Scent of Salvation (Chronicles of Eorthe #1) (16 page)

She’d never been able to walk away from a problem, and the Eiffel Tower of dishes didn’t compare to the sick in this den, but she had to cure this disease somehow. Mentally she began storming the stores of both useful and useless knowledge contained in her head. Scowling, she whittled some of the soap into the bucket and stared at the murky, cold water. This was her future.

How could she help these people? A physicist turned healer turned dish washer? Crap and a truck load of it. She tossed some of the dishes into the bucket to soak, then scrubbed at a pot with a rag as if her crumby situation were entirely its fault.
Dumb, dumb, dumb.
She’d bragged to Sorin about being smart but her resources were inadequate.

The monotony of washing dish after dish after wooden dish allowed her mind to free associate ideas. Somewhere in the muddle of thoughts must be something she could do to help.

Someone cleared their throat behind her.

She wheeled around and found Peder holding an empty cast iron pot.

“I need more cold water.” He pointed to the pump on the other side of her work area.

“Okay.” She stepped out of the way and gave him access, then offered him a cleaned pot. “Here.”

“I would have washed the dishes later tonight.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“I—I had the time. What you’re doing is more important.”

His eyes flicked up, then back to the pot in his hands before he squared his shoulders and met her stare. His shy smile softened his angular face into something stunningly charming.

She grinned back. “I’m Susan.”

“We met at the Temple.” His smile turned chagrined. “I was the other one in feral form when Sorin found you. Sorry for frightening you.”

Nodding, she glanced around the room and wrung the rag in her hands. He’d been the same golden color as his hair. “Umm…how do the flowers help the sick?”

His smile faded, and she was sorry to have chased it away. “It breaks the fever but wears off.”

In college, she’d studied microbiology as an elective. Ideas for bioengineered machines still fascinated her. In those classes they studied bacteria, cells and the tests needed to identify them. It wasn’t med school but it offered a start.

They needed to find the source of the illness, and that meant either a virus or bacteria. If it was a virus, they were shit out of luck. With a miracle and a load of time, she might figure out a vaccine, but that wouldn’t help those already dying. Figuring out how to manufacture sterile needles would be impossible. Shit, she had trouble identifying soap. The solution needed to be simple.

God
. She grabbed her head. All this knowledge, and she had no way to implement it. If it was a bacteria then…what? Take a trip to a pharmacy?

“Peder, what kind of symptoms do they exhibit—uh, have?”

“Fever.” He twisted the hem of his shirt. “Coughing thick phlegm, then they start having trouble breathing. They don’t last long after that. You should really speak with Lailanie. She’s been in charge of the sick. I’m only an omega.”

“Okay.” She chewed at her lip while regarding the thin shifter. “What does omega mean exactly? I mean, what is expected of you?” She’d discussed it a little with Kele, but if this position, or worse, could be her future, she’d rather hear it from an omega.

With a jerk of his head, he glanced at her. “Lowest. It’s the lowest rank in the pack.”

“I thought strays and outcasts were.” At least that was how Kele explained it.

“Yes, they’re lower but not usually tolerated on pack lands, let alone a den.”

“Then what am I considered?” The Payami made it clear she was a stray to them. She didn’t sense that vibe from Sorin or Peder.

“Sorin’s guest.” Peder’s superb smile returned. “As an alpha’s guest, you’re not really part of pack politics. I guess your people don’t interact like us?” He shook his head. “Don’t answer, that was rude of me to ask.”

“It was?” She scratched her head. “Look, Peder, let’s make a deal. We can ask each other anything we want without worrying about hierarchy or customs or whatever. No holds barred. If I make you uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll back off. And I’ll do the same.” She squinted at the button on her shirt and straightened it. “Because…I could really use a friend about now.”

He scrutinized every aspect of the room but her. Shooting her a quick glance, he nodded.

“My people are called humans, and there’s definitely a similar hierarchy among us. Instead of being called alphas, hunters and omegas, there’s leaders, followers and uhh…nerds?”

“What group are you in?” He stopped scanning the room to watch her.

Chuckling, she tried not to blush. “A nerd for a long time—our version of an omega—but I learned to become a leader.” She shrugged. “I just need to figure out pack rules without getting my ass kicked at every corner.”

“Then you’ve made the right friend. I’ve made it my life’s goal not to get attacked.” He posed for her and flexed his slim muscles. “I might be small but I’m fast.”

“And cunning.”

His smile grew wider as he leaned against the table. “Yes, and don’t forget handsome.” The pot containing cold water rocked and splashed over the edge. He caught the pot before it spilled, then lifted it into his arms. “Follow me. Lailanie might answer your questions.”

“Might?” Susan left some dishes soaking while the rest air-dried. Butterflies in her stomach stirred the stew Sorin had fed her.

“You wanted to learn pack rules. This one will be a hard lesson. Lailanie is our most dominant female. She runs the den—”

Susan’s heart skipped a beat. “Is she Sorin’s mate?” Jealousy was a stranger but she recognized its greasy grip. She shouldn’t blow the sweet moment they’d shared on the mountain top out of proportion.

“No, which makes Lailanie angry so stay away from that topic. Don’t look her in the eye until she starts speaking to you, and if she attacks don’t fight back.”

Slamming on her brakes, Susan stood in the middle of the avenue. “You want me to lay there and let her beat me?”

Peder slowed his pace and spoke to her over his shoulder. “Yes, unless you know how to win. The more you struggle, the harder they hit.”

The muscles in her neck knotted, and she rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension. Things were so hard in this world.

Her new friend came to a halt then turned and faced her. “In pack life, you have to physically dominate others to gain respect. If intelligence and good intentions counted then I’d be considered a hunter. It’s the will of the wild. The strong survive and the weak perish.”

Setting her hands on her hips, she cocked her head to the side. “So, you’re telling me to aim for being an omega?”

“If you were pack, yes, but you’re not. As a guest, Lailanie should treat you nicer but she’s been under a lot of strain and the fact Sorin marked you has placed a burr on her hide. Any other male, and it wouldn’t have fazed her.”

“Great.”

“Don’t worry.” Peder’s face paled. “At this rate, there might not be an Apisi pack to deal with anymore, and you can return to the Payami.” He glanced at the cave housing the sick.

Nothing had changed. The bed remained full, and Lailanie wiped a small child in her arms with a cool cloth.

They passed through the entry and approached her.

Peder rested the pot of cold water on the ground and took over the care of the child.

Without a glance at Susan, Lailanie busied herself with the fresh pot of water. Focused on her work, she ignored them both.

Not sure how to sound out the moody female, Susan seated herself next to Peder on the dirt floor. The Payami’s pack room had soft, thick rugs and cushions everywhere—rich in color and texture. This place lacked anything of comfort.

The child in Peder’s lap coughed and spat up something greenish.

Susan rubbed her left eye with the heel of her palm, trying to ease the headache seeding there. It didn’t take a genius to see the signs of lung infection, but it would take one to cure these poor people.

The sick all slept together, some so close they were face to face. “It might be better to separate the sick. The cough might be contagious.” She sensed more than saw Peder flinch next to her.

Lailanie stopped bathing the fevered child. “Injuries heal better when we’re close to pack, human.”

So word of her origins was spreading. That would save her some breath in having to repeat it. “Injuries I could understand.” Not really; however, one issue at a time. “But they’re not hurt, they’re sick. Sleeping close together will just spread the disease. The healthy shouldn’t climb in bed with them like I saw Peder do before.”

Peder clutched the child closer to his chest and scooted out from between them. He passed behind Lailanie and gave Susan what she could only call a
what-the-fuck-are-you-doing
look.

Diplomacy was not one of Susan’s character flaws. When she spoke, she was to the point. She left the fancy words to her managers or, in some cases, her lawyers. People could never guess what she was thinking, so why let them?

“Are you a healer?” Lailanie glared at her.

“Not exactly. I understand things differently, though, and might be able to help.” If she started talking about little creatures they couldn’t see called microscopic organisms that made people sick, who knew how they’d react? Maybe burn her at the stake. Also, the amount of knowledge she divulged could affect their society and their future. Where did she draw the line?

The policy she’d drawn up with Technocon and her assistants, if DOUG ever worked, included a no-interference clause. They would use the technology to study societies, not change them. When the military took over, this policy was one of the reasons she’d destroyed her life’s work. Yet here she sat, breaking her own rules. She’d designed them as a scientist though, not someone desperate to survive in a new world. This was home now, and her idealism didn’t fit.

“If you’re not a trained healer, then stay away from my fam—” Lailanie’s murderous stare slid from Susan and locked on something behind her.

She twisted around—not something, but someone.

Sorin.

Dirt-smudged and sweaty, he led a small band of males to a dark corner of the cavern where they lifted two cloth-shrouded bodies.

Susan became lightheaded and released the breath she’d been holding.

Grim-faced, Sorin carried the smaller corpse by himself and marched out of the cavern without even a glance in her direction.

Bowing her head over the cool pot of water, Lailanie remained silent as Peder gestured at Susan to join him.

Without a second thought, she jumped at the offer. She wouldn’t make any headway with Lailanie. That shifter had hated her before they’d met, and Susan didn’t fool herself into thinking her personality would win the female over.

Lailanie refused her help but it wouldn’t stop Susan. She’d dealt with bigger obstacles than a sharp-clawed werewolf. Sort of. She swallowed around a lump in her throat.

Racing to Peder, Susan took measure of the situation. Everyone not ill, aside from Lailanie, gathered and left the cavern. “Where are we going?”

She and Peder followed the others before he whispered, “To bury our dead. An older couple, they always loved taking care of the pups while the hunters left the den.” His voice cracked. “Marta always had an encouraging word for me, especially when Sorin’s father was the pack alpha.” If Peder bowed his head any farther, he’d dig his chin into his chest.

Susan laced her fingers into Peder’s. “I’m sorry.” Coming from a small family, no one close to her had died. Her grandparents, parents and friends all still lived so she’d never really experienced grief. Not the way Peder sounded or the way Sorin looked.

They left the den by the gates and followed a trail ascending the hill to a moonlit glade. The pack surrounded open, unmarked graves.

Sorin knelt by a hole in the ground as he gingerly placed a kiss on Marta’s cold, pale forehead. “This is for all the sweets you snuck me from the kitchen and the kisses you gave my many scrapes.” He settled her at the bottom of the grave with the aide of another shifter and took the time to tuck her in properly before attending the male’s body and repeating the kiss. “This is for standing between me and my father that time the beating went too far.”

That time
… which meant there’d been many. The violence in this world would kill Susan. She knew it.

And Sorin. The notion of some awful father hurting him as a child—it—it boiled her blood. She wanted to find a big stick and beat the bastard.

Surrounded by his pack, Sorin still appeared alone, isolated. No one touched or comforted him like they did each other. Hell, she held Peder’s hand and had only known him a day. These were his people, his family—someone should hug him.

After Sorin placed the body in the grave, others paid their respects with whispered words. These were good people they buried today.

Her eyes burned with unshed tears.

Their alpha receded from the gathering. Shoulders hunched, he observed each person as if it would be the last time he’d see any of them.

Heartsick, Susan marched over and threw her arms around his waist and hugged him close. No different than riding his back, except he wasn’t in feral form and smelled of hard work. She stepped back, stunned by the sudden tingles running through her arms.