chapter 5
Monday morning came with a dull ache that pulsed beneath Ferial’s skin, deep and constant. The burn on her hand had gone from a raw throb to a searing agony that refused to ease.
Even brushing fabric against it made her hiss. She hadn’t slept much—the wound had bled through its cloth wrappings twice during the night, and she’d rewrapped it with strips from an old shirt.
By dawn, she knew she couldn’t go to the factory.
Her grandmother had already left for the market stalls, and her grandfather was outside patching a leak in the wall.
The apartment was cold again, the blankets still carrying the faint scent of newness from the Alpha’s gifts.
Ferial sat at the edge of her couch bed, flexing her fingers and biting back tears.
She hated crying over pain. She’d done it once—when she was twelve and cut her leg on a rusted fence—and her grandfather had told her softly, “In this world, tears don’t heal, Ferial. Work does.”
But work wasn’t possible today. Not with her hand this way.
So she wrapped her shawl tightly, tucked her burned hand against her chest, and began the walk to the clinic.
The clinic was overflowing.
Humans crowded the entrance, some standing in line, others seated on the cracked pavement with children in their laps. The building itself looked older than she remembered—peeling paint, windows fogged with grime, the smell of antiseptic clashing with sweat and fear.
A werewolf nurse barked orders from the doorway. “If it’s not life-threatening, you wait! Next!”
Ferial sighed, joining the queue. The air buzzed with low murmurs—people coughing, babies crying, a woman arguing about the wrong prescription.
She didn’t have much hope.
The wolves never sent enough medicine to the human clinics, and what they did send was either expired or locked behind “authorization only” signs. The werewolf doctor could only do so much before they ran out of supplies or patience.
All she wanted was something to stop the burn from eating through her flesh.
She rubbed her hand gingerly, wincing. The bandage had stuck to her skin. Her heart beat faster at the thought of infection. If she couldn’t work, her pay would be docked—and if that happened, they’d starve. The food the Alpha left wouldn’t last forever.
She was still lost in thought when a deep voice boomed from the hallway.
“All patients, listen up!”
Everyone turned. Two enforcers had entered—towering wolves in dark uniforms, silver emblems glinting on their chests. Their presence drew instant silence.
“By order of the Supreme Alpha,” one announced, “the heir and his entourage will be conducting a health outreach today in this district. A medical tent has been set up outside for human citizens. You will be seen by the Alpha’s personal healers. Cooperate, and you will receive proper care.”
A stunned hush followed, then murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“Did he say personal healers?”
“Actual wolves?”
“Maybe they’ll finally give real medicine—”
Ferial’s heart lifted. Real medicine. The phrase alone sounded like a miracle.
She didn’t hesitate. The line was chaos as people scrambled for the exit, some pushing past others in desperation. Ferial followed the flow of bodies until sunlight hit her eyes again.
Outside, the street had transformed.
White tents gleamed in the square, flanked by vehicles bearing the Alpha insignia. Wolves in medical coats moved efficiently between tables, distributing supplies, checking patients. For once, the air smelled clean—sterile, even.
And standing a few meters away, observing everything, was him.
The Alpha heir.
He looked the same as he had in her apartment—sharp, immaculate, a commanding stillness about him. His presence seemed to shape the space around him, making everyone stand taller, quieter.
Ferial’s pulse quickened.
She found an empty seat near the back and waited. The hours crawled. The sun climbed higher, the heat thickening. Children whined, mothers shushed them, a few older men argued about line order. She kept her eyes on the healers, trying not to think about the ache in her hand.
By late afternoon, her name was called.
“Ferial Abdin.”
She stood, surprised the wolf nurse even pronounced it right, and followed her inside one of the tents.
Cool air washed over her—there were actual air purifiers inside, something she’d never seen in human medical spaces. The scent of herbs and antiseptic mingled.
The doctor waiting for her was a wolf—tall, with gray hair at his temples and a calm, unreadable face. “Sit,” he said.
She obeyed, her heart hammering.
He took one look at her hand and frowned. “How long ago?”
“Three days,” she murmured.
“Three days?” His tone sharpened. “And you didn’t come sooner?”
“I did, but the doctor did not do much except clean and bandage it,” she admitted quietly. “The human clinics rarely have—”
He didn’t let her finish. “You’re lucky it hasn’t spread.”
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. The doctor called to an assistant for supplies—real supplies, wrapped in sterile packs. She watched in silent awe as they carefully removed her bandage.
The air hit the wound, and she winced. The skin was blistered, red, and cracked.
“This will hurt,” he warned, cleaning it with practiced precision.
She bit down hard on her lip. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn’t make a sound.
The tent’s curtain rustled—and suddenly, the atmosphere shifted.
The Alpha heir entered.
Every wolf in the tent straightened immediately. The doctor paused mid-motion, bowing slightly. Ferial froze, her breath catching.
He didn’t speak at first. Just watched. His gaze swept over her, lingering for a fraction too long. Recognition flickered there—he remembered her.
The doctor resumed speaking, explaining her condition in clipped tones. “Severe burn, untreated for a few days. Risk of infection high. I’ll prescribe topical ointment and regenerative treatment.”
The Alpha nodded once, his voice steady. “Ensure she receives a full course. Include pain relief.”
The doctor inclined his head. “Yes, Alpha.”
Ferial dared to glance up. The Alpha was standing just a few feet away, his eyes fixed on her hand. Then, slowly, they met hers.
It wasn’t a cold stare—it was something else. Something curious. She couldn’t look away.
“She works?” he asked the doctor.
“At a factory, Alpha,” the wolf replied. “Manual labor.”
The Alpha’s expression darkened slightly. He reached for something—a small pad and stylus—and wrote swiftly, sealing it with the insignia of the Supreme Alpha family.
He handed it to her.
“Two weeks’ medical leave,” he said. “Full pay, authorized by me. Rest.”
Her mouth fell open. “I—thank you, sir.”
“Take care of that hand,” he said quietly, almost as if it wasn’t just about the wound.
Then he turned, leaving the tent with his enforcers trailing behind.
The doctor handed her the prescription pack—gleaming bottles, sealed ointments, real bandages. She clutched them like treasures.
By the time she reached home, the sky was blushing into orange.
Abdie was sitting on the stoop again, a stick in his mouth, pretending to carve the pavement with it. When he saw her, he jumped up. “Finally! You were gone all day. I thought they abducted you for science.”
She laughed, tired but lighthearted for the first time in days. “No, just treated me like a person for once.”
She showed him the slip. His eyes went wide. “With pay?!”
“Signed by the Alpha himself.”
He whistled. “You’re either the luckiest human alive or you’ve been blessed by the Goddess directly.”
“Don’t start,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Here— you need to give this to the supervisor tomorrow. I will just show my grandparents quickly as well.”
They went inside, and immediately, the smell of stew filled the air. Her grandmother was ladling food into bowls, humming again. “Ah, there she is! Look what the Goddess has done for you, my child!”
“Gran—”
“It’s her mercy,” the old woman insisted. “You see? When you do good, the Goddess returns it a hundredfold.”
Ferial sat down heavily, the fatigue catching up to her. “It wasn’t the Goddess, Gran. It was a wolf. The same ones who keep us locked in this district, who decide what we eat and how we live.”
Her grandmother’s smile faltered. “Ferial, don’t speak that way.”
“It’s true! They step into our lives once, hand out food and medicine, and everyone calls it mercy. But it’s control. They don’t even let us enter their temples, Gran. The same Goddess you pray to—they claim her as theirs alone.”
Her grandmother went silent, hurt clouding her face. She excused herself quietly and disappeared into the bedroom.
The air grew heavy. Abdie glanced away.
Her grandfather finally spoke, his deep voice breaking the tension. “You’re not wrong, Ferial. But you’re not entirely right either.”
She looked at him. “What do you mean?”
He leaned back, folding his hands. “The wolves see things differently. To them, the Goddess gave them a gift we cannot understand—the bond of mates. It ties their souls together, life and death, pain and joy. That bond is their temple.”
He paused, his eyes distant.
“Humans fear it because we envy it. Because the Goddess never gave it to us. And so, the wolves believe they are her chosen.”
Ferial frowned. “Chosen or not, it doesn’t give them the right to treat us like less.”
Her grandfather nodded slowly. “No, it doesn’t. But remember, child… even the chosen can fall. And sometimes, the Goddess works through strange hands—wolf or human alike.”
His words lingered long after they finished their meal.
Ferial sat by the window that night, watching the lights fade across the district. The slip of paper with the Alpha’s insignia lay beside her, glowing faintly under the moonlight.
She traced her fingers over it and wondered what it meant—this attention, this strange mercy from a creature who was supposed to see her as nothing.
Somewhere deep inside, something stirred again.
Something she didn’t have a name for.
Something that frightened her as much as it fascinated her.