Zayne
After showing Lysaria to her room, I headed straight for the library.
I began pulling out books, every volume I owned on the ancient lore of our people.
A shifter without a wolf. It was a contradiction, an impossibility.
I found references to late bloomers, early shifts, ghost wolves, and spirit ancestors.
Tales of ancient heroes and feats of bravery beyond compare.
But there was nothing. Not a single word about a wolfless shifter.
I growled in frustration, slamming a heavy tome closed and raking a hand through my hair, making it stand on end.
I could feel her upstairs, a faint, thrumming thread of shame and despair in the back of my mind. I wanted to go to her, to comfort her, but I knew she would only see a monster. And after the way I’d lost control last night, I didn't blame her. I had to fix this. I had to find a way.
I left the library and entered my office, closing the door behind me. I pulled out my phone. If anyone would have answers, it was Joseph. I dialed the familiar number, leaning against the desk, my fingers tapping an agitated rhythm on my thigh as the phone rang.
“Hello?” Joseph’s creaky voice came through the speaker.
“It’s Zayne. I need your help,” I said, letting the raw edge of my concern bleed into my voice.
“Zayne. What can I do for you?” he replied, his tone instantly serious.
I sighed, the sound ragged even to my own ears, and began to explain.
I told him everything: how I couldn't sense her wolf, how the heat wasn't receding, the brutal way she’d been treated by Marcus.
Joseph was silent through it all, a patient, listening presence on the other end of the line.
When I finished, he let out a long, weary sigh.
“It’s a rough situation, I’ll give you that,” he said, his voice thoughtful.
“Have you ever encountered anything like it before?” I asked, sinking into the leather chair behind my desk.
“Unfortunately, I have,” he replied, his voice dropping. “And I don’t envy you, my friend. You’ve got a rough road ahead of you.”
“Tell me,” I demanded.
And so he did. He explained that her wolf was likely still there, just so thoroughly suppressed by trauma that even she could no longer feel it. The abuse at Marcus’s hands hadn’t just broken her spirit; it had caged her very soul.
I remembered the desperate, feral way she had eaten breakfast this morning, and the explanation clicked into place with sickening clarity.
She had been stripped of all dignity, made to believe she had no value beyond her body.
Just thinking about what that animal had done to her made me sick.
A cold, murderous rage washed over me. I wanted to go back and rip his throat out.
I wanted to burn his entire pack to the ground for letting it happen.
But I hated myself more. I could only imagine what she thought of me now. To her, I was no better than Marcus. I was just the next monster in a long line of them. I felt like a monster.
“Zayne, there’s something else you should know,” Joseph continued, pulling me from my self-loathing.
“I’m listening,” I said, my voice tight.
“Do you know the true purpose of the heat?” he asked.
“To draw a mated pair together. To solidify their bond,” I answered, reciting the lore.
“That’s true,” he said, “but those are secondary. The real purpose is to ensure reproduction.”
I froze, my heart stopping as the full, devastating implications of his words crashed down on me.
“So the heat won’t stop…?” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
“I’m afraid not,” he replied, his voice heavy with regret. “Not until she carries your pup.”
I didn’t like it one bit. She didn’t trust me; she couldn’t even look at me. And I was supposed to get her pregnant? To force her to bear my children?
“This is fucked up,” I whispered, the words meant more for myself than for him.
“It gets worse,” he said.
I let out a harsh, humorless laugh. What could possibly be worse?
“She won’t conceive without her wolf,” he said, and my stomach dropped through the floor.
“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous low.
“I mean she can’t,” Joseph stressed. “I’ve seen it once, long ago. A case of profound abuse. I never thought I’d hear of such evil again. She won’t conceive until her wolf returns. And the heat won’t end until she does.”
A choked sound of pure devastation escaped my throat.
“I know,” he said, his voice full of sympathy. “But it can be done. It will take patience—more patience than you think you possess—but it can be done.”
“Thanks, Joseph,” I managed, my shoulders slumping under the immense weight of it all.
“Anytime, my friend. Let me know if you need anything. And Zayne… good luck.” He hung up.
I stared at the dark screen of my phone. What was I going to do? The heat would be back, and neither of us would be able to resist it. Was I destined to be a slave to my own biology, forced to traumatize my mate again and again?
No. I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I had to find a way to help her, to heal her.
I refused to be a source of her fear and pain.
I stood, straightening my shoulders, a new resolve hardening my spine.
I returned to the library, searching through the tomes for anything, any scrap of information on how to heal a wolf so thoroughly broken.
It was late afternoon by the time I emerged, empty-handed. I could feel her upstairs, the pull growing stronger again, a low hum that promised a coming storm. I knew it was only a matter of time.
I headed to the kitchen, putting together a plate of food for her.
Nothing fancy, just a selection of breads, meats, and cheeses.
She was so thin, and judging by the desperation at breakfast, she hadn't been fed properly in years.
My jaw clenched at the thought, but I shoved the rage down.
Marcus would pay. I would make sure of it. But right now, she was more important.
I carried the plate upstairs and knocked softly on her door. No answer. I pushed the door open slowly. She was curled into a tight ball on the soft rug beside the bed. My heart fractured when I saw the fresh, silvery tracks of tears on her cheeks.
I set the plate down on the nightstand, careful not to wake her. Then I pulled the armchair close to the bed, sank into it, and waited.