A Risky Detour
Eric POV
My back was screaming at me like a pissed-off ex, but I didn't stop.
Rain was draped over my shoulder like a sack of bones and regret—barely breathing, skin clammy, and light as hell, which should've made it easier, but somehow it just made it worse. Every step felt like I was carrying guilt itself.
The plan was the wasteland. That was the mission. But dragging a half-dead girl through a damn cursed no-man's-land felt less like strategy and more like a death wish. So I made a detour. A risky one. The kind I'd have yelled at someone else for even thinking about.
The stench hit before I even reached the porch—rotten herbs, old parchment, maybe a hint of something dead but undecided. I shoved the door open with my shoulder, careful not to slam Rain's head against the frame.
The cabin looked like it'd been built by someone who'd lost a bet. Wood splintered in places, dust thick enough to write a novel in, and shelves crowded with jars full of things you wouldn't want in your soup. If this place collapsed, nobody would bother digging us out.
"'Bout time you got here," a voice rasped from somewhere behind the clutter, dry as sandpaper and just as friendly.
I didn't even bother announcing myself. The man always knew when I walked in. Probably heard the sound of my patience dying.
"Nice to see you too, Doc," I muttered, nudging the door shut with my boot and shifting Rain's weight in my arms. "Got a favor to ask."
Doc emerged like some crypt keeper pulled from a jar of vinegar—white beard wild and mean, blind eyes cloudy but somehow focused. He'd looked ancient twenty years ago. Now he just looked like time gave up on him halfway through.
He tilted his head toward me, sniffed the air, then scowled like I'd farted in his shrine.
"You brought her?" he said, voice dropping a few degrees. "Do I look like a goddamn fool to you, Eric?"
I tightened my grip on Rain, pulse steady but jaw clenched. "No. You look like a man who's about to save a life."
Doc took a step forward, arms crossing his bony chest. "That life tried to end our Alpha's. Tell me why the hell I should help her. Out of all the stray dogs you could've dragged here, you bring this one?"
I stared at him for a beat, then set Rain down gently on the table that looked like it hadn't seen a clean cloth since the war.
"Because I'm asking," I said, low and firm.
He sucked on his teeth like he was chewing the taste of that answer. "Does the Alpha know?"
"You ever known me to do something that puts him at risk?"
Doc didn't answer right away. Just stood there, face unreadable. The silence between us stretched, thick and heavy like a storm before the first crack of lightning.
Finally, he let out a long, scratchy sigh. "You always did have a bad habit of complicating my life, Eric."
"She's not ordinary," I added, softer this time. "There's something in her. You feel it too."
He grunted, turned, and began pulling down jars and old cloths with the grace of someone who'd memorized every inch of his home decades ago. "If she dies on my table, it's on your head."
"If you die from the smell in this place, that's on you," I muttered.
Doc smirked faintly. "Keep talking, and I'll use leech therapy just to spite you."
I chuckled, but just barely. My eyes dropped to Rain—still, pale, a flicker of a heartbeat beneath her skin.
Doc worked silently, fingers surprisingly nimble for someone who couldn't see. He muttered curses and prayers in the same breath, digging through dried roots and poultices like he was digging up secrets.
But one thing kept tugging at the back of my brain.
He was blind. Had been since before I met him. And yet—
"How'd you know it was her?" I asked, quietly.
Doc didn't stop moving. "What?"
"You said, 'you brought her.' You knew who she was the second I stepped in."
His hands froze.
For a moment, just one terrifying moment, I thought maybe I'd made a bigger mistake than I realized.
He turned toward me, blind eyes strangely sharp in the dim light.
"Because dead things carry the loudest scent," he said, voice low. "And this one's been to places the living shouldn't touch."
The treatment started at 2 a.m.
I didn't ask what Doc was doing—I just watched. For hours, he worked like a man possessed. Grinding herbs, whispering in that strange, old tongue of his, moving his hands over Rain's fevered skin like he was coaxing her soul to stay.
The cabin reeked of smoke and sweat and something bitter I couldn't place. Time stopped meaning anything after a while. I didn't sleep. Didn't sit. Just stood there like a goddamn statue, fists clenched, pulse thudding in my ears.
By the time the sun dipped down again, Doc was soaked in sweat, swearing at the ceiling like the universe owed him answers.
Then it happened.
A twitch. Subtle. Almost like a spasm. Rain's fingers curled slightly against the rough sheet.
I froze.
And then her eyes opened—just a sliver, glassy and unfocused, like she was seeing through fog. But she was awake. Alive.
I felt my chest seize, then unlock with a sharp exhale. I hadn't even realized I was holding my breath.
Doc looked at her like she'd personally insulted his craft. "Well, I'll be damned."
I let out a low chuckle. "Told you she wasn't done yet."
But he wasn't laughing. Not even close. His eyes narrowed, mouth twisting like he'd just bitten into something rotten. "This shouldn't be possible. Not after what was done to her. I've seen lesser wounds kill stronger wolves."
I didn't give a damn about the odds. She was breathing. That's all I needed.
Doc muttered something I didn't catch and started shoving bowls and burned-out herbs off the table. He poured some brownish liquid into a cracked cup and brought it to her lips, holding the back of her neck.
"You're not eating anything solid for a while," he grumbled. "Try not to puke this. It's the good stuff."
Rain groaned softly but swallowed. Her eyes drifted toward me, and something passed between us. I didn't know what to call it. Recognition? Gratitude? Anger? Could've been all three.
A few minutes passed. Long enough to feel the shift in the air.
Then I stood.
Doc didn't look up, just kept cleaning. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking."
"We're leaving," I said.
That got his attention.
"You're what?" he barked, spinning like he could see me. "You just spent twelve hours hovering over her like a worried dad, and now you're hauling her back out into the damn woods?"
"She'll make it," I said, reaching for my jacket. "She has to."
"She's barely alive, Eric. She shouldn't even be conscious. You carry her into that wasteland right now, she'll die for real this time."
I adjusted Rain gently in my arms, feeling how light she was. Too light. Like she might blow away in the wind.
I met his glare, even if he couldn't see it. "This place isn't safe either. You said it yourself—what happened to her wasn't normal."
He muttered a stream of curses that probably would've made a sailor blush. "You're a stubborn idiot. Just like your father."
"Yeah," I murmured.
Doc didn't say anything after that.
I turned toward the door, Rain resting in my arms like something fragile but burning from the inside out. "Take care of yourself, old man."
"Yeah, yeah," he grunted. "Try not to die, you reckless bastard."
The cold slapped me in the face as I stepped outside. The woods stretched ahead, dark and unforgiving, but I didn't hesitate.
I carried her into the night.
Toward whatever fate had waiting for us.
And I didn't look back.