There were three names in total. Alby Dawson and Dianna Rook were the names of two pack members who worked as historians, which surprised me, but what made everything make sense was the third name.
Mack Page.
The Beta.
And suddenly, our whole conversation about Alphas and leadership types, and Lucien’s little telling actions, made sense.
First, Lucien was the Alpha. Of that, I had no doubt.
Second, Mack Page, being his Beta, betrayed him by trying to kill him some way or another, and might’ve succeeded if I hadn’t found him in time.
And third, and probably most important of all, it was not the first time Lucien had been betrayed by a Beta.
I turned to look at Lucien again, now that light had been shed on the situation. “What are we going to do?” I asked quietly, filling in the silence that had stretched thin in the office.
Lucien grimaced. “Well, we need to hunt them down.” He looked at Enoch. “Rémi said he’s certain they must still be in San Diego, snooping around the hospital to see whether I’ll show up or not, considering my body is missing from the crime scene.”
Enoch nodded. “Perhaps. It is the only hospital on the West Coast that accepts Otherborne, after all. But we have talked enough.” He rose from his seat suddenly and demanded, “I can smell blood. Werewolf blood. Why didn’t you tell me you’re wounded?”
With a grimace, Lucien stripped. I swallowed my drool before I got up to stand next to Enoch, staring at Lucien’s back.
When Enoch saw the sigil, he cursed. “I don’t recognize this Spellscript,” he said, touching the sigil—or rather, Spellscript, apparently—with the tips of his gloved fingers, causing Lucien to tense. “There are very few Spellscripts I cannot recognize, Lucien. Do you know what that means?”
“Yes.” Lucien’s voice was strained. “It means it’s really, really bad.”
“Yeah.” Enoch let his hand fall from Lucien’s back. “It really is. But while I can’t identify the Spellscript, I can still treat the rest of your wound. Did you treat it before?” he asked me.
I nodded. “I didn’t really know what to do,” I told him frankly. “I just bandaged it over and over again while Lucien was in his wolf form until it stopped bleeding.”
This information made Enoch’s eyes narrow. “First things first, how long has he been bleeding?”
“Four days,” I replied at once. “Every time I thought the wound had finally stabilized, it started bleeding again.”
The hospital director’s hands curled into fists, and his lips thinned as he snapped his head toward Lucien, who turned around to look at us. “Why did you remain in your wolf form instead of shifting?” he demanded. “You know better than anyone that werewolves heal faster and better in your human form!”
Lucien’s lips curled down, his eyes filling with that same rage from before. “I was unable to shift until earlier today.”
Guilt crawled inside me, and I found myself blurting, “I’m sorry. I tried to do my best. I even called a vet since I didn’t know for sure what Lucien was and thought initially he was a stray dog, and maybe I made things worse ...”
“It’s not your fault,” Lucien said resolutely, his eyes finding mine. “You did your best. If anything, I’m the one who needs to apologize for all the inconvenience I caused you. Both with the vet, and in general.”
I shook my head, still feeling guilty nonetheless. “You were hurt and vulnerable. None of it is your fault.”
Enoch turned to look at me now, drawing my gaze to his. “It really is not your fault at all, Miss Colter,” he said, face still angry, as he motioned toward the wound. “This Spellscript must’ve done this, since normally, werewolves can shift between human and wolf form at will, no matter their condition, and they also heal much faster than most Otherborne. If it weren’t for this Spellscript, Lucien here would’ve healed in less than a day.”
Lucien nodded. “If it weren’t for the Spellscript, I wouldn’t have been mortally wounded like that in the first place.”
Enoch let out a deep breath. “I’m going to have to patch up some of the tissue that didn’t heal well,” he announced, and out of the piles of papers he pulled a briefcase. It was a far better first aid kit than the one I had in my place, since it had antiseptics, needles, and whatnot.
Lucien didn’t say a word, didn’t even flinch or move one muscle of his face, while Enoch patched him up. He’d done it without anesthesia, but Lucien acted as if his flesh weren’t being sewn together.
When the doctor was done, he gave Lucien a clean white shirt and disposed of the blood-soaked tee Lucien stole from Chase. Once he wascompletely dressed, Lucien looked at the doctor and said, “It’s time I face the culprits.”
Enoch didn’t seem happy to hear that. “You should rest for at least a couple of hours, Lucien—”
“There is no time,” Lucien cut him off, folding his arms. “Not with the agents determined to catch Drew and me. They’ll probably receive a police waiver to enter the hospital sooner rather than later.”
This didn’t seem to sit well with the doctor either. “I’ll take care of the agents,” he said resolutely. “They know better than anyone that the hospital is a neutral zone. You can rest—”