Chapter 6
Stress Test
Alexa
“There’s no other way. I have to heal her,” I snap.
One of the healers stares at me, eyes wide, words tripping over themselves. “You’re gonna do a healing ritual on a human? That’s dangerous.”
“Please think this through,” another staff member says, voice tight. “A ritual like that could kill her. Your energy might be too much. What if she doesn’t survive?”
“She could even turn half-Lycan,” Harlow adds, worry creasing his brow. “And it could eat away at your soul.”
I turn to him, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Will you help me?” My gaze locks onto his, desperate and unblinking. Inside my head, Mythril draws in a sharp breath.
Harlow just stares back. Every second stretches thin, heavy with the sense that Jo’s life is slipping through my fingers. I can feel it now, her energy fading, fragile and weak beneath my grip.
“If we do this together, the risk drops,” I say quickly, forcing the words out in one breath. “You can act as a conduit. You take the excess energy and cycle it back to me. Please.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Why do you always gotta beg me like this?”
“You’re my only option,” I say, holding my ground. “We’re both Lycans. Our power’s close enough that it’ll balance out. You know it’ll work.”
He drags both hands through his hair, then plants them on his hips. He groans, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment.
“Fine,” he mutters. “But if this goes sideways, don’t come crying to me.”
He moves around the stretcher, takes Jo’s limp hand in one of his, then takes mine with the other. Our hands link, forming a small circle. The moment our skin touches, energy surges through me, strongest where Harlow’s hand fits perfectly into mine.
“Ready?” I ask, swallowing hard, my eyes flicking between Harlow and Jo.
“Do it,” he growls.
“You’re all outta your minds,” one of the staff shouts before bolting for the door.
“Everybody out,” another yells, herding the rest of them away.
Only Mr. Moris stays where he is, calm and unmoving, watching everything unfold.
I block out the room and focus on the current flowing through us. I draw in a deep breath, close my eyes, and sink into my consciousness. My lips move, shaping a prayer to the Moon Goddess.
“O Moon Goddess, bless us with your power. For every blessing, let it be your will. For every pain, grant a cure.”
When I open my eyes, the red mist spilling from Jo’s wounds freezes in the air. Slowly, it shifts, turning silver as it swirls like a soft breeze.
Each time I repeat the words, the silvery mist flows back into her body through the open wounds. With every return, the gashes close, the swelling fades, the damage knitting itself together.
I keep chanting. Again and again. Every healed wound sends a fresh wave of pain tearing through me. My body throbs harder with each pulse. Harlow’s face tightens, jaw clenched as he bears the strain too. Then the pain crashes over me, crushing and relentless.
“Please, Alexa. I can’t hold it anymore,” Mythril roars.
My head buzzes. Blood rushes through me. My body burns, bound in invisible chains. Through the haze, Jo’s wounds finally seal completely.
“Cut it off,” Harlow snarls through clenched teeth.
“Just a little more,” I mutter.
The moment Jo’s eyes flutter open, I stop. I release their hands and collapse to the floor, lungs dragging in air as sweat pours off me. Blood slips from the corner of my mouth as I slump beside the stretcher.
“Alexa,” Harlow says, dropping to my side and pulling me into his arms.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, barely breathing. “You said it yourself. Lycans heal fast. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re still wrecked,” he growls, frustration thick in his voice.
I let out a small smile. “What about Jo?”
He looks over as the healers crowd around her, checking her vitals. Then he turns back to me. “She’s gonna be okay.”
“Thank the Goddess,” I breathe.
“Where’s her room?” Harlow asks.
“Upstairs,” Mr. Moris answers calmly. “Rhys, open a room for her.”
Harlow scoops me up, cradling me against his chest. The room fades to black.
* * *
My eyes flutter open, fighting through the haze. I rub at them and take in my surroundings, trying to make sense of where I am. Another unfamiliar room.
For a strange, aching moment, I miss the servant’s quarters at the Dawson manor. Small and damp, the mattress hard enough to bruise my bones. But my father’s room had been right across the hall. I could see him whenever I wanted. That mattered more than comfort.
This place is nothing like that. The room is spacious, washed in clean white light, with polished wooden furniture and a bed so soft it almost swallows me whole. I push myself upright and immediately hiss as pain coils tight in my gut, a sharp reminder of what it cost me to save Jo.
“I need more sleep. Please,” Mythril grumbles inside my head, thick with irritation.
Ignoring her, I glance down at what I’m wearing. A black satin nightgown, smooth and cool against my skin, paired with clean underclothes. Definitely not mine. It fits oddly too tight at the chest, loose at the waist.
I turn toward the wardrobe mirror. My reflection stares back, no open wounds, only faint bruises shadowing my skin like echoes of violence that refuse to fade.
I move to the door and step into a narrow hallway lit by dim yellow lights. At the far end, an open room spills out low voices. Familiar ones.
It leads me into what looks like a dining room or pantry. A long table sits at the center. A stove stands neatly against one wall, a fridge humming softly at the back. Harlow sits in one of the chairs, posture relaxed but alert, like he never truly lets his guard down.
“Hey. You’re awake?” Jo says, flashing me a crooked grin.
My breath catches. A wide smile breaks across my face as she sits there, alive, upright. Her hair falls in glossy black waves around her shoulders. Yellowing bruises still mark her face and neck, dark shadows lingering where wounds once were, but she’s clean, steady, real.
“Jo,” I gasp, stepping closer. “You’re healed.”
“Yeah. Course I am.” She stands and closes the distance, wrapping me in a sudden, tight hug. “Thank you, Brianna,” she whispers.
Right. Brianna Smith.
I hug her back, laughing softly, until she squeezes a little too hard and I wince. “Easy,” I chuckle. “Not that tight.” She laughs and loosens her grip.
“Well, ain’t this cozy,” Mr. Moris says as he climbs the stairs and joins us.
My shoulders tense on instinct, but Jo stays relaxed, smiling at the Southern Star Club owner. Mr. Moris studies me in silence, sharp eyes missing nothing. “How you feeling?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I say, then swallow hard.
“Liar.” He clicks his tongue and drops into the chair beside Harlow. “You nearly got everyone killed pulling a healing ritual on a human. And you wrecked your own body on top of that. You ever listen to anyone but yourself?”
I shut my eyes, pressing my lips together. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I didn’t see another way.”
“You chose one stranger over yourself,” he snaps. “Over everyone else.”
“Every life matters,” I say, lifting my gaze to meet his. My voice stays steady. “And Harlow helped regulate the energy. No one else was in danger.”
He waves a hand like he’s already bored. “Enough. Sit down and eat before you pass out.”
“Come on,” Jo says, pulling out a chair for me across from him.
I sigh and give in, lowering myself into the seat. Jo moves off to grab a plate, and I stare at Mr. Moris until I finally gather the nerve. “Mr. Moris, about my situation. About training here...”
He nods once. “Right. Starting today, you work for me. Training runs eight to ten in the morning. Lunch, rest, then the fight club. The night club shift runs eight to eleven at night.”
“The fight club,” I say slowly. “You mean…”
“As a fighter,” he answers, taking a long drink of water. “You don’t learn theory without practice.”
“Work to win bets?” Harlow scoffs.
“You’re welcome to join,” Mr. Moris says dryly.
“Nope,” Harlow replies without hesitation. “And that schedule’s brutal. You trying to kill her?”
“Feel free to report me to the labor office,” Mr. Moris shoots back.
Harlow raises a brow. “Everyone here a shifter?”
Mr. Moris slices into his food with practiced ease. “You think we built a whole pack down here? Most of them are rogues, hybrids, half-bloods. They can handle the work. I’m not chaining anyone up.”
I glance at Jo. She looks completely at ease, unfazed by the truth of this place, by magic and monsters and Lycans walking around like it’s nothing.
She catches my look and laughs as she sets a plate in front of me. “Well, guess I fit in now.”
I blink. “What?”
“Half-Lycan,” she says with a shrug and a satisfied smile. “Your healing did that.”
“Yup. She took a part of me. Now I keep feeling exhausted too soon.” Mythril mutters inside my head.
I fall silent, lost in thought as I hear that confession. Am I really this clueless about magical energy? I have never actually seen its effects play out like this before.
All this time, I’ve only learned the basics. Simple ritual principles. That magic is nothing more than the manipulation of energy. That every ritual demands a price, something to be sacrificed in exchange for what we want.
I never got the chance to go deeper. Before I could learn more, my stepmother forbade me from studying it altogether.
All I truly know is that, even though I can’t control my wolf, the magic energy from Mythril makes my wounds heal faster. It makes my power flow more easily whenever I perform a ritual.
And honestly, this is the first time I’ve ever used a healing ritual on someone else. All those years, I only read about it in secret, hidden away in the library of Silver Moon.
Now I see the truth of it. Turns out my courage doesn’t come without consequences. It affects others, me, and Mythril. How can I be this reckless?
Mr. Moris snorts. “Last time a witch tried that here, the human exploded. Took three days to close the club and clean the mess.”
“That witch wasn’t as strong as Brianna,” Harlow says, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.