Alpha’s Forbidden Healer (Shattered Loyalties #2)

Chapter 1

Callum

Ben hits the ground like a stone, and for a heartbeat, I think he’s fucking with me.

“Very funny.” I scan the tree line, weapon half-drawn. “Get the fuck up.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t even twitch.

That’s when I catch the scent—metallic and sharp, like copper pennies heated over a flame.

I drop to one knee beside him, fingers checking for a pulse at his throat. Strong and steady, but his skin is burning hot. His eyes are open but vacant, staring at nothing.

“Ben.” I shake his shoulder. Hard. “Ben, what the fuck—“

Nothing. Complete shutdown, like someone flipped a switch.

My wolf surges, hunting for threats. No scent markers. No footprints in the snow except ours. No signs of attack, magical or otherwise. Just Ben, unconscious and radiating heat like he’s fighting off some fucked-up infection.

Thirty seconds ago, everything was normal.

We’d been patrolling the eastern boundary, discussing Derek’s new security grid and the pack’s latest additions.

Ben had been animated—well, animated for Ben, which meant he’d strung together more than five words at a time—talking about how well the new couples were settling in.

Amara and Gabriel Bronson from the old Cascade Pack, finding their place after their earth magic had made them outcasts.

Mariel and Connor McBride, the lone wolves who’d been rejected everywhere else for their plant communication abilities.

And of course, Cassie and Kieran Shaw—Cassie, one of our best scouts and trackers who’d come from Shadow Peak, and Kieran, whose work building bridges between packs had proven invaluable.

They’d been the first mated pair from Ash Hollow, proof that the pack’s acceptance of the different and dangerous wasn’t just talk.

“They want to belong here,” Ben had said, satisfaction clear in his voice.

That’s the difference, I’d thought. They chose this place. Chose us.

Two months since the battle in the Fade, and Ash Hollow had finally started feeling like home instead of a battlefield. Pack members who’d arrived broken and displaced had found purpose. The territory that once felt like borrowed space pulsed with genuine belonging.

Ben had glanced at me, expression unreadable. “They staying?” he’d asked.

I’d been certain in my answer: “They’re not just staying. They’re home.”

Now Ben is lying sprawled and unconscious in the snow, and my certainty crumbles.

Dane. I push the thought through the pack bond, sharp with urgency. Medical emergency on the eastern perimeter. Ben’s down.

The response comes back fractured, distorted like a radio cutting through static. Pain. Confusion. Then Dane’s voice, tight with something I can’t identify: Can’t respond. Nova—

The bond goes silent.

Ice slides down my spine.

I haul Ben up, slinging his dead weight over my shoulders. Whatever’s happening, it’s not isolated to one pack member.

The peaceful morning I’d been savoring transforms into a nightmare as I run.

Ben’s weight grows heavier with every step, his body heat radiating through my jacket like a furnace. His head lolls against my shoulder, breath shallow but steady. At least he’s breathing.

“Hold on,” I mutter, adjusting my grip as I navigate the eastern ridge trail. What should be a twenty-minute run feels like it’s taking hours with his dead weight across my shoulders.

The pack bond remains disturbingly silent. I push again, harder this time. Dane. Nova. Anyone copy? Nothing but static—like a radio scanning through dead channels.

Something is very fucking wrong.

I choose the faster route through Devil’s Pass—a narrow trail with exposed roots and loose rocks. Dangerous under normal circumstances, suicidal while carrying an unconscious Beta.

My boots slide on frost-slick stones as I descend the steep gradient. Ben’s body throws off my center of gravity, forcing me to dig my heels in harder. The muscles in my thighs and shoulders burn, but I don’t slow down.

“Next time you decide to collapse,” I grunt, hauling him over a fallen log, “do it closer to the fucking compound.”

I pause at the creek crossing, ears straining for any sound beyond rushing water. The territory feels wrong—too quiet, like everything living is holding its breath. No birds, no small animals. Even the wind seems to have died.

My eyes scan the tree line automatically. No movement. No scent markers except our own pack’s fading patrols.

I press two fingers against Ben’s neck again. His pulse thuds rapidly, his skin feels too hot under my fingertips.

If Ben’s down, and Dane couldn’t respond ...

The thought of Lyanna in danger makes my chest constrict. I force the fear down and lock it away.

I cross the creek, water soaking my boots, and push toward the compound.

The forest thins as I approach the final ridge before the compound, Ben’s weight seems to double as I climb, my muscles screaming in protest.

I crest the hill with Ben’s unconscious body still over my shoulder, and the scene below turns my blood to ice.

The training yard is a chaotic tableau of fallen pack members. Bodies are scattered across the dirt like discarded dolls. That same copper scent hits me again, stronger now. But there’s no blood anywhere, no visible wounds.

Amara and Gabriel Bronson lie crumpled near the weapons rack, hands still intertwined.

Not ten feet away, Mariel McBride is sprawled beside her mate, Connor, both unconscious but breathing.

Cassie and Kieran are down near the edge of the yard.

The same couples Ben and I had been discussing earlier.

I can see from here that all of them are radiating the same unnatural heat I feel from Ben.

“We need to get them inside now!” Kari shouts from across the yard. Her voice cuts through the confusion, anger tightening her features as she hefts an unconscious wolf onto a makeshift stretcher. “This isn’t random. It’s spreading fast.”

Derek moves with uncharacteristic efficiency, coordinating a group of still-standing pack members. No smart-ass remarks, no challenging glances. Just pure focus as he points toward the fallen.

“Get them to the main hall. Triage by body temperature. Those burning hottest go first.”

I scan the yard for any sign of Lyanna. My chest tightens when I don’t immediately see her.

Rafe emerges from behind the Lodge, carrying two unconscious wolves effortlessly. His face is locked in a fierce scowl, eyes constantly sweeping the perimeter like he’s hunting for an invisible enemy.

Ansel follows silently behind him, communicating only through sharp hand gestures as he directs others where to go. His nostrils flare repeatedly, testing the air for threats.

In the distance, I spot Harper kneeling beside a fallen wolf, checking vital signs with practiced efficiency. She glances up, catches my eye for a heartbeat, then returns to her work with renewed urgency.

“Callum!” Derek shouts when he sees me carrying Ben. “Get him to medical. Dane and Nova are in there too, and they are not standing,” he adds grimly.

“Got it.” I adjust Ben’s weight on my shoulder and push toward the main hall, stepping over scattered training gear.

My wolf paces beneath my skin, frantic with the need to protect, to fix, to fight—but there’s nothing to fight. Just pack members dropping without warning, burning with fever.

The Lodge has transformed into a desperate medical center. Cots line the walls in neat rows, each holding an unconscious pack member radiating unnatural heat. The copper scent is overwhelming here, coating the back of my throat with each breath.

There—Lyanna. She moves with focused intensity between patients, honey blonde hair pulled back in a practical braid, escaped strands framing her face.

My shoulders drop a fraction. The constant scan of the room—Loss? Danger? Threat?—narrows to her. Just her. Still standing. Still working. The breath I didn’t know I’d been holding finally releases.

I stay by the door. Old habit—keep distance, keep control.

My eyes sweep the room quickly, cataloguing the situation. Dane lies motionless on a cot near the far wall, his normally commanding presence reduced to stillness. Nova is beside him. Seeing our Alpha down hits harder than I expected; if whatever this is can take down Dane, none of us are safe.

“Put him here,” Lyanna instructs, gesturing to an empty cot beside her without looking up.

I lower Ben carefully onto the cot, his body still radiating heat. “He just dropped. No warning. What the fuck is happening?”

“I don’t know yet.” Lyanna’s voice is calm but tense, her forest green eyes focused as she presses her fingers to Ben’s temples. “Everyone’s presenting the same way—sudden collapse, extreme fever, unresponsive but stable.”

Her sleeve brushes my arm as she leans across me to check Ben’s pulse. The contact hits harder than it should. I pull back slightly.

Nyxiana appears beside us, her silver-white hair catching the light. “They’re not responding to angel healing,” she says, her voice tight with frustration. “I’ve tried three different methods.”

“Hold his shoulders,” Lyanna tells me, positioning herself at Ben’s head. “I need to try something else.”

I grip Ben’s shoulders, my fingers brushing against Lyanna’s as she places her hands on either side of his face. Her skin is cool against mine, a stark contrast to Ben’s burning heat. The contact sends another jolt through me—something primal and unexpected that makes my wolf stir.

Lyanna closes her eyes, and the green glow around her hands intensifies. Her brow furrows in concentration. Sweat beads on her forehead as she works, her jaw set with determination.

“The fae healing isn’t penetrating either,” she mutters, frustration edging her voice. “It’s like something’s blocking it.”

I watch her work, struck by her focus and control. She moves to another approach without hesitation, her hands shifting to Ben’s chest, the magical glow changing from green to gold.

“Try the stabilization frequency,” Nyxiana suggests, her own hands glowing with white light as she works on another patient.

Lyanna nods, adjusting her technique. The determination in her eyes, the steady competence in her movements—it hits me unexpectedly.

I’ve seen healers work before, but something about Lyanna’s grace under pressure, the fierce concentration as she fights for each patient, always makes my chest tighten.

“Damn it,” she whispers as the gold light flickers and fades. She doesn’t break, doesn’t panic—just immediately shifts to another approach, her hands moving in different patterns over Ben’s body.

She pushes a stray strand of hair from her face, leaving a smudge of golden residue on her cheek.

I find myself wanting to brush it away. I don’t.