Chapter 7 #2
“Fussed over?” She lets out a short laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize basic medical care qualified as fussing. Next time, I’ll just let you bleed out like a proper tough guy.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being dramatic?” She gapes at me. “You’re the one acting like my touching your back is going to kill you! I’ve seen children handle getting bandaged better than you.”
Heat flares in my chest at the comparison. “I am not a child.”
“Then stop acting like one.” She gives me a pointed look. “Big, strong mercenary afraid of a little medical attention. That’s not dramatic at all.”
The sarcasm in her voice grates against my nerves. “Fine. Do whatever you want.”
“Oh, how gracious of you to allow me to save your life.” She reaches for the cloth again, her movements abrupt with irritation. “Try not to flinch this time. I’d hate to traumatize you further.”
“I don’t flinch.”
“Right. You just go rigid as a board and look like you’re in agony. Completely different.”
I turn my back to her with more force than necessary. “Just get on with it.”
“Your wish is my command, Your Majesty.” The title drips with mock reverence as she begins cleaning the wounds on my back with decidedly less gentleness than before.
Despite her annoyance, her touch still sends fire through my veins. But now there’s an edge to it, a tension that makes everything feel even more intense.
“You know,” she says conversationally as she works, “most people say ‘thank you’ when someone saves their life. They don’t act like it’s an imposition.”
“You didn’t say ‘thank you’ when I saved your life.”
Her hands go still on my back. “What?”
“You heard me. I killed three men to keep you alive, and you immediately started barking orders about lying down and letting you treat my wounds. Not exactly a ‘thank you.’”
“I—” She sputters for a moment. “That’s completely different!”
“How?”
“Because you were bleeding to death! I was trying to save your life!”
“So, you’re saying gratitude comes after medical care?”
“Don’t twist my words.” But I can hear the uncertainty creeping into her voice. “That’s not—I mean...”
She’s quiet for a long moment, her touch gentler now as she continues cleaning the wounds. When she speaks again, her voice is softer.
“You’re right. I should have thanked you properly.” She pauses. “Thank you. For saving my life. And Luna’s.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But you’re still being a baby about the bandages.”
I scowl at her as she studies all the scars on my body.
“You really don’t take care of yourself,” she decides.
“I’ve been taking care of myself just fine for years.”
“Right. These scars are just decorative.”
“They’re an occupational hazard.”
She hums to herself, and I study the way her hands press against the bandages. She has scars, too. On her fingers. I wonder how she got them.
“There.” She sits back when she finishes. “All done. Try not to reopen them by being stubborn.”
I turn to face her, and she’s looking at me with an expression that’s part satisfaction, part lingering annoyance.
“Better?” I ask.
“Much. See how easy that was when you weren’t acting like a wounded bear the whole time?”
Despite myself, I feel the corner of my mouth twitch. “Wounded bear?”
“Big, growly, snapping at anyone who tries to help.” She starts packing up her supplies, but her movements are less agitated now. “Though I suppose that’s fitting for a mercenary.”
“You’re not exactly the meek, grateful victim, either.”
“Good. Meek and grateful gets you killed in these woods.” She glances at me sideways. “Besides, I can protect you as well. Now that I’m here, if anyone comes after you with wolfsbane, I will patch you right up.”
She sounds quite proud of that.
The idea that this girl thinks she can keep me in line should be insulting. Instead, I find it oddly charming.
“We should get moving,” she says, looking around.
“Yes. We should.”
But neither of us moves, and I find myself wondering how someone who calls me a wounded bear can make me feel more engaged than anyone ever has.
This is definitely going to be a long journey to Turnville.
We’ve been walking for a few hours when I decide I can’t wait any longer for answers. The forest path is narrow enough that we’re forced to walk single file, Astra limping ahead of me with Luna perched on her shoulder like some kind of furry sentinel.
“Why does your alpha want you dead?”
Astra stumbles slightly, catching herself against a tree trunk. She doesn’t turn around, but her shoulders tense up. “It’s complicated.”
“I have time.”
She continues walking, her pace deliberately slow. I can practically hear her mind racing, trying to decide how much to tell me.
“Astra.”
“Fine.” She stops abruptly, turning to face me with her chin raised defiantly. “The King issued a decree. Each pack had to send their strongest female to mate with warriors from other packs. Cross-pack breeding or something.”
I keep my expression neutral, though my blood is already starting to simmer. “And?”
“And Alpha Gareth was supposed to send his strongest female to the Blue Crest Pack.” Her laugh is bitter. “That should have been Harper, his precious daughter.”
“But he sent you instead.”
“He tried to.” She starts moving again, her knuckles white where she grips her walking stick. “But I ran away before they could deliver me.”
The pieces are starting to fall into place, and I don’t like the picture they’re forming. “Why you?”
She’s quiet for so long, I think she’s not going to answer. When she finally speaks, her tone of voice hasn’t changed.
“Because I’m expendable.”
The casual way she says it, like it’s a simple fact instead of a devastating condemnation of her entire pack, makes my insides twist violently.
“Explain.”
“The Blue Crest Pack hates us. Two years ago, they asked for help when their pack was attacked and their healers were killed. Alpha Gareth refused to send any of ours because Blue Crest sides with the Council faction that wants to eliminate hybrids.” She pauses to catch her breath, favoring her injured leg.
“They’ve been looking for revenge ever since. ”
“So, sending anyone there would be a death sentence.” I told my father the decree was a bad idea. But the old geezer is too stubborn.
“Exactly.” Her smile is sour and humorless. “Alpha Gareth couldn’t risk his daughter. She’s too valuable, too loved. He decided to send the pack freak instead.”
“And you were supposed to accept that?”
“What choice did I have?” She whirls around to look at me, her eyes blazing. “He’s the alpha! His word is law! I was supposed to march to my death like a good, little sacrificial lamb!”
The fury in her voice matches the rage building in my chest, but there’s something else there now, too: a resignation that’s far worse than anger.
“You said you were expendable,” I say carefully. “Why?”
Her laugh is hollow. “Because I don’t have a wolf. Because I can’t shift. Because I’m weak and useless and—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters.” I find myself putting my hand on her shoulder. “Latent shifters are supposed to be protected, not sacrificed for political convenience.”
She stares at me like I’ve spoken a foreign language. “Protected?”
“Yes, protected. Latent shifters have the ability to integrate into human society and learn from—” I stop myself. “Your alpha violated about a dozen laws by trying to use you in that way.”
“Laws?” Her voice is faint with disbelief. “There are laws about how to treat people like me?”
The fact that she doesn’t know this makes me see red. What kind of pack keeps their members ignorant of their own rights?
“Who else knows what he tried to do to you?”
“Everyone, I suppose. It wasn’t exactly a secret that I was going to be sent to Blue Crest.” She starts walking again, more slowly now. “Most of the pack probably thought I deserved it.”
“Because you don’t have a wolf.”
“Because I don’t belong.” Her voice gets quieter. “I never have. Ever since my mother died, I’ve been...” She trails off.
“You’ve been what?”
“Nothing. It’s not important.”
I remain silent, waiting for her to speak because I know she will.
She looks back at me, and for a moment I see past the brave facade to the pain underneath. “I’ve been treated like garbage. Like something they wish would just disappear.”
The matter-of-fact way she says it, without self-pity or dramatic tears, somehow makes it worse. This isn’t someone seeking sympathy; this is someone stating a simple truth about her life.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since I was young, maybe eight. That’s when my mother died.” She adjusts Luna on her shoulder, using the motion to avoid my eyes. “The pack...They made it clear I wasn’t welcome anymore.”
Eight years old. She’s been enduring this treatment since she was eight years old.
“Where did you live?” As soon as the question slips out of me, I recall the little house I searched.
“In a cottage at the edge of the settlement. Away from everyone else.” Her smile is brittle. “They gave me just enough to survive, and in exchange, I did the jobs no one else wanted. Collecting herbs from the most dangerous parts of the forest, mostly.”
“They sent you into unsafe territory alone.” It’s not a question.
“Every week. The Wyvern Woods, past the territorial markers where even adult shifters won’t go.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. “I was the only one willing to do it.”
“Because you didn’t have a choice.”
“Because if I didn’t do it, I didn’t eat.” The brutal honesty in her voice makes my hands clench into fists. “Simple as that.”
I’m quiet for a long time, processing this. My father sent me to retrieve what he thought was their most powerful female—someone he assumed was valued and respected. Instead, I’ve found a woman who has been systematically abused and isolated by her own pack for years.
“Lucian?” Her voice is uncertain. “You look really angry.”