Healed the blackpaw prop.., p.1
Healed: (The Blackpaw Prophecy, Book 2), page 1
Healed
The Blackpaw Prophecy, Book 2
Leona Crowley
Copyright © 2020 Leona Crowley
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, places or organizations is purely coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law. The author does not assume responsibility for third-party websites or their content.
This book is not a stand-alone book. It is part of The Blackpaw Prophecy series. This series is intended to be read in written order for the best reading experience.
Delivered is the first book in the series.
Content warning: Story contains mature themes and language and is intended for mature readers (18+).
Cover design by: 17 Studio Book Design
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing
For Sandy
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 1
Alex
I did it! I am officially Alex Sinclair, MD. Man, that sounds good. Emergency Medicine is my specialty. I thrive in the trauma department. The crazier, the better. And I loved everything about medical school. The insane schedules, the long hours, the puzzles and solutions that came with each case. The non-stop push to do better, be better. Even though I’m a little sad that this phase of my life is over, I’m ready for what’s next.
For the past several weeks, I’ve been going through a long and grueling interview process. The job is at a Level 1 Trauma facility in Chicago. Going for it was a long shot, but I had to try. I’m glad I did. They offered me the position earlier this week. For just passing my final exam and finishing my internship, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. There’s no way I can pass it up.
I gave verbal acceptance of the job over the phone, but I haven’t sent them the formal letter yet. I’ve been unable to write the letter and I don’t know why. It’s been days now. I stare at the laptop and my mind goes completely blank. I can’t form a single word. This has confused the hell out of me. The deadline to submit the letter is in five days. That doesn’t give me a lot of time to get my shit together.
Preparing for the next step in my career has been stressful. I’ve been non-stop for these last few months. In addition to traveling for the job interviews, I’ve studied for the medical exam, finalized all my paperwork and finances with school, and followed up with a few patients that were under my care at the end of the internship. Moving out of my apartment was in there somewhere too. Maybe I’ll be able to write the letter now that I have some time off.
My mom, Emma Sinclair, arrived last night for the ceremony. It was simple and well planned. It wasn’t an official graduation since you take the title and perform the job during your internship. After passing the final exam, most skip this step and move straight into permanent positions within the medical field. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my mom. I won’t tell her, but I’m glad I let her talk me into it. It feels good to be acknowledged for all the hard work.
I see my mom coming through the crowd toward me. She’s a formidable woman with Nordic features. Tall and lean with long flowing sandy-blond hair and crisp blue eyes. She has a timeless, classic fashion sense that’s put together flawlessly. She never shows her emotions and is determined to always get her way. I get my strong will from her, so when we butt heads, it’s not pretty.
“Congratulations, Dr. Sinclair.” Mom approaches me with a big smile and grasps my shoulders. “My daughter. The doctor. We did it, Alex. We finally did it. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mom.” I smile and pull out of her grip.
I did it, not her, but there’s no point in saying anything. She always treats me like a child. If becoming a doctor doesn’t change that, then nothing will. Besides, an argument right now wouldn’t do either of us any good. Better to just let it go.
Mom smiles at everyone as we make our way through the crowd. “We have a few hours before our dinner reservation. Is there anything else you’d like to do while we’re on this side of town?” She’s loving the attention.
“No. I finished everything yesterday before you got here. I want to say goodbye to a few people before we leave. Let’s go to the lobby. Maybe I’ll catch them on their way out.” I’m guiding us toward the auditorium lobby. “I can change clothes in your hotel room before I go to the airport later.”
Emma gives me a disapproving smirk. “Alex. Are you sure about going to visit your father? He didn’t even come to see you graduate. You’re a doctor now. You took an oath to help humans. You’re always upset after you see your father. Mark my word. Nothing good will come from you going to Wolfton.”
“Mom? Can we please not do this here? Someone will hear you.” I roll my eyes.
Her fake friendly smile stretches across her face and her hands come alive to add emphasis. “I have a great idea. Stay here with me. Tomorrow, we can have a spa day just like we used to do. Then we can start shopping for your new apartment. I bet I can have our purchases shipped directly to our hotel in Chicago. I’ll call to find out.”
Mom is excited to meet me in Chicago in a few weeks to look for an apartment. She likes helping with stuff like that, so I let her. I won’t see much of where I’ll be living due to the long work hours. I’m OK with a simple bed and a comfy chair. Maybe a television. But she says it must be decorated. That, as a doctor, I have an image to uphold.
I look around the lobby for any familiar faces. “I can’t do that, and you know it. We’ve talked about this. A lot. I’m going to Wolfton. End of discussion. And you know why Dad didn’t come. Stop making him the bad guy.”
My parents don’t get along. I don’t think they’ve even spoken to each other in years. My mom is human, and my dad and I are wolf shifters. They divorced when I was twelve, and I’ve suspected that the shifter thing had something to do with the split. Mom just decided one day that we were leaving. She packed us up and moved to upstate New York. That was that. I’ve never heard the whole story and I sure as hell won’t ask.
When I was younger, I felt abandoned by my dad. He stood there and let us leave without a word. He didn’t show any emotion or act like he cared that I was going. He never came to my birthday parties or visited me. When I had to spend the summers with him, I felt like a stranger intruding on his space. Eventually, the visits stopped completely, and the phone calls became infrequent. The truth is the same now as it was back then. I don’t know where I fit in his life or if he wants me around at all. Even now, the relationship feels forced and more like an obligation than anything else.
I don’t really know what it means to be a shifter, to be honest. I’ve never shifted or seen my wolf. I’m not aware of her presence in any way, I don’t think. I know that my senses are more powerful than humans and I have strong natural instincts. Two traits that have helped me in medical school and the emergency room.
My mom said once that since I’ve never shifted, then I’m not a shifter. Just a regular human like her. She’s determined to make me human and refuses to acknowledge that I could be anything else. I’ve always gotten the impression that she’d rather not know that shifters existed at all.
She was right about the human aspect, in a way. Being a shifter is just a small part of who I am. I don’t let it define me. Sharper instincts and better senses are great to have, but I live my life as a human. The human world is all I know and where I feel the most comfortable.
I’m always surrounded by humans and in my mom’s house, shifters are not talked about. When I visited my dad as a child, shifters were never around and were never discussed there either. They both ignored it and never brought it up so it must not be important. Right? Maybe that’s the problem with the relationship with my dad: I’m more comfortable in the real world and he lives in a shifter town.
I like a simple life. A benefit to that is you can do it anywhere, whether there are shifters around or not. I look forward to establishing a routine in Chicago. Work that is fulfilling along with exercise and a healthy diet. I love to run. It keeps me lean and trim. I’ll be thirty next year but that doesn’t bother me. It’s just a number.
Medical school didn’t allow much time for relationships. The work was long and exhausting. I’ve never had a real boyfriend or relationship. I don’t even remember the last date I went on. It’s easier being alone anyway. Having someone hanging around all the time makes me uneasy. And I don’t like it when people touch my stuff. Stronger senses mean that if they touch my things, their scent is all over it. That’s the part that bothers me. Their scent.
My sex life is nonexistent. The partners I’ve been with don’t satisfy me. I just need more than they can give. To make matters worse, I don’t know how to define the more that I’m wanting. I went through a phase where I was trying to find what was missing. Thinking it might be personality, size or stamina-related, but it wasn’t. Thankfully, that phase was short-lived, and I gave up the quest. I’m not in a hurry to settle down so it doesn’t matter.
A close family friend told me once that my lack of satisfaction, both in bed and out, was because my partners were human and not wolf shifters. That the connection I need, both physical and otherwise, is deeper. At a soul level. I don’t know about that and so far, I haven’t been able to test the theory. Wolf shifters don’t live in the city, and other than my dad, I don’t know any. Huh, it’s interesting that I’m thinking about this now. When I’m going to visit my dad in a town full of shifters.
I wave at Julie Anderson off in the distance to get her attention. She’s the one friend I’ve made and kept throughout school. We both seem to have the same sense of humor and always got along well. Sometimes, I felt her watching me. She always followed my lead. It gave me the impression she knew I was a shifter. I never said anything. I wouldn’t even begin to know how to start that conversation. What if I’m wrong?
Julie approaches us cheerfully. “Congratulations, Alex. I’m going to miss you. The next few months won’t be as much fun without you around.”
“Thank you, Julie. And I’m serious about you coming to visit me in January after you graduate. I’ll take time off and everything.” I smile back.
“I’ll be there, I promise. I can’t wait. I’ve never been to Chicago before.” Julie pulls the phone out of her pocket. “Sorry, I have to rush off. Duty calls. The ER is hopping today, Alex. Call me when you’re settled in Chicago. I want to hear everything.” She waves as she sprints away.
My adrenaline spikes at the mention of the ER and I fight the urge to follow her to the hospital.
Mom watches Julie leave. “She seems like a nice normal girl. I like her.”
“I’m assuming by normal you mean human?” I give my mom a pointed look. “Yes, she’s human. But I think she knows about shifters. I don’t know how to bring it up in conversation. How did Dad tell you about shifters?”
Emma squares her shoulders and stiffens her back as she glares back at me. “No. You will not tell that sweet girl about shifters. And you, Alex, are not a shifter. You’re human, like me. Your dad being a shifter has nothing to do with it.”
“I don’t think it works that way, Mom. Looks can’t be the only thing I got from the man.” I step toward the exit, hoping she’ll drop the subject and follow. “I think I missed Charles and Dr. Walters. I’ll call them later in the week. Ready to go back to the hotel? We can relax before we go to dinner.”
She hesitates briefly. “That’s fine. This new skirt isn’t fitting like it did in the store. I don’t think I like it very much. I want to change before we go out again.”
My mom fusses with her clothes as we walk out of the auditorium. She’s annoyed and probably embarrassed. She has zero tolerance for poor workmanship. Which further proves how different we are. I shop when it’s convenient and dress for comfort. And I don’t iron anything. If it’s not wash-and-wear right out of the dryer, then it’s a no-go. Emma, however, will spend months searching for the perfect pair of socks for an outfit and she irons everything with starch. Including the socks.
Fashion sense is not the only difference between us. We look nothing alike. I take after my dad who’s a Native American. I have the olive complexion and dark brown eyes just like him. I have long, straight, deep brown hair that is always pulled up out of the way. I’m a little on the short side at five-foot-five. I don’t wear makeup and love cargo pants and black tank tops. I like my tomboyish style. It’s comfortable and practical. I use a messenger bag instead of a purse. It works.
Later tonight, I get on a plane to go to my dad’s. The plan is to spend two weeks with him in Wolfton, New Hampshire, before I head off to Chicago. Wolfton is a small town and my dad, Harold Sinclair, is the doctor there. Around town everyone calls him Doc. He isn’t a modern medical doctor, but a shaman or medicine man. Most of his patients are shifters since they trust shamans more than they trust western medicine.
My dad has this grand plan. He’s had it ever since I was accepted into medical school. The plan is for him and me to go into practice together. In Wolfton. He can work with the shifters while I treat the humans. Together, we’ll have everyone in town covered. Western medicine and shamanic practices combined in one place to treat both humans and shifters together. Nothing like this has ever been done before. It’s risky, but if it works, it’ll be a game-changer.
He thinks I’m coming to Wolfton to stay and help implement the plan. All through medical school, I never said no or voiced any of my own goals. It was easier to keep my mouth shut to get through the phone calls. My fault. I know that I should have been honest all along, but I wasn’t. Now, it’s time to clean up this mess I made for myself and hopefully, make things right between us.
I hope it’s not too late. Between his plans for a crazy blended medical practice and my abandonment issues, our relationship has been strained for years. But there’s no way I can stay in his house and not try to talk to him. I’m ready to bridge the gap and communicate. And as much as I’d like to continue avoiding the feelings and my dad, this really is the only opportunity to confront them both. If we don’t do it now, then I’m afraid there’s no hope.
◆◆◆
I arrived in Wolfton late last night and I’m already wanting to leave. I don’t like feeling this way. Dad seemed distracted when I came in, so I went straight to bed. I tossed and turned for hours and finally got up. Now, I’m in the kitchen trying to be quiet. He’s still sleeping and if he wakes up, I’ll have to talk to him. I figured out how the coffeepot works, and I’m waiting for it to finish brewing.
I haven’t been in this house in close to ten years. The last time I was here was just before I started undergraduate school. I’ve always felt weird here, but this time it’s different. Stronger somehow. Almost significant in a weird way that I don’t understand. Maybe it’s because so much time has passed. I don’t know.
The house itself is exactly the same as when I was a kid, including the furniture. The kitchen and dining room are just beyond the living room. Three small bedrooms are down a hallway off the kitchen in the back. My dad uses one of the bedrooms as an office. My bedroom being the same makes me feel like a kid. I wonder if that’s why I couldn’t sleep?
The coffee is finished and I’m looking for the mugs. I can hear my dad moving around in his bedroom. Shit. I bet he smelled the coffee. I was successful at being quiet but forgot about the aroma. I’m used to being around humans that are less sensitive to things like that. I make a mental note to myself to pay more attention to the details.
My dad walks into the room. “The mugs are in the cabinet to the left of the fridge. You’re up early. I thought you’d sleep longer since you got in late. We can go into town if you want. Have breakfast at the diner.”
“I couldn’t sleep. Breakfast sounds good. I’m starving. I’m ready whenever you want to go.” My hand is on the cabinet door, but I wait to take out a mug.
Why is this so awkward? He has to feel the tension in the air as much as I do.
He opens the pantry door. “They open early, so we can go now and avoid the rush. We can save the coffee for later. I have a thermal carafe I can put it in.”
We leave the house in silence. The drive to the diner is short and soon we’re pulling into the parking lot. The diner isn’t crowded just like he said. It’s still early and the sun hasn’t been up long. There’s a good mix of human and shifter scattered around. Many of them nod at my dad as we enter. The smells are a little overwhelming and it’s not just the food. I need to get used to being around shifters. Some of these species are new to me.
