The door to my recovery room burst open, startling me from my half-sleep. Prince Dane strode in, his presence filling the small space. Behind him, Kaelen watched vigilantly, his amber eyes scanning the room before he closed the door.
"You're coming with me," Dane said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."
I struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through my bandaged wounds. "Why?"
"Because you're not safe here." He moved closer, his blue eyes intense. "The 'rogues' who attacked you weren't random. They were mercenaries."
Before I could respond, the door swung open again. Beckham stood there, his face darkening as he took in the scene.
"What's going on here?" he demanded, his Alpha aura flaring.
Dane didn't flinch. Instead, he straightened to his full height, meeting Beckham's gaze directly. "I'm taking her to my quarters for questioning regarding the rogue attack."
"That's not necessary," Beckham growled. "She's my responsibility."
"Is she?" Dane's voice was dangerously soft. "The woman who was left to die by rogues on your territory? The woman whose wounds suggest silver poisoning?"
Beckham's jaw tightened. "I'm handling it."
"You've had three years to handle it," Dane countered. "As a Lycan Prince, I'm invoking my right to investigate security breaches that threaten multiple territories."
Kaelen stepped forward. "The Prince's authority supersedes yours in matters of inter-pack security, Alpha Williams."
I watched the power struggle unfold before me, my heart hammering against my ribs. Beckham couldn't refuse a direct order from Lycan royalty without risking war.
"This is ridiculous," Beckham finally said, but his tone had changed. He knew he'd lost.
"Have her belongings moved to my suite immediately," Dane ordered. "She leaves with me now."
---
The Prince's temporary quarters were in the west wing of the pack house—a spacious suite with large windows overlooking the forest. As soon as the door closed behind us, I collapsed onto the couch, the adrenaline draining from my body.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice breaking.
Dane knelt before me, his expression softening. "You don't have to thank me. You should rest."
But instead of relief, I felt something inside me crack. Three years of pain, betrayal, and loneliness crashed over me in waves. Before I could stop it, a sob tore from my throat.
"I thought I was going to die out there," I confessed, my shoulders shaking. "And no one would even care."
Dane didn't touch me—he seemed to understand I couldn't bear that yet—but he remained close, a steady presence as I broke apart.
"I care," he said simply.
Those two words, spoken with such quiet conviction, were the first kindness I'd received in years.
---
Over the next week, I began to regain my strength under Kaelen's watchful eye. Each morning, we trained in a private courtyard behind Dane's quarters. Each afternoon, I told Dane more about my past—about the training journals I'd kept since childhood.
"They were my life's work," I explained, pacing the length of his study. "Strategies, observations, tactical analyses—everything I'd learned about pack warfare and defense."
"And Delilah stole them all?" Dane asked, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"Yes." I stopped pacing, suddenly exhausted. "She used my own knowledge to become his trusted advisor."
Dane nodded slowly. "The mercenary group that attacked you—they're not typical rogues. They're organized, well-funded, and known for taking bribes from corrupt Alphas."
My breath caught. "You think Beckham hired them?"
"I think," Dane said carefully, "that your former mate is compromising pack security to maintain power. And he's willing to sacrifice anyone who threatens that power—including you."
The realization hit me like a physical blow. It wasn't just personal betrayal anymore. Beckham had endangered the entire pack.
---
"Again," Kaelen commanded, circling me in the training ring. "Your reflexes are still too slow."
I gritted my teeth, pushing myself up from the ground. Two weeks of training had strengthened my body, but the silver damage remained—a constant ache in my bones.
"I can't," I gasped, my muscles trembling.
"You can," Kaelen insisted. "Your wolf is stronger than you know."
Something in his words—the certainty, perhaps—ignited a spark of frustration in me. I'd been told I was weak for so long. First by Beckham, then by Delilah, then by my own reflection in the mirror.
"I'm tired of being weak," I snarled, lunging forward.
Kaelen blocked my attack effortlessly, but I didn't stop. I kept coming, again and again, my movements fueled by years of rage and helplessness.
"Let go," he urged as I stumbled. "Stop fighting against yourself."
Something inside me snapped—not in defeat, but in liberation. Heat flooded my veins, and a roar tore from my throat.
The transformation took me by surprise. My bones cracked and reformed, my skin stretched and changed. Instead of the small, brown wolf I'd always shifted into before, a massive silver creature emerged.
I threw back my head and howled—a sound so powerful it shook the foundations of the guest house. The windows rattled, and distant voices shouted in alarm.
Kaelen stepped back, awe written across his face. "A silver Lycan," he breathed. "The rarest of all wolf strains."
My howl echoed across the territory, carrying a message to every wolf who heard it: the "defective" she-wolf was anything but weak.
