Chapter 4

The night closed in around me like a shroud. Each breath became more labored than the last as the silver shards twisted inside my abdomen. I couldn't move, couldn't defend myself. The wolfsbane had severed my connection to my wolf completely, leaving me as vulnerable as any human in this lawless territory.

Blood pooled beneath me, soaking into the dirt. I knew what it meant—a beacon in the darkness, calling to the predators that roamed these lands.

"Keyla," I whispered to myself, my voice barely audible. "You tried. You did everything you could."

The first pair of eyes appeared at the edge of the clearing—glowing amber in the darkness. Then another pair. And another. Until the tree line was dotted with them, watching, waiting.

Feral rogues. Wolves who had lost their humanity completely. Exiles who had forgotten what it meant to be part of a pack.

A low growl rumbled through the clearing as one of them stepped forward—a gaunt gray wolf with scars crisscrossing its muzzle. Its eyes held no recognition, no mercy. Just hunger.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, though I wasn't sure who I was apologizing to. My thoughts drifted to the White Wolf of my childhood memories—the one who had saved me once before. "I tried to live a good life. I tried to be strong like you wanted."

The rogues began to circle, their movements silent except for the occasional scrape of claws against stone. I closed my eyes, too weak to watch death approach.

A deafening roar split the night—so powerful it shook the ground beneath me. The rogues froze, then scattered in panic. Something massive landed in the clearing with a thud that sent tremors through my broken body.

"Mine!" The voice was primal, furious—a sound that belonged to no ordinary wolf.

I forced my eyes open just in time to see a helicopter's spotlight sweep across the clearing. Ropes descended from its belly, and warriors in tactical gear slid down them with practiced efficiency.

"Protect the perimeter!" someone shouted.

Through blurred vision, I saw the largest wolf I'd ever imagined—pure black, its shoulders level with a man's chest. It moved like liquid shadow, intercepting a rogue that had tried to flee. With a single powerful strike, it tore the creature in half.

Lycan. Not just any wolf—a Lycan King.

More rogues attacked, drawn by the commotion. The warriors formed a defensive line around me, their movements synchronized and lethal. But it was the black wolf that commanded attention—each swipe of its massive paws sent rogues flying or falling in pieces.

Then it was beside me, its massive form blocking out the stars. The wolf's eyes—amber like burnished gold—studied me with an intelligence that took my breath away.

"Keyla," it growled, and somehow I understood it was speaking my name.

The transformation was fluid, mesmerizing. One moment there was a wolf the size of a small horse crouching beside me; the next, a man—tall, powerfully built, with the same golden eyes that had just regarded me in wolf form.

"Marcus!" he barked, his voice deep and commanding. "Get over here now!"

He knelt beside me, his expression shifting from fierce to tender in an instant. When his fingers brushed my cheek, a jolt of electricity shot through me—so powerful it momentarily stole my breath.

"Stay with me," he murmured, his voice gentler now. "Don't give up."

I tried to speak, but only managed a wet cough that brought up flecks of blood.

"Alpha, the silver—it's embedded," a medic said, appearing at his side.

"Get it out," the man ordered. "Whatever it takes."

He lifted me carefully, as if I weighed nothing. Every movement sent fresh agony through my body, but his arms were steady as he carried me toward the helicopter.

"Marcus, I want a full report on her condition the moment we're airborne," he said, his voice tight with controlled fury. "And get Theodore on the line. I want to know how an Alpha dared to do this to a healer."

As he climbed into the helicopter with me still in his arms, I felt his warmth against my cheek. A scent enveloped me—cedar and rain—that somehow eased the burning pain inside me.

"Rest now," he whispered, refusing to let go of my hand even as the medic worked frantically to stabilize me. "You're safe."

Safe. The word seemed foreign, impossible. Yet as consciousness began to slip away again, I realized something profound had changed. The silver still burned inside me, but something else burned brighter—a connection I couldn't explain.

Who was this man who carried me from death? And why did his scent make my heart beat stronger when it should have been fading?