“Just let me go. I’m not interested in this place or your work. I have my own plans and route. I’ll happily get back to that.” I point out, trying to sound sincere, but the old man’s eyes narrow and he frowns at me, shaking his head apologetically.
“Oh, my dear, I’m afraid I’m not the one who makes those kinds of decisions, or I would show to the door with a wave and a sandwich. The problem is, we can’t let you go without being sure all of that is true. No one’s come up here in ten years without invitation, and yet here you are, not just a regular silly trekker or lost hiker…. but a wolf. A solitary femme, which is quite unusual in itself given pack hierarchy and the female role in your world, but a rare white form at that. Remarkable. I’m afraid it’s all a little too suspicious given the circumstances.” His voice is hushed, as I guess he doesn’t want Deacon, or whoever watches the camera, to hear and the real serious concern etched in his eyes shines out. He has a trusting quality about him that’s tingling my sixth sense and telling me he’s not one of the bad guys.
“What circumstances would that be?” I match his expression, a little churning of suspicion of my own as I take in his manner and the way he seems to be deflating a little, his posture sagging as he turns towards the wall. He stops at the food trolley and pushes it towards me with a fake smile.
“We’ve been testing such unusual DNA for years, and a rare specimen falls right in my lap. It’s almost like the fates ordained it, or maybe a little spy came to gather intel for a rival pack? My work up until now has been a secret, and protected, but you found us…. An elusive rare white.” He rises his brows, suspiciously, and I fiercely glare at him as his tiny accusation filters through and offends me on a serious level.
“I’m no spy, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m white, because much like my mother, I lack a pigment… it’s not rare because it’s special, it’s a flaw! Diluted bloodline, or some nonsense, and not actually desirable at all. In my world, I’m an outcast because I’m inferior, so screw your theory. No one cares about that kind of intel, least of all me.” It’s an angry outburst with a basis in old wounds and heartache and I croak with a raw harsh tone in my voice, biting back a surprising tear as it comes out. My own inferiority issues peeking and taking the form of rage.
The doctor begins to laugh, like I said something ridiculous, his wide eyes, and startled, his expression completely unnerves me and throws me off.
“A flaw? By whose standard, dear child? Hybrid blood is spectacular, and a masterpiece of engineering science, my dear. I don’t know who’s been keeping you in the dark all these years with such nonsense, but white… it’s not a flaw. In a breed where you own physical perfection and can selfheal the worst of wounds and illness. You think your DNA would allow such atrocity, by defect? No, of course it wouldn’t, it couldn’t. Your own gifts work out the kinks in your make up, from the second you’re born. It’s the bonding perfection between two species and happens only when the biochemistry of a particular set of genes lines up in a magical way. Two species, two blood types, merging beautifully in one captivating dance that produces a new third, equally magnificent species. You, my dear… are what I have been dying to test for the last decade!! It’s a near impossible combination to make stick without awful deformities, or even loss, and your kind are few and far between. Whoever first engineered your astounding DNA must have been incredibly talented. Tell me, are you a first generation, or are you a natural born?” That grand speech, and whooshing of over excitable words, floors me. I try and absorb half of what that word junkie threw at me, and I’m still sitting blinking at him as my brain catches up the translation from freak talk to plain English.
“You’re lying. I don’t know what you’re talking about, or half of what you said, but I know hybrids aren’t a thing.” Terror overtakes me as his words filter in, and my mind refuses to digest what he’s saying, because it’s simply wrong. The wolves pride their bloodlines and purity, it’s a massive part of our being and hierarchy.
Mixed breeds don’t exist, because if they did, the pure bloods would destroy them. They don’t want dilution and mongrels among our blood. They’re bad enough when weak DNA like my families infects a pack, and those people become calm land workers with no urge to fight and dominate. It’s why the Whyte pack never had any kind of claim to the mountain as a ruling pack and the Santos own it. Our kind thrives on dominance, we need alphas and purity to survive.
The doctor clutches a flat hand to his chest, aghast. Eyes wide, an expression that translates offence.
“Lie. I never lie when it comes to science, my dear. I’m a bio chemist of the highest order with a special interest in your kind. Dedicated my life to it and it’s all I research. Hybrids are my forte!! I would so love to get your samples under my microscope and see if the stories are true, and show you for yourself, the absolute wonder of your own genetics. Warring species in one body, and yet they seem to have completely bloomed! I mean look at you…. utter perfection.”
My blood runs cold, my eyes raking him and trying to make sense of what he’s saying, so many questions forming and gathering on my tongue. My head scrambling with the uncertainty that he might actually be telling the truth. But that would make my mother…. I can’t even.
Deacon reappears unexpectedly, interrupting with the beep of the door before he enters, and throws us both a strange look that suggests he doesn’t like whatever feeling we just gave him. The atmosphere is tense, and the doctor seems to lose his enthusiastic energy and slinks back out of the way, probably afraid to admit he told me way too much. I can tell, that despite co-habiting in this place, there’s no real bond between them and the doctor is as wary of my prison guard as I am.
“Alpha. Juan. will be here in two days…. This one…. Her name is Alora, and interestingly, from our own mountain, so take from that what you will. She isn’t going anywhere.” Deacon turns to me, a look of disgust rippling across his face as he scowls at me, and everything inside of me seems to disperse in a wave of numb. The fear claws through me that Juan knew exactly who I was with just one call and is coming here personally to decide my fate. That’s not a good sign.
“The mountain….” The doctor whispers is so lightly under his breath I doubt Deacon hears him, but I do, and catch that slight hint of recognition that flitters across his brow before he pushes it away and locks his facial expression on blank.
Damn me for being a white wolf! That had to be the defining detail that gave it away. Maybe also the fact he knows I’m missing now, and one lone femme, this close to home, was probably a no brainer.
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