Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Inhaling another ragged breath, he said, “Do you always carry first-aid supplies?”
“Yes. One of my teachers was a paramedic who said the worst he ever felt was when he couldn’t help a wounded friend because he lacked a few basic supplies. He gave us a limited list of absolutes—and told us to get tiny versions we could carry in pockets or purses.” She held up a glittery silver bag roughly the size of her palm. “My everyday medical kit. Everything fits if packed just so.”
Opening up a thin packet of transparent bandage strips that she’d retrieved from the glittery bag, she put them all down his stitched leg in a neat pattern. “There,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “You’ll survive even if you plan to be an idiot and finish whatever ridiculous thing the wolves have you doing.”
As she began to pack up the used medical supplies into a thin plas packet marked with a biohazard symbol, he realized the rest of the Basket of All Things was filled with edible items foraged from the forest. Mushrooms, fresh green tips from plants he couldn’t name, what looked to him like wild nuts. “Are you an herbalist?”
“No.” She used another wipe to sanitize her hands, tucked it into the plas bag, then sealed up the bag and put it in the basket. “But I know green spaces and wild places.” A lingering stroke of the tree trunk before she rose.
When he followed, he braced himself against the tree with one hand so he could test his weight on his leg. It held. Didn’t even hurt much. “You did an excellent job.”
A snort. “Try not to split it open.” Spinning on her heel, a whirlwind of color and life, she began to walk away.
Ivan called after no one. Asked no one for anything. But he said, “Wait! What’s your name?”
A look over her shoulder, her eyes liquid pools of mystery. “You can call me Lei.”
Then she was gone, moving so fluidly into the forest that he had no chance of tailing her, not in his current state. Changeling, definitely changeling. But after Ivan made it to the end of the course—because apparently he was an idiot—the wolf lieutenant in charge of him had no idea who Ivan was talking about when he mentioned Lei.
“A paramedic?” Jorge Herrera frowned. “None of our healers or other trained medical personnel match your description. And RockStorm’s small enough that I’d know if we had a lovely dark-eyed visitor.” A grin. “I’m single and in my prime, after all.”
“I’m certain she was changeling.”
Jorge rubbed a jaw heavy with dark stubble against brown skin. “Yeah, she might be. The part of the forest you were in at the time is public land outside our pack’s territorial boundaries. Open for everyone to use. No other packs real close to us, though, so I’m guessing she’s probably visiting a human friend or family member.”
The wolf lieutenant shrugged. “Guess she’ll have to be a mystery, your nurse.”
Ivan said nothing, but he was a Mercant. Information, data, connections, those were the foundations of his family. He’d find her. Had to find her, the compulsion to see her again a pulsing beat in his blood.
For the first time in his life, Ivan Mercant wanted something … someone.
Chapter 3
The neurological changes are permanent. Long-term effects remain unknown.
—Private report by Dr. Jamal Raul on Ivan Mercant, age 17 (8 August 2068)
IVAN KNEW HE was spoiled when it came to access to data. Side effect of growing up in a family of spies. Grandmother did not approve of Ivan and his cousins’ use of that term, far preferring to state that their family was in the business of intelligence.
In other words, a family of spies.
However, given the limited information he had on Lei and the large areas changelings could traverse on foot, pinpointing her identity was proving to be difficult. Changelings were more off-grid than humans or Psy, so he couldn’t even look through lists of changeling healers in an effort to narrow down the possibilities.
The packs just didn’t put that type of information online, and as those of Ivan’s race had long ignored the changelings, there was no information floating around in the PsyNet for him to mine.
He still couldn’t stop looking. He took on the task with the same obsessive attention that had left him with multiple complementary skill sets. Complementary to his mind, anyway. Being a dead shot with any handheld weapon on the planet was as critical to him as knowing how to take apart a computronic or mechanical device to diagnose a problem.
The world was a place where things cracked and shattered—and where bad people existed. Those like Ivan were born to eliminate the others from the board so the softer, gentler creatures could exist. Creatures like her.
Cutie pie.
Grumpy.
Try not to split it open.