Chapter 22 - Connor
Nic’s voice crackles through the phone, and I know something is wrong before he even speaks.
“Connor. Get to the clinic. Now.”
I’m already moving, shoving my chair back from the desk. “What’s happening?”
“It’s Fern. There’s a situation. I don’t have all the details yet, but you need to get there.”
The call ends, and I don’t waste time asking questions.
I’m out the door and changing forms before I hit the tree line, my wolf taking over as I tear through Silvercreek faster than I’ve ever run.
My paws pound against the earth, and my lungs burn, but I push harder.
The clinic is on the other side of town.
Too far. Every second feels like an eternity.
Buildings rush past me. Pack members jump out of my way, recognizing the look of a wolf on a mission. I don’t slow down for any of them. I can’t. Not when Fern might be hurt. Not when she might need me.
I reach the building in under three minutes and transform back behind the parking structure, not caring that I’m naked, not caring about anything except getting inside.
The automatic doors slide open, and I storm into the lobby where a cluster of medical staff has gathered near the hallway that leads to Fern’s office.
Skylar spots me first. Her face is pale, and she rushes over with her hands raised like she’s trying to slow down a freight train.
“Connor, wait—”
“Where is she?” I demand.
“Her office. But you can’t just—”
“What happened?”
Skylar takes a breath before answering. “A patient showed up without an appointment. Male, human. He asked to see Fern. We didn’t think anything of it at first, but then one of the nurses heard screaming. By the time we got to the hallway, the door was locked from the inside.”
My blood runs cold. “Robbie. Her ex.”
“We think so. We called Nic, and he said to wait for backup before doing anything. He’s on his way.”
“Wait?” I stare at her. “You want me to wait while that bastard is locked in a room with my mate?”
“There are protocols, Connor. If we rush in and he panics, he could hurt her worse. We need to handle this carefully.”
One of the other staff members approaches with a bundle of fabric in her arms. Scrubs. She holds them out to me without meeting my eyes.
“Put these on,” she tells me. “And wait for him to arrive before taking action.”
I snatch the scrubs and yank them on. The pants are too short, and the shirt pulls across my shoulders, but at least I’m covered.
“How long has she been in there?”
“Maybe ten minutes. We’ve been trying to make contact, but he won’t respond. We can hear voices through the door, but we can’t make out what they’re saying.”
Ten minutes. Ten minutes of Fern trapped with the man who’s been stalking her. The man who broke into her home. The man who put his hands on her throat.
“This is bullshit,” I growl. “I’m not standing around while she’s in danger.”
“Connor, please.” Skylar grabs my arm. “Nic gave specific orders. He said if you showed up before him, you need to wait. Rushing in could make things worse.”
“Worse than what? Worse than leaving her alone with a psychopath?”
“If he has a weapon—”
“Then every second we waste is a second he could use.”
I pull free from her grip and stride down the hallway toward Fern’s office. Skylar calls after me, but I ignore her. I ignore everything except the closed door at the end of the corridor and the muffled sounds coming from behind it.
When I reach the door, I press my ear against the wood. Voices filter through—Fern’s, strained but steady, and a male voice I don’t recognize. Robbie. I can’t make out the words, but I can hear the anger in his tone. The barely restrained violence.
“Connor, don’t.” Skylar has followed me, and her voice comes out as a harsh whisper. “If you break down that door without knowing what’s on the other side—”
“Then I’ll find out.”
I step back and drive my fist into the door.
The wood cracks but holds. The clinic’s doors are clearly more reinforced than the one at the cabin. I hit it again, putting my shoulder into it this time, and a chunk splinters near the lock. One more blow, and a hole opens up, big enough for me to at least see through.
The scene inside makes my stomach drop.
Fern stands in the middle of the room with her back to me.
When she looks back at me, I can make out a bruise already forming on her cheek, dark and angry against her pale skin.
A man, I assume, Robbie, stands behind her with one arm wrapped around her waist to keep her pinned against him.
His other hand holds a knife to her throat.
A thin line of red already marks her skin where the blade has pressed too hard.
But that’s not what makes me freeze.
Dark veins crawl up Robbie’s neck and across his face, black and branching like cracks in old porcelain. I’ve seen marks like that before. On the Cheslem wolves. On anyone who’s been touched by their corruption.
He must have encountered them during his time hiding in the woods near pack territory.
Must have stumbled across one of their patrols or wandered too close to their border.
Whatever happened, their dark magic has sunk its claws into him, twisting something that was already broken into something far more dangerous.
“Robbie,” Fern says, her voice calm despite the knife at her throat, “listen to me. Whatever you’re feeling right now, it’s not real. Something is wrong with you. Something has gotten inside your head.”
“Don’t.” His voice comes out rough, barely human. “Don’t try to shrink me, Fern. I know what you’re doing. I know all your little tricks.”
“This isn’t a trick. Look at your hands. Look at your arms. Do you see those marks? Those aren’t normal. Something happened to you, and it’s making you act this way.”
“I’m acting this way because you betrayed me. You left me. You ran away and found some new man to spread your legs for, and you thought I would just let that go?”
“I left because you hurt me.”
“I loved you!”
“This isn’t love, Robbie. This is possession. And whatever that darkness is doing to you, it’s making everything worse. You need help. Real help. The kind I can give you if you just put down the knife.”
Through the hole in the door, I can see the black veins pulsing beneath his skin. The corruption is feeding on his rage, amplifying it, turning ordinary human jealousy into something monstrous. If it’s progressed this far, there might not be much of the real Robbie left.
But Fern doesn’t know that. She’s trying to reach a man who barely exists anymore, using her training and her compassion to talk down a threat she doesn’t fully understand.
“I’m going to open this door,” I announce through the hole I made. “And when I do, you’re going to let her go.”
Robbie’s head snaps toward the sound. Through the opening, I can see his eyes—bloodshot, wild, with flecks of black swimming in the whites.
“Her boyfriend,” he snarls. “The big tough guy who thinks he can take her from me.”
“She was never yours to begin with.”
“She’s always been mine. Since the day we met. And no backwoods hick from this nothing town is going to change that.”
“Robbie, please,” Fern tries again. “Connor, don’t provoke him. Just give me a minute. Let me try.”
I want more than anything to rip the door off its hinges and tear Robbie apart, but Fern is asking me to wait. Fern is trying to handle this her way. And if I rush in now, that knife could slice across her throat before I take two steps.
She returns her attention to Robbie, and I watch through the hole as she lifts her hands slowly, palms out, showing him she’s not a threat. “Robbie, can you tell me when these marks first appeared? When did you first notice them?”
“I don’t…” He blinks, and for a moment, confusion crosses his face. “I don’t remember.”
“Okay. That’s okay. Memory problems can be a symptom of a lot of things.
Infections, fever, and even extreme stress.
Your body is clearly fighting something, Robbie.
Those marks on your skin… I’ve never seen anything like them.
You need treatment. Real treatment from people who can figure out what’s wrong. ”
“You’re lying. You just want me to let my guard down.”
“I’m not lying. Look at yourself. Really look. Does any of this seem normal to you?”
Behind me, I hear footsteps approaching. Nic’s scent reaches me a moment later, followed by Dylan and Thomas. They stop a few feet back, taking in the situation without a word.
“Status,” Nic murmurs.
“Her ex has her at knifepoint. He’s been corrupted. Cheslem magic, from what I can tell. Must have run into some of their people while he was camping near the border.”
Nic swears under his breath. “How far gone?”
“Far enough that he’s got black veins showing. Fern doesn’t know what she’s dealing with. She thinks he’s just sick.”
“Can she reach him?”
“I don’t know. She’s good at this. It’s what she does. But the corruption might be too deep.”
“If it’s Cheslem magic, there might not be anything left of the original personality,” Thomas adds. “We’ve seen what happens when their influence takes hold. It doesn’t just amplify negative emotions. It consumes them. Uses them as fuel.”
“So what do we do?” Dylan asks.
“We wait,” Nic decides. “For now. Let Fern do what she can. But be ready to move if things go south.”
Through the door, I hear Fern continue her careful, measured approach.
“Robbie, I need you to focus on my voice. Just my voice. Can you do that for me?”
“I…” The knife wavers slightly in his grip. “My head hurts. It feels like something is crawling inside my skull. Like insects, burrowing deeper and deeper.”
“That sounds terrifying. I’m so sorry you’re going through this. But that’s exactly why you need help. Whatever is causing those symptoms, whatever is making you see and feel these things—it’s treatable. I promise you, we can figure this out. But not like this. Not with a knife in your hand.”
“I don’t want to fight. I just want you to come home with me. I just want things to go back to the way they were.”
“They can’t, Robbie. Too much has happened. But that doesn’t mean your life is over. It just means it has to change. And change can be good. Change can be healing. You just have to be brave enough to let it happen.”
“You sound like a therapist.”
“I am a therapist.” A hint of dry humor enters her voice. “It’s literally my job to help people through difficult moments. Let me do my job, Robbie. Let me help you the way I’ve helped dozens of other people.”
The knife wavers again. I hold my breath, my hands pressed flat against the broken door.
“I don’t…” Robbie’s voice cracks. “I don’t know what’s real anymore. I see things that aren’t there. I hear voices telling me to do things. Terrible things. And I can’t make them stop. No matter what I do, they just keep getting louder.”
“Auditory hallucinations can be a sign of serious illness, Robbie. Fever, infection, even certain toxins can cause them. You’re not crazy. Your brain is just misfiring because something is physically wrong. But we can fix it. We can make the voices stop. You just have to trust me.”
The black veins on Robbie’s neck pulse and writhe, like something alive beneath his skin is fighting against her words.
His hand trembles, and I can see the war playing out across his face.
The corruption wants blood. But somewhere deep inside, the man Robbie used to be is still listening to Fern’s voice.
And for one endless moment, I watch Robbie’s grip on the knife loosen—just a fraction, just enough to give me hope—before the black veins pulse again, and his eyes go dark.