Page 30

Andros

Hours passed.

The sun had long vanished behind the mountains again, and the warmth it promised that morning was nothing but a fading ghost. The citadel had quieted, the frantic rush of commands and preparations giving way to a tense, waiting silence. Lexa still hadn’t woken.

I stayed by her side for as long as I could bear, until Dain’s soft voice tugged at my arm, heavy with sleep, whispering that he didn’t want to be alone.

I carried him back to my chambers, helped him curl up in the center of my bed, and pulled the furs over his small body. He was asleep within minutes, face peaceful despite the dried salt from tears still crusted beneath his eyes.

I sat beside him for a while, watching his chest rise and fall, listening to the crackle of the fire. But sleep wouldn’t come. Not to me.

Not while she was still locked somewhere between life and whatever waited beyond it.

So I left Dain in the quiet warmth of the room and walked the long corridor back to the healing wing. The halls felt colder now. Emptier.

When I stepped into her chamber, one of the elder healers rose from a nearby chair, bowing his head respectfully. He was an older man, one of the few in the citadel I actually trusted.

“She’s stable,” he said before I could ask. “The fever’s holding. Her breathing is stronger than it was this morning.”

I let out a slow breath, though the knot in my chest didn’t ease.“But?” I asked.

The healer hesitated before answering. “Still no response. No movement. The bond is there, but... faint. Like her wolf is buried too deep to hear us.” He paused, then added carefully, “I took the liberty of sending a rider to the southern villages to find a human healer. Just in case. If those runes carved out more of her wolf than we estimated, it may be human medicine that helps her now, not ours.”

That idea unsettled me. That she might no longer fully be what she was born to be.

But I nodded. “Thank you. For thinking of it.”

He bowed again. “Of course, Alpha.”

He turned back to his post by the door, and I moved to her side. She lay still, her body pale against the fresh linens, long hair spread out over the pillows like ink across parchment. The last rune, now faded to a faint scar, no longer pulsed. But it had taken something from her. I could feel it.

I sat beside her, reached for her hand—cool, delicate, but steady in mine.

I ran my thumb across her knuckles, breathing in deeply. “You’ll be alright,” I murmured. “You’ve made it through worse.”

The healer spoke gently behind me. “You need rest, Alpha. We’ll stay with her. We’ll keep watch.”

I didn’t argue. I just nodded without looking at him, kissed Lexa’s hand once, and stood. But I didn’t go back to the bed.I went to my study.

The fire was out, but I didn’t bother relighting it. I poured myself a heavy goblet of wine—richer, darker than what we’d had at the outpost. I didn’t sit. I stood at the edge of the room, staring out the narrow window at the snowy expanse of mountains beyond, untouched by fire or grief.

The wine burned going down. But not enough.

I felt her before I saw her—like a sour note in an otherwise silent room. The bond with Lexa was faint, distant… but this? This was sharp, deliberate. Wrong.

The door creaked open and in stepped Tanya .

Chestnut hair, polished into perfect curls that fell artfully over one shoulder.

Her eyes were warm caramel at first glance—soft, sweet—but they held nothing but calculation.

Her dress clung to her in all the ways it was meant to, silk clinging to her curves, boots clicking over the stone floor with confidence far too smug for the hour.

She tilted her head slightly. “I heard what happened.” Her voice was honey-coated concern, but her smile was too smooth. “Is she… alive?”

I didn’t answer. She stepped deeper into the room, her gaze sliding past the wine in my hand, past the shadows under my eyes, like she already knew why I was here. Why I couldn’t rest.

“I thought I told you to stay away,” I said, my voice sharp, low, dangerous.

But she just smiled. Viciously.

She came closer, far too close, and reached up with deliberate ease to trace her perfectly manicured fingers over the mark on my neck—Lexa’s mark. Her nails barely grazed the skin.

“And I thought I’d made my plans to be Luna clear,” she purred.

My hand snapped up, closing brutally around her wrist. She gasped, but not from pain. There was no fear in her eyes. Just hatred. Pure and undiluted. That surprised me more than her arrogance.

Her voice darkened, low and sharp as a knife. “Gods, I hope whatever dark filth is crawling through her veins doesn’t slip down the bond and come for you next, once it’s finished with the mutt.”

She smiled, slow and cruel. “We wouldn’t want the leader of our proud pack showing any… signs of weakness.”

My blood roared in my ears. I let go of her hand with disgust and turned toward the hall. “Garrick!” I barked, loud enough to wake the stones.

Tanya stepped back, but her chin stayed high.

When my Beta appeared moments later, still buttoning his coat, he looked between the two of us with a sharp, silent understanding.

“Take her,” I ordered coldly. “She has two days to gather her things. Find her a nice little town. Comfortable. Warm. Full of silk and mirrors and idiots who’ll praise her every word. But make sure it’s as far from this citadel as possible.”

Tanya’s mouth parted slightly, the first crack in her perfect composure.

“You’re exiling me?” she hissed.

“No,” I said, turning my back on her. “I’m finally giving you exactly what you always wanted. A world where no one challenges you. Now get out.”

Garrick stepped forward, his hand already resting lightly on the hilt of his blade—not threatening, but a reminder. Tanya's glare could have curdled blood, but she didn’t speak again.

She just walked out. And I didn’t look back.

But as Garrick led Tanya away, a faint scent lingered in her wake—something sour, vile, rotten. Something dark. Something I’d smelled before, though I couldn’t yet place it.

Unease coiled cold and heavy in my gut, Tanya's words echoing in my ears, sharp and poisonous.

What if the filth crawling through Lexa’s veins slips down the bond? What if it comes for me next?

My pulse quickened, panic rising.

What if the pack sensed my weakness—my fear, my grief—and decided to act? There were always challengers lurking, waiting for a sign of vulnerability. And right now, I was bleeding it. My thoughts spiraled, dark and uncontrollable, fear climbing rapidly through my chest.

What if Lexa actually died, and the bond snapped, dragging me into madness along with her?

“No.” The word left my mouth sharp, broken. “No.”

I would not let this happen. I wouldn’t lose control—not like this. I couldn’t wait passively and watch darkness take her. I had to act.

I had to find the root of this twisted evil and rip it out by force. I had to end it before it could spread, before it could consume her entirely.

I have to find the witch.

The thought settled hard in my chest, heavy and absolute.

But there was only one person here who might know where the witch was.

One person who might have seen her face, might remember her scent or location.

One small, fragile human who had no place in pack wars or dark magic but who could hold the key to saving the woman we both loved.

Dain.

I set the goblet down sharply, not caring that the wine spilled across my desk. Whatever it took, I would save her. Even if I had to drag the witch here by force. Even if I had to rip the answers from her bones.

Lexa wasn’t going to die. Not as long as I still drew breath. I moved swiftly through the dark halls, tension coiling tighter with each step closer to Dain’s small room. Regret churned deep in my chest. I hated waking him, especially now.

The boy had seen enough pain—endured enough uncertainty to last a lifetime.

But right now, I had no other choice. I knocked gently at first, then carefully pushed the door open.

The room was dim, lit only by the pale flicker of a dying candle.

Dain lay curled beneath heavy furs, his tiny form small and fragile, breath slow and steady in sleep.

“Dain,” I murmured softly, kneeling beside the bed. “Wake up, little one. I need your help.”

He stirred slowly, eyelids fluttering open, dark eyes blinking up at me. For one brief heartbeat, there was confusion—and then terror flashed across his young face, sharp and brutal.

“Lexi,” he whispered, voice shaking, “is she dead?”

My chest tightened painfully, and I gently squeezed his shoulder. “No, Dain. She’s not dead. She’s safe for now—resting. But I need your help to keep her safe.”

His small body relaxed only slightly, gaze still wide, alert, uncertain.

“Do you remember the witch Lexa used to visit?” I asked carefully. “The woman who carved the runes. Did she ever take you with her when she went to see her?”

He shook his head, eyes wide in the flickering candlelight. “No,” he whispered. “Lexa said it wasn’t safe for me there.”

I took a slow breath. “Alright, that’s good, that’s okay. Think carefully. Did Lexa ever come home with anything from the witch? Something she carried, something she kept—anything we could use to trace this woman by scent?”

Dain’s brow furrowed deeply, thinking hard.

Then his eyes brightened, his expression hopeful.

“Yes! Sometimes Lexi brought back small bottles. They smelled strange. She drank from them when she was hurting a lot.” He paused.

“She said they helped with the pain. I think there’s some left in our old house. ”

Relief surged through me like cold water. “Good. That’s good. Now, go back to sleep, Dain. You’ve helped enough.”

But the boy had already thrown back the furs, climbing determinedly out of bed, sleep forgotten entirely. He reached for the shirt neatly folded by the edge of his mattress.

“No,” I said firmly, putting a gentle hand on his small shoulder. “You’re staying here. It’s too dangerous for you out there.”

Dain stared defiantly up at me, chin lifted stubbornly, his eyes fierce in a way that reminded me painfully of Lexa. “She’s my Lexi . I’m coming, too.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already pulling the shirt over his head, tugging at the sleeves with small, impatient fingers.

Watching his determination, the thought flickered wryly through my mind: “Do humans ever listen?” But I didn’t voice the question aloud.

Instead, I sighed softly and rose, offering him my hand.

“Alright,” I muttered reluctantly. “But you have to stay close. Understand?”

He nodded fiercely, slipping his tiny hand into mine without hesitation.

“Good,” I said softly, squeezing his fingers gently. “Then let’s go find that witch.”