Free Wolf Claim (Wolves of Willow Bend Book 3) by Heather Long Page B

inside to test the air.
    Death possessed a signature scent. A hollow, lonely odor, it also carried the markers of the person who died as though an echo of their life remained imprinted on an area. This, too, would eventually pass, but the recent nature of the event meant she smelled what was left of his life as well as his death.
    No distinct hints of copper discolored the air. Walking inside, she studied the room. It was a basic little house, decorated simply with an air of spartan living. Or maybe the occupant simply hadn’t been home much. No body waited for her in the living room. She caught nuances of other wolves—whether the visitors had been there earlier with the pack after his death or prior to it didn’t matter. At least four or five people had been inside.
    “He’s upstairs,” Brett told her without waiting for her to ask the question. Following his directions, she climbed the stairs and followed the scent of death into the master suite bedroom. The wolf lay on the bed, sprawled on his back with only a partial sheet to cover his nudity.
    The room held no scent of illness at all, yet there was a cloying scent that irritated her nostrils. A perfume maybe? She didn’t recognize it.
    “Do either of you know what that sickly sweet scent is?”
    Brett supplied the answer. “Eddie had a girlfriend, a human. It’s probably her perfume, but we’ll check.” If it turned out to be something they needed to know, it was always good to verify.
    Leaving her bag by the door, she walked around the bed, studying the young man. He looked to be a few years younger than her, which made sense if he was in college. If her nose hadn’t already confirmed his death, she would have thought him asleep. Nothing in his features suggested pain or a fight or anything.
    He’d simply died without struggle.
    Bile burned in the back of her throat and she swallowed. Death should never be that quiet in someone so young. “And you’re certain he’d not been ill at all?” She had to know. “How long ago did your healer pass? Perhaps he had been seeing him.”
    “Hatch died four days ago.” Brett and Owen stood like sentinels. She had to wonder if either man even realized how closely their postures mirrored one another. “Eddie hasn’t been home in more than a week.”
    “So he could have been seeing him?” If Hatch were like Emma, the Healer would have notes she could reference and to perhaps answer her question.
    “Possible.” Brett conceded the point, but his disbelief remained. “His parents would have known if he were. They live two doors down from Hatch.”
    Gillian filed that piece of knowledge away. Her next step was to examine the body. Closing her eyes, she focused on all the exercises Emma had drummed into her through the years. Every Healer, she’d told her time and time again, faced a moment when they forgot themselves. Healers, she’d warned, could never bring back the dead, but some would always try. Don’t be the some, Gillian. Understand your limitations and battle for all you are worth. When it is time, walk away.  
    Eddie was already dead. She couldn’t save him, but perhaps she could learn what had killed him and use that to save others. Eyes open, she reached out to press her gloved hand to his chest, just above his heart.
    The lack of life left her gift quiet. But her wolf roused, and she felt the animal stretch inside her. She blinked once. Her wolf studied the fallen man alongside her. Together, they absorbed what they could about his posture, his seeming sense of peacefulness. The lie of it all.
    Nothing pulled at her healing gift.
    Nothing.
    “This isn’t illness,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “I need to see your healer’s body. Perhaps it’s unrelated, but sickness didn’t kill your wolf.”
    Brett accepted her answer with steely determination. “What did?”
    “I don’t know. I can perform an autopsy, if you have the facilities, and I can consult with Emma, if you have no