Chapter 4: Nightshade and Brotherhood

Breathing in the spring sunlight, blade at my side, I slowly walked into a maple grove by the riverbank.

The air was sweet, the ground soft under my boots. I let the peace of the grove wash over me, just for a moment.

Hidden in the grove was a wood cabin. Outside, a man in green was drying herbs.

The scent of sage and rosemary drifted on the breeze. Wyatt Price—always the healer, always the friend in need.

He saw me and sighed.

He took one look at my wounds and shook his head. “Banner, you sure know how to make an entrance.”

“I just hope next time you come, it’s to share a drink, not to ask for patching up.”

His voice was gentle, but there was a hint of exasperation. I grinned, trying to lighten the mood.

I laughed. “Too bad I didn’t pass a bar, or I’d have brought you something good, Wyatt.”

I patted my empty jacket pocket, wishing I had something better to offer.

Wyatt Price said nothing and led me inside.

The cabin was warm, filled with the scent of woodsmoke and herbs. It felt like coming home, even if just for a moment.

I sat on the couch. He carefully bandaged my wounds, then said, “You’ve got internal injuries too.”

His hands were steady, gentle. He knew what he was doing—he’d patched me up more times than I could count.

“Yeah. The Quinns’ ‘Autumn Gale Sword’ is no joke,” I said with a smile.

I winced as he tightened the bandages, but I tried to keep it light. No sense worrying him more than I had to.

Wyatt stood up and poured a bowl of steaming liquid from a pot. “This’ll put hair on your chest. Drink up.”

The liquid smelled sharp and earthy. I trusted Wyatt—if he said it’d help, it would.

“Your best medicine, and you’re just giving it to me?”

I raised an eyebrow, but I already knew the answer.

“The best medicine for the best friend—why not?” Wyatt smiled.

His eyes were kind, his smile genuine. In our world, friends like that are worth their weight in gold.

My heart warmed. “Did you expect me to come?”

I took the bowl, cradling it in my hands. The warmth seeped into my bones, chasing away the chill.

“I heard you took the Hawthorne alpha manual, and figured you’d be running this way, so I got ready.”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. But I knew he’d been worried.

“You’re a real friend.” I took the medicine and drank it down in a few gulps.

It burned going down, but I could feel the strength returning to my limbs. I let out a long breath, grateful.

Wiping my mouth, I said, “A lot of people are after me. I don’t want to drag you into this, so I’ll leave soon.”

I looked at him, hoping he’d understand. I didn’t want to bring trouble to his doorstep.

Wyatt put the empty bowl down and said, “Luke Banner, you’re the only one who never pays me for patching you up.”

He tried to look stern, but there was a smile tugging at his lips.

I laughed. “We’ve risked our necks together. Others pay you, I give you my life—isn’t that enough?”

I winked, hoping to break the tension. Wyatt just shook his head, but I could see he was touched.

Wyatt chuckled. “You give me your life so I can save you?”

He raised an eyebrow, but there was real affection in his voice.

I waved. “Don’t worry. You patch me up, I watch your back. We’ll keep saving each other—call it even.”

I reached out, clapping him on the shoulder. In our world, that's about as close to 'I love you, man' as it gets.

Wyatt smiled calmly and looked at my bloodstained clothes. “Need a change of clothes?”

He was already moving to the closet, never missing a beat.

“That would be great,” I said.

I stood, swaying a little, but Wyatt caught me. He handed me a fresh set—old jeans, a flannel, sturdy boots. Just my style.

Soon, he found me a set of clothes. As I was about to take them, I suddenly felt a chill in my heart, a sharp pain in my chest, and coughed up black blood.

The pain was sudden, blinding. My knees buckled, and I clutched at my chest, the taste of blood bitter in my mouth.

My right hand trembled as I looked at a spot of purple in my palm. My heart sank, and I smiled bitterly: “…Nightshade Dust?”

I stared at the stain, memories flooding back. The poison was rare, deadly—a calling card I recognized all too well.

“You recognized it,” Wyatt sighed.

His voice was heavy, full of regret. He looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

I shook my head and smiled. “That year, you and I ran into a rogue in Fargo. I was badly hurt and couldn’t fight back, and you used this poison to take him down.”

I remembered the night clearly—the cold, the fear, the way Wyatt had saved us both. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

Wyatt looked helpless. “I trained at Briarwood Hall, and Briarwood only rose in the supernatural world thanks to the Quinns… My mentor ordered me, and I had no choice.”

His hands shook as he spoke. I could see the pain in his eyes, the conflict tearing him up inside.

He held out the clothes, motioning for me to take them.

His eyes were full of sorrow and apology, but also something else—a silent message I almost missed.

As I took them, I felt a small bottle hidden inside and suddenly understood.

The bottle was cool in my hand, the glass slick with condensation. Hope flickered in my chest.

Wyatt gave me a subtle nod, and I instantly got it. Sighing, I deliberately said loudly:

“Wyatt, I have to keep this alpha manual, so forgive me!”

I met his eyes, letting him know I understood. Whatever happened next, we were still brothers in arms.