Scent of Salvation

Chapter Thirteen

A cast iron pot simmered on the hearth carved into the mountainside. The rich, heady scent of stew was thick in the air and made Sorin’s mouth water.

Dirty dishes were piled on most surfaces of the pack kitchen, and the fire had burned down to a few coals. Sorin offered Susan a stool, then tended the fire. With most so ill, routines fell apart. Everyone pitched in to fill the gaps but things got neglected.

“When you told me your pack was sick, I hadn’t imagined it would be most of them.” She leaned forward on the table. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Pouring two bowls of stew, he took a quick glance at his little leech. “This is the problem I need solving.”

“I’m not a doctor—healer.” She massaged her temples as if trying to relieve a terrible headache. He could sympathize.

He set a bowl in front of her, then sat across the table. “Can you help us?” Eating his meal in big spoonfuls, he watched as she picked at her food.

“I don’t know.” She took a bite and her eyes sparkled. “This is good.” She chewed with a far-off expression. “Why can’t we ask another pack for a healer? I’m sure Kele would—”

“Jump at the opportunity to help us.” He interrupted her train of thought. “Just as her father would jump at the opportunity to wipe my pack out.” He pointed outside. “My lands are desirable, not my people. Once word gets out we’re weak and vulnerable, we’re dead. If not by the Payami then some other pack will come.” If word spread of their state, one of the other packs would attack.

It was in their nature.

Susan sighed. “I might be able to help in some way. And I stress the might.” She scratched her head. “I’m not making any promises but I come from a place that understands the way nature works in small detail.”

“What does that mean?” He sat, his stew forgotten and cold, listening to her crazy story of machines, other worlds and branches. What trees had to do with Susan’s magical travel, he couldn’t guess. “You come from another world that is Eorthe?” He couldn’t hide the incredulity in his voice. Subterfuge was never his strongest skill.

“I know it’s difficult to believe but it is the truth.”

Slow-burning frustration filled his gut. He needed a miracle and he brought home an insane stray. “What does it matter if it’s true or not? How does that help my people? You admitted to not being a healer.”

Setting her utensil next to her bowl, she met his fury with an easy grace. Her calm made him burn hotter. “Not a healer but a scientist.”

“What, by my hairy arse, does that mean?”

“It means I’m smart, you jerk. Remember knocking Benic out and tossing me over your shoulder? That wasn’t my idea.” Her sharp tone snapped him from his angered state. No one had spoken to him like that since the night he’d killed his father.

It was both refreshing and infuriating.

She wasn’t trying to preen for him, like some females did for alphas—she only stated what she believed to be the truth. Susan’s story seemed farfetched, but he had witnessed her travel through her gateway. Her type of smart could help. How many more graves did he have to dig before they found a solution? “I will take whatever you can offer us and be grateful.” He carried his bowl to the ever-growing pile of dishes. “Once you’re done eating, you’ll find Lailanie in the cavern. Tell her I’ve given you permission to help.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have graves to dig.”