, and Kale.”

“I won’t go. I’d rather change here and risk tearing this place apart.”

Eric made an exasperated sound deep in his throat and paced in place. “Except it’s not just about you, is it? While you’ve been hiding out playing house with your nose up your ass, the pack has been in upheaval. We’re fraying at the edges, man. After all that shit went down with the murder, Tommy and Keith, and then Josh’s fucking psycho mom, the pack needs guidance, a steady hand. They needyou, Red.”

“Running with the pack won’t fix Conrad’s control issues. If anything, it’ll make things worse. If I show up and things magically fall into place…” I shook my head. “I’m not going.”

“Yeah… it’s not really optional. Like I said, he pulled rank. He didn’t exactly say what would happen if you didn’t show, but hinted pretty strongly that it wouldn’t be good. I don’t know about you, but I can think of at least threeverynot-good things he could do. He’s been gunning for you for years. You honestly thinknotshowing will make things any better?”

“Eric, why are you pressing this?”

He shrugged. “Sorry, Red, I’m under Alpha orders to bring you to the House, one way or another.” Normally that would mean Eric didn’t have a choice but to obey, much like Remus had forsaken his unit in order to follow Josh’s order at the precinct. Alpha orders were law and non-negotiable.

“We both know Conrad isn’t your Alpha.”

“And when you decide to tell him that, I’ll be right by your side. You really want to tackle that tonight, though?”

My shoulders caved inward again. “No.”

“Does that mean you’re running with the pack tonight?”

“Doesn’t sound like I really have a choice.”

He shook his head. “You’ve always had a choice, Elijah. You’ve just never chosen to exercise it.”

Chapter 19

Josh

IeyedYaneshdubiously.Tosay we were going in circles would be putting it mildly. “How often did you say you planned on coming?” I asked, blatantly ignoring the fresh cup of rosehip tea he’d placed in front of me.

“I didn’t.” He finished organizing the materials he’d brought, including pens, more herbs for the tea, and several notebooks—all of which were on actual paper instead of a data tab. Finally, he sat across from me at the small desk I used for meals and looked at me over steepled fingers. “Today will not be the norm, as I only have an hour. Ideally, I’d like to see you as often as feasible for a minimum of two hours. If circumstances were different and you’d come to me as a regular patient,I’d recommend two to three times a week.” I choked on the damnable tea I’d absently reached for. “Of course, the situation is far from ideal, so we’ll simply have to make the best of what time we can conjure,” he continued, ignoring me.

I set the cup down and gave it a withering look. “Perhaps you could explain why you think therapy would help my condition.” Yanesh leaned back in his chair—the only one in the room—and considered me for an uncomfortable length of time. In my fight to control my body from visibly betraying my anxiety, I reached for the tea again.

“All right,” he said at last. “I’ll tell you why I believe therapy will help your situation and why I am uniquely positioned to offer it to you. On one condition.” I frowned, first at him, then at the fresh tea he was pouring into my cup.

“What is this condition?”

“You have to give the therapy a chance. Trust that I know what I’m talking about and have your best interests in mind.”