Chapter 224

Ava

The days that followed were an endless whirlwind of activity. Chris and I worked tirelessly, burning the candle at both ends as we tried to tackle the mounting challenges that were facing Moonstone more and more by the day.

The blight. Olivia. Winston. The mole. And now, Leonard’s illness.

Every morning, we would wake up early to draft emails and letters to human doctors and scientists. We carefully crafted our words, trying to strike a balance between urgency and discretion. We couldn’t reveal too much about our problems, but we needed to convey the importance of the research we were proposing.

“How does this sound?” I asked Chris one morning, clearing my throat as I read a draft from my laptop screen. “‘Due to an unprecedented fungal outbreak, we are reaching out regarding a unique research opportunity in Moonstone…’”

Chris nodded and listened as I read the email to him, sipping his coffee. “Good, but maybe emphasize the potential for groundbreaking discoveries. That might appeal to their scientific curiosity.”

I made the changes, then hit send on another batch of emails to a group of university researchers. “And sent. I hope someone responds soon,” I sighed, already clicking to the next screen.

“They will,” Chris assured me—although I could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

The truth was, we had been at it for three days, all to no avail. We had already received a few refusals—researchers claiming that they didn’t have an interest in traveling to the werewolf world, professors who were too busy to add another project to their lists, doctors who didn’t want to risk funding research that might go nowhere.

But still, we persisted. We had to; for ourselves, for Moonstone, and for Leonard.

In the afternoons, we would shift our focus to the looming threat from Alpha Winston—who, despite our repeated attempts at contact, was stalwart in his decision to declare war.

Chris spent hours on the phone with the other Alphas, strategizing and coordinating our defenses. Days passed, and I swore his hair was beginning to go a little gray. Between coming up with defense plans, drawing up training routines for our warriors, and planning the summit that would—hopefully—be used to draw both Winston and Olivia into our trap, I wasn’t even sure how Chris was managing all of it.

“Winston has lost his bloody mind,” Chris growled after one particularly frustrating call. “Bernard thinks he’s just posturing, trying to intimidate us into backing down.”

I frowned. If only that were the truth. “But we can’t take that chance, can we?”

Chris shook his head. “No,” he growled. “We have to prepare for the worst. Come on, let’s go check the borders again.”

We spent our evenings surveying Moonstone’s perimeter, identifying weak points and planning our defenses. Chris ordered the construction of camps along the borders, where our warriors could be stationed in case of an ambush.

As we walked the edge of the forest one evening, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. The forest was unnaturally quiet, and despite the splendor of the bioluminescent plants pulsing in the darkness, something was… off.

But after a thorough search in our wolf forms, our snouts pressed to the ground, we found nothing and no one; no Crescent Moon scouts, no spies, no warriors. Just earth and the occasional moondeer.

“Do you really think it’ll come to a fight?” I asked Chris as we shifted back at the edge of the forest.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair—that telltale sign of stress that would end with him balding like Bradley someday if he didn’t curb the habit. “I hope not. It would be incredibly stupid of Winston to start a war against four united packs. But we can’t underestimate him.”

“Crescent Moon has done crazier things,” I muttered, shuddering a bit as I looked over my shoulder at the dark forest.

We increased the number of scouts patrolling the forests after that, although our resources in that department were wearing thin since we already had numerous scouts all over both the werewolf continent and the human continent in search of Olivia.

Still, despite our best efforts, our outreach to the human medical community wasn’t yielding results.

Day after day, we would check our inboxes, hoping for a positive response. But the replies, when they came at all, were disappointing.

“Another fucking rejection,” I groaned, reading an email from a prominent virologist in the human world. “They say they’re too busy with their current research projects.”

Chris looked up from his own computer, frowning. “I just got one saying they don’t believe our case is ‘sufficiently documented’ to warrant their attention.”

“If only they knew,” I muttered.

As the rejections piled up, I could see the toll it was taking on poor Ophelia. She had been so hopeful when we had first proposed the idea, but now her optimism was fading. While Leonard’s face was growing paler by the day, so was Ophelia’s; and sometimes, I couldn’t help but wonder if she would die along with him, from heartbreak and exhaustion and starvation.

“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way,” Ophelia said one evening as we sat around the kitchen table. “Perhaps we need to use different channels, reach out to different people.”

Her hand was trembling as she stroked Princess’s fluffy little head. The little dog had been particularly quiet and affectionate as of late, almost as though she could sense that her mistress was in turmoil.

Leonard, who had been especially quiet this evening, suddenly spoke up. His voice was hoarse—he had been coughing a lot recently.

“You’re all running yourselves ragged for me,” he rasped, gently clearing his throat into his handkerchief, which had become dotted with red stains as of late. “Can’t we just enjoy a meal?”

Ophelia’s hand stilled on Princess’s head, and she shot Leonard a withering glare. Leonard’s shoulders slumped, and he fell silent again.

Just then, Chris’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it and sighed. “I’ve got a video call with my assistants in the human world. I should take this.”

As Chris left, the room was eerily quiet. Swallowing hard, I picked up the dish of potatoes in the center of the table.

“Potatoes?” I asked.

Leonard smiled gently and shook his head. Ophelia, however, pressed her lips into a quivering line, rose from her chair, and scurried out the back door without a word.

Leonard dropped his fork on his plate with a clatter. “I’ve upset her. Again.”

“No, you haven’t,” I said gently, rising from my seat. “It’s not your fault.”

I followed Ophelia outside, where I found her pacing in a tight circle around my orange tree, Princess clutched so tightly in her arms I thought she might strangle the little dog. I strode up to her, stopping a few feet away.

“If we don’t hear back by the end of the week, I’m dragging that old coot to the human world whether he likes it or not,” Ophelia growled without looking at me or halting her pacing.

I sighed, opening my mouth to protest, but then shut it again and watched her pace. Finally, after a moment, I simply said, “Ophelia.”

Ophelia stopped, her back turned to me. Her slender shoulders trembled, and her voice was thick as she muttered, “I hate this damn fungus. I hate it.”

“I know.” Stepping forward, I wrapped both arms around her from behind, and felt her lean into me a bit as I held her tightly. “I know.”

Neither of us spoke after that, not that we needed to. There was nothing that could be said, nothing that could be done. All we could do was hold each other and hope, beyond all hope, that this wouldn’t end in tears and disaster.

But lately, that hope was growing thin.

When Chris returned an hour later, his face was stormy. We all looked up from the couch, where we had reconvened to sit in pensive silence.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, instantly sensing that something had happened during his video call.

Chris huffed, storming over to the minibar to pour himself a tall glass of whiskey. “Apparently, there’s some... negative sentiment in the human world. About me.”

Ophelia frowned. “What ever do you mean?”

“Some people feel like I’ve... betrayed the humans, I guess,” Chris explained, his voice tight. “They think I’ve abandoned my human businesses and my racing career. That, even though the humans are who essentially raised me and made me successful, I never really cared and was just biding my time until I could receive my inheritance here. They see it as me being flippant and ungrateful.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” I scoffed. “You haven’t abandoned anything. Most of your businesses are still running, aren’t they? Aside from the few you sold.”

Chris nodded. “Yes, and I fully intend to return to NASCAR when the next season starts. But…” He sighed heavily. “I’ll admit I have missed some press events recently, since I’ve been dealing with pack matters.”

“You made the right choice,” Leonard said firmly. “The pack needs you.”

“I know that,” Chris said. “But my assistants are worried. They say this negative perception could hurt our chances of getting help from the human medical community. Apparently, some doctors and scientists don’t want to be associated with someone they see as unreliable.”

The room fell silent as we absorbed this news. I felt a surge of anger on Chris’s behalf. How could they judge him without knowing the full story?

“So what do we do?” Ophelia asked, breaking the silence.

Chris rubbed his temples, clearly struggling with what he was going to say next.

“I have to go to the human world,” he muttered.