Chapter 4 Blood Moon Diagnosis

"You're taking me to a rival pack?" I whispered as Connor's truck bounced along an unmarked forest road. The darkness seemed to press against the windows, broken only by our headlights and the occasional glimmer of moonlight through the trees.

"Not rival exactly. More like... estranged cousins." Connor's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "The Shadow Creek Pack split from ours three generations ago over philosophical differences."

"Philosophical differences between werewolves?" I couldn't keep the skepticism from my voice.

Connor's mouth twitched in what might have been a suppressed smile. "They believe in integration with humans. We believe in separation. They think exposure is inevitable in the modern world. We think secrecy is our only protection."

"And yet here you are, sneaking them medical supplies."

"Medicine transcends pack politics." He glanced at the boxes in the back seat—antibiotics, insulin, and various other pharmaceuticals I'd helped him gather from our clinic supplies. "Their territory has poorer access to healthcare."

I'd agreed to this midnight run partly out of curiosity and partly because I hoped it might yield answers about my patient's mysterious death. What I hadn't expected was the strange sense of rightness I felt, sitting beside Connor in the darkness, on a mission that could get us both in serious trouble with the council.

"We're here," Connor announced, cutting the headlights as we approached a clearing. Unlike the Gray Ridge settlement, the Shadow Creek community lived in a cluster of modern homes surrounding what looked like a renovated barn.

A woman emerged from the largest house, her posture alert but not aggressive. She was perhaps forty, with copper-colored hair pulled back in a practical braid.

"You're late," she called as we exited the truck.

"Patrol patterns changed," Connor replied, lifting one of the supply boxes. "Had to take the long way around."

The woman's gaze shifted to me, immediately wary. "Who's this?"

"Dr. Alison Carter. Our new physician." Connor's tone was carefully neutral. "She knows about us, Elena. And she's helping."

Elena studied me with unnerving intensity. "The human doctor with the pack mark? Word travels." Her nostrils flared slightly—she was scenting me, I realized. "Interesting."

"Dr. Carter, this is Elena Winters, Shadow Creek's Alpha."

I extended my hand, medical professional to medical professional. "Nice to meet you."

After a moment's hesitation, she took it. "Likewise. Though I question Connor's judgment in bringing you here."

"Alison can be trusted," Connor said with a conviction that surprised me.

Elena looked unconvinced but nodded toward the barn. "Bring the supplies inside. We have something to show you anyway."

The converted barn functioned as their clinic—smaller than ours but well-organized. Several beds lined one wall, and a young man occupied the furthest one. His condition was immediately apparent even from a distance: severe fever, labored breathing, skin unnaturally pale.

"Jacob," Elena explained. "Twenty-two. The symptoms started three days ago, after the quarter moon. We've tried everything."

I moved to the bedside automatically, doctor's instincts taking over. The young man's skin burned with fever, but strangely, his extremities were cool to the touch. When I checked his pulse, I noticed silvery lines tracing the veins in his wrist.

"What is this?" I asked, following the silver patterns up his arm.

"Moon sickness," Elena replied grimly. "It happens sometimes when a transformation goes wrong."

Connor joined me at the bedside, his expression grave. "I've seen this twice before. Both patients died within a week."

I continued my examination, noting the silver traces seemed to follow his circulatory system. "It's like silver is replacing the blood somehow."

"Not replacing," Elena corrected. "Poisoning. His body is producing silver particles in response to the transformation trigger."

"That's biochemically impossible," I said automatically, then caught myself. "But then again, so is turning into a wolf."

Connor's hand rested briefly on my shoulder. "This is why we need you, Alison. Our traditional medicine sees this as a spiritual ailment. We need someone who can approach it scientifically."

Elena had been watching our interaction with interest. "The traditional treatment requires drinking the heart blood of an Alpha," she said. "Obviously, we're reluctant to try that approach."

"Connor mentioned this," I recalled. "The lunar fever that affects Alphas. Are they connected?"

"We believe so," Elena confirmed. "The silver blood is unique to Alpha lineage. During lunar fever, the Alpha's body purges excess silver. In moon sickness, the body produces too much."

I took a blood sample from Jacob, watching in fascination as the silvery particles separated almost immediately from the red cells. "I need to analyze this."

Elena gestured to a microscope in the corner. "Basic equipment, but functional."

As I prepared the sample, Connor and Elena spoke quietly by the door. I caught fragments about border patrols and council politics, but my focus remained on the extraordinary blood sample before me.

Under the microscope, Jacob's blood revealed something astonishing. The silver particles weren't just contaminants; they appeared to be attacking the red cells, transforming them into something else.

"Connor," I called, excitement overriding caution. "You need to see this."

He joined me at the microscope, looking where I indicated. "What am I seeing?"

"The silver isn't a poison—it's more like a catalyst. It's triggering some kind of cellular transformation." I adjusted the focus. "It reminds me of how cancer cells recruit healthy cells, but this is more... directed."

"Can you stop it?" Elena asked, joining us.

"Maybe," I said, thinking quickly. "But I'd need to understand what triggers the silver production in the first place." I turned to Connor. "I need a sample of your blood during lunar fever."

His expression darkened. "That won't be possible. My next episode isn't due for weeks."

"Actually," Elena interjected, studying Connor with a critical eye, "I think you're wrong about that. Your scent has changed in the last hour. The fever's coming on early."

Now that she mentioned it, I noticed a slight flush to Connor's cheeks that hadn't been there during our drive. He pressed a hand to his forehead, looking surprised. "That's not possible. The cycle is predictable."

"Unless something's accelerated it," Elena suggested, giving me a pointed look.

"Me?" I asked, incredulous. "How could I affect his cycle?"

"Pack bonds can influence physiological responses," Elena explained. "Especially bonds marked by the healer's sign."

I glanced down at my hand, where the purple wolf paw still glowed. "So you're saying my presence is triggering his lunar fever?"

"Or exacerbating what was already beginning," Connor admitted. He did look increasingly unwell—sweat beaded on his forehead, and when he moved toward a chair, his steps were unsteady.

"How long do we have?" I asked, medical training kicking in.

"Hours, usually," Elena said. "But I've never seen it progress this fast."

Connor's skin was now visibly changing, silver lines appearing beneath the surface like metallic veins. His breathing became labored, and he gripped the edge of the examination table so hard the metal bent under his fingers.

"I need to get him back to Gray Ridge," I said, gathering my supplies. "Our clinic is better equipped."

"You'll never make it," Elena countered. "The fever peaks quickly, and he'll be incapacitated within the hour. He needs to stay here."

Connor shook his head, fighting through obvious pain. "Can't... stay. Council will... search."

"Then we'll have to treat him here," I decided, already mentally cataloging what we'd need. "Elena, do you have a private room? Somewhere he can ride this out safely?"

She nodded toward a door at the back of the clinic. "Treatment room. It's secure."

Together, we helped Connor to the small room, which was sparsely furnished with a hospital bed and basic medical equipment. By the time we got him settled, the silver lines had spread across his chest and neck, pulsing with an eerie light.

"What's the usual treatment?" I asked, taking his vital signs. His temperature was 104 and rising.

"Cold compresses, herbal teas to induce sweating," Elena replied. "Sometimes bloodletting if the fever gets too high."

Medical science warred with supernatural reality in my mind. "I need more information. The silver in his blood—what exactly triggers its production?"

"The approaching full moon," Elena said. "The lunar pull affects Alpha physiology differently. Their bodies produce silver as part of the transformation process."

I remembered what Connor had told me about drinking heart blood. "And traditionally, drinking another Alpha's blood helps because...?"

"It contains antibodies that neutralize the excess silver," Elena explained. "But we don't practice that anymore. It's barbaric."

Connor's condition was deteriorating rapidly. The silver lines now covered most of his visible skin, and his temperature had climbed to 105. His breathing was shallow, and his pulse racing.

"We need to cool him down," I said, reaching for my medical bag. "And I need to draw blood samples to analyze the progression."

As I prepared to take a blood sample, Connor's hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. His eyes, now glowing amber with flecks of silver, fixed on mine.

"Not... safe," he managed, his voice a pained growl. "The blood... changes me."

"I'll be careful," I promised, gently extracting my wrist from his grip. "Just hold on, Connor. We'll get through this."

The blood I drew from his vein was unlike anything I'd seen before—dark red but shot through with swirling silver particles that seemed almost alive. I quickly prepared slides for later analysis, then turned my attention back to treating his symptoms.

Traditional cooling methods weren't working. Despite ice packs and cool compresses, Connor's temperature continued to rise. The silver lines beneath his skin pulsed with increasing intensity, and his body began to convulse with the effort of fighting the transformation.

"This isn't working," I said, growing desperate. "His system is going into shock."

Elena watched from the doorway, her expression grim. "I've never seen it progress this rapidly. Something's accelerating the process."

An idea struck me—radical, perhaps dangerous, but possibly our only option. "You said Alpha blood contains antibodies against the silver?"

Elena nodded. "That's the traditional belief."

"What about human blood with natural antibodies?" I rolled up my sleeve. "I'm universal donor type."

"Alison, no," Elena protested. "Human blood could kill him. Our physiologies are compatible for transfusion only within certain bloodlines."

But something deep inside told me this would work. The mark on my hand pulsed in sync with the silver lines on Connor's skin, and suddenly everything clicked into place—the horseshoe scar on my collarbone, the way Connor had recognized my scent that first night, the memories that weren't my own.

"I think our bloodlines are compatible," I said with conviction I couldn't fully explain. "And I think my blood might contain the antibodies he needs."

Without waiting for further argument, I prepared a syringe and drew a sample of my own blood. "Start with a small amount," I murmured to myself. "Test the reaction."

I injected just 5cc of my blood directly into Connor's vein, then watched anxiously for any adverse reaction. For several tense seconds, nothing happened. Then, gradually, the silver lines nearest the injection site began to fade, replaced by normal skin tone.

"It's working," Elena breathed, moving closer to observe.

Encouraged, I prepared a proper transfusion setup. "I'm going to give him a direct transfusion. Monitor his vitals while I do it."

The process was risky—field medicine with minimal equipment—but as my blood flowed into Connor's veins, the effect was undeniable. The silver lines receded like frost melting under sunlight, and his temperature began to drop. His breathing eased, and the rigidity in his muscles relaxed.

Most remarkably, as the silver faded, Connor's features briefly shifted—not into the wolf form I'd glimpsed before, but into a hybrid state, more human than animal. Then, as more of my blood entered his system, he reverted completely to human form, peaceful in unconsciousness.

"Incredible," Elena whispered. "You've stopped the transformation cycle completely."

I monitored the transfusion carefully, making sure not to give too much. When I finally removed the needle from my arm, I felt lightheaded but triumphant. Connor's condition had stabilized—temperature normal, breathing regular, skin clear of silver traces.

"He needs rest now," I said, applying pressure to the insertion site on my arm. "And so do I."

Elena helped me to a chair, her expression a mixture of awe and suspicion. "What are you?" she asked bluntly. "No human blood should have that effect."

"I'm a doctor," I replied, too tired for deeper questions. "That's all."

"No," she insisted. "That's not all. The mark on your hand, the effect of your blood... You're something else, Dr. Carter. Something our legends speak of."

Before I could respond, Connor stirred on the bed, his eyes fluttering open. They were clear now, no trace of amber or silver. "Alison?" he murmured.

I moved to his side, professional concern overriding exhaustion. "How do you feel?"

"Better." He looked at his arms, now free of silver traces. "What did you do?"

"She gave you her blood," Elena answered before I could. "And it cured you. Completely."

Connor's gaze snapped to me, alarm replacing confusion. "You did what? That could have killed you!"

"It was a calculated risk," I replied. "And it worked."

He struggled to sit up, wincing slightly. "You don't understand. Human blood is toxic to us during transformation. Unless..."

"Unless what?" I prompted when he fell silent.

Connor exchanged a glance with Elena, some unspoken communication passing between them. Finally, he said, "Unless the human carries wolf genes. Dormant ones."

The implication hung in the air between us. I thought of the horseshoe scar, the memories that weren't mine, the way the pack had recognized something in me that first night.

"That's not possible," I said, though my conviction wavered. "I would know if I was... part wolf."

"Would you?" Elena asked softly. "If the genes were dormant, if the memories were suppressed?"

Connor reached for my hand—the one bearing the healer's mark. As our skin touched, the purple glow intensified, and I felt a jolt of something like recognition pass between us.

"The mark shouldn't have taken so strongly on a human," he said. "It shouldn't have changed color. And your blood shouldn't have been able to stop my transformation. But it did."

"What are you saying?" I asked, though I feared I already knew the answer.

"I'm saying," Connor replied gently, "that you belong to the pack in ways even you don't understand yet. And I think you're beginning to remember."

The room fell silent except for the steady beep of the monitor still attached to Connor's finger. Outside, clouds parted, and moonlight streamed through the window, casting silver patterns across the floor—like the patterns that had traced Connor's skin, like the patterns now fading from my memory.

"We need to get back," I said finally, deflecting the moment. "Jacob still needs treatment, and we've been gone too long already."

Connor nodded, though his expression suggested our conversation was far from over. "Elena, we'll send more supplies for Jacob. And Alison will work on a treatment protocol based on what we've learned tonight."

As we prepared to leave, I drew a final vial of Connor's now-clear blood for comparison with his silver-laden samples. The contrast was striking—where the earlier samples had been turbulent with metallic particles, this blood was normal, healthy.

"Your blood neutralized the silver completely," I observed, holding both samples up to the light. "I need to understand how."

"Maybe it's not about understanding," Connor suggested, watching me with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. "Maybe it's about remembering."

The drive back to Gray Ridge was quieter than our journey out. Connor seemed lost in thought, occasionally glancing at me when he thought I wasn't looking. I was exhausted from the blood donation and the emotional weight of the night's revelations.

As we approached the village, the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten. Connor pulled off the road about a mile from the settlement.

"We should walk the rest of the way," he said. "Less chance of being seen."

I nodded, gathering my bag and the blood samples. "Connor, about what happened tonight..."

"We'll talk later," he promised. "When we're both rested. But Alison..." He paused, his expression serious. "What you did was extremely dangerous. Don't ever risk yourself like that again."

"I'm a doctor," I reminded him. "Calculated risks are part of the job."

"And I'm your Alpha," he replied, the words slipping out before he seemed to catch himself. "I mean, I'm responsible for your safety while you're here."

The slip was telling, and we both knew it. Something fundamental had shifted between us tonight—a boundary crossed, a truth acknowledged. My blood now flowed in his veins, and his memories flickered at the edges of my consciousness.

As we walked through the pre-dawn forest, the mark on my hand pulsed gently, a silent reminder that whatever I had been before coming to Gray Ridge, I was something different now. Something that belonged, perhaps, to this place and these people more than I was ready to admit.