Filed to story: Tangled in Moonlight Unshifted Novel by Lenaleia
“I…” All my carefully planned words evaporate. “Are you okay?”
She leans against the doorframe. “Fine. Just tired.”
But she’s not fine. I can see the slight tremor in her hands, the way she’s barely keeping herself upright. My magic flutters in response to… something.
“You look sick.”
“Thanks.” Her laugh turns into a cough. “Always good to hear how terrible I look.”
“That’s not what I meant.” I step forward, catching her arm when she sways. “Did you get any sleep?”
“Yes.” She tries to pull away but doesn’t have the strength. “Or tried to. Everything hurts.”
The trembling gets worse. Without thinking, I press my palm to her forehead. She’s burning up.
“You need to see Vanessa.”
“I don’t need—“
“You have a fever.” My tone brooks no argument. “And you can barely stand.”
She opens her mouth to protest, then closes it as another wave of dizziness hits. I tighten my grip on her arm.
“Fine,” she whispers. “But only because I don’t think I can make it there alone.”
I wrap my arm around her waist, supporting her weight. She’s lighter than I expected, and heat radiates through her clothes.
“Small steps,” I murmur. “We’re not in a rush.”
We make slow progress through the snow. Ivy’s breathing grows more labored with each step, and I take more of her weight.
“Almost there.” The medical lodge comes into view, smoke curling from its chimney. “Just a little further.”
“Why are you helping me?” Her words slur slightly. “You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.” The door opens as we approach, Vanessa’s concerned face appearing. “I just don’t trust you. There’s a difference.”
“Semantics.” Her head drops to my shoulder. “Everything’s spinning.”
Vanessa rushes forward to help, and together we guide Ivy inside. The warmth hits like a wall after the bitter cold.
“What happened?” the healer asks, directing us to an empty bed.
“Found her like this.” We ease Ivy onto the mattress. “High fever, dizzy, weak.”
Ivy’s eyes flutter closed as soon as she’s horizontal.
“How long have you felt ill?” Vanessa asks, already checking her blood pressure and temperature.
“Few days.” Her voice is barely audible. “Thought it was stress.”
My magic pulses again, stronger this time. I want to reach for it, to understand what I’m sensing, but not here. Not yet.
“You’re probably dehydrated. And your body temperature is dangerously high.” Vanessa disappears from the side of the bed, ostensibly to get supplies.
I hover uncertainly. This isn’t how I planned to approach Ivy about the corruption, but maybe it’s better this way. Get her healthy first, then deal with the rest.
“Stay or go,” Vanessa says, returning with an IV bag. “But don’t just stand there looking lost.”
“I’ll stay.” The words surprise me as much as they seem to surprise Ivy, whose eyes crack open. “Being alone sucks. I can keep her company.”
“Still playing Luna.” Ivy’s laugh turns into a weak cough. “Always… so… responsible.”
Her eyes close again as Vanessa inserts the IV. I sink into a chair beside the bed, watching the steady drip of fluids.
“What do you think caused this?” I ask our healer quietly.
She shakes her head. “Could be several things. Her body’s fighting something, but I can’t pinpoint what. We’ll start with fluids and fever reduction, see how she responds.”
I nod, my magic still fluttering uneasily. I know what her body’s fighting. I just don’t know how to tell either of them.
Grimoire, should taint cause illness like this? The question forms in my mind as I watch Ivy’s restless sleep.
It’s always possible. Some become aggressive, others paranoid. Physical symptoms aren’t unheard of. Do you need me there? His concern bleeds through our connection.
I’m not sure. My fingers twist in my lap as I consider the implications.
I can bring him, Selene offers from wherever she’s stationed outside.
Wait. Let’s see how this plays out.
Vanessa bustles away to check on another patient, leaving me alone with Ivy. The silence stretches, broken only by the steady drip of the IV and Ivy’s labored breathing.
“Have you ever lost someone really close to you?”
Her question catches me off guard. My heart squeezes painfully as my mother’s face flashes through my mind—her cold eyes, her distance, the way she never quite looked at me. The flood of emotions threatens to overwhelm me, memories of a lifetime of rejection mixing with the raw wound of her death.
Funny. I don’t think of her much anymore. I guess it’s easier just not to think about it.
I swallow hard and veer away from those thoughts immediately. “I almost lost Lisa.”
“My guards were all childhood friends of mine.” Her voice cracks on the last word.
A vulnerable Ivy is someone I don’t know how to deal with.
“Tell me about them,” I offer, sitting on the edge of her bed and resting one hand over hers.
Ivy’s fingers wrap around mine with surprising strength for someone so ill. Her skin burns against my palm, and I resist the urge to pull away from the scorching heat.
The pain in her eyes is too deep; there’s no way for me to walk away now.
“Fiona used to braid my hair every morning.” Ivy’s voice breaks. “She’d tell me about the boys she liked, about her dreams of becoming a teacher. She never stopped treating me like just… me.”
A tear slides down her temple, disappearing into her hair. My chest tightens at the raw pain in her voice.
“James was the funny one. He’d make these terrible jokes during pack meetings. Once, in second grade, he…” She draws a shuddering breath. “He put a rubber snake in Clayton’s desk, and my brother shrieked like a child. Everyone laughed. I hated him, because Clayton was my hero. But then they became best friends after that. At some point, I stopped hating him.”
Her grip tightens, and I let her anchor herself to me. Whatever it is in her system pulses against my magic, as if testing it. Beneath it, I sense something else—genuine grief, sharp and jagged.
“And David.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “He was going to propose to his mate. Had the ring picked out and everything. He showed it to me the morning before…”
She breaks off with a sob that wracks her whole body. Without thinking, I squeeze her hand back.
“I should have protected them all better.” The words tumble out between gasping breaths. “They trusted me. And now they’re dead because I wasn’t strong enough.”
“You couldn’t have known—“
“Don’t.” Her eyes snap open, fever-bright and desperate. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t my fault. Don’t tell me there was nothing I could do. I’ve heard it all before and it doesn’t help.”
I fall silent, understanding completely. Sometimes platitudes just make the guilt worse. She’s an accomplished warrior, trained by her pack. Trying to minimize her pain is more of an insult than a comfort.
Her fingers clutch mine so hard it hurts, but I don’t pull away. Touch grounds us, connects us. Right now, that connection might be the only thing keeping her from drowning in her grief.
“I see their faces every time I close my eyes,” she whispers. “I hear their screams. Feel their pack bonds snap. Over and over and over.”
The taint surges with her distress, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her about it. Not now. Not when she’s this vulnerable, this raw.
Her other hand finds my arm, gripping it like a lifeline. “How do you do it? How do you keep going when everything hurts so much?”
The question hits me hard. How do I keep going? Through the abuse, my mother’s rejection, my father’s manipulation—through all of it, I just… did. Because stopping wasn’t an option.
It wasn’t always pretty, and there’s so much I regret. But I kept going.