Evelyn collapsed from exhaustion on the road leading to the healers’ hall before she ever truly reached it.
When consciousness returned, she found herself lying beneath pale stone arches carved with ancient moon sigils, the air heavy with the sharp scent of crushed herbs, purified moonwater, and burning incense meant to cleanse illness and poison from the body. For a long while she did not move, only staring upward at the carved ceiling as her mind slowly tried to remember how she had ended up there.
Her body felt as though it had been drained of strength, every breath carrying a faint sting in her chest, and when she finally turned her head, she realized she was alone in the recovery chamber. There was no attendant beside her, no healer waiting for her awakening, not even the faint presence of a warding guardian spirit that usually lingered in rooms meant for injured she-wolves.
Only silence remained.
Beyond the thick wooden door, voices drifted faintly through the corridor. They belonged to two apprentice healers who did not bother lowering their tones, as though they were certain the woman inside would not awaken or perhaps did not matter if she did.
“Lady Sterling only suffered a shallow wound, yet Alpha Whitmore summoned every available healer in the hall. I heard even the chief healer himself was instructed to prepare rare moon-salve so that no scar would remain.”
A soft laugh followed.
“And this one? The one who nearly drowned in the sacred spring?”
The first voice answered with undisguised contempt.
“She was simply handed over to us. Two apprentices, nothing more.”
A brief pause, then a tone filled with mockery.
“I passed by Lady Sterling’s chamber earlier. The Alpha was there the entire time, speaking to her through the mate bond, calling her ‘his wife’ again and again. Such devotion is rare even among chosen pairs.”
Evelyn’s fingers curled faintly against the edge of the stone bed, though she said nothing. A bitter taste rose slowly in her throat, not from the medicine still lingering in her body, but from memory.
How long had it been since she last ran a fever strong enough to shake her bones?
She could still remember it clearly. A winter moon had risen heavy and red that night, and she had fallen ill after returning from patrol. Her body had burned with fever, and Adrian had summoned three healers before dawn broke. He had stayed by her side until her breathing steadied, refusing even to rest his eyes, as though her suffering had been unbearable to him.
Back then, she had believed it was love.
Now she lay in a hall meant for healing, after nearly drowning, and there was not a single soul who had come for her.
The door opened without warning, and two apprentice healers stepped inside carrying shallow bowls of medicinal brew. The moment their eyes landed on her awake, one of them clicked her tongue in irritation.
“So you are awake,” she said coldly, as though Evelyn’s survival itself was an inconvenience.
Evelyn slowly pushed herself into a seated position, ignoring the heaviness in her limbs.
The second apprentice sneered openly. “What is there to pretend about anymore? You knowingly interfered in the bond of another, and yet you still act as though you are wronged. Lady Sterling and Alpha Whitmore already share an heir, and still you cling to him without shame.”
Evelyn lifted her gaze at last, her voice rough from exhaustion. “Who told you I was the one who interfered?”
The apprentice gave a short, derisive laugh, as though she had heard something foolish.
“No one needs to tell us,” she replied. “Lady Sterling is known within the healer families. She and Alpha Whitmore were bound long before you appeared. Everyone knows it. You are the one who inserted yourself into their bond.”
She tilted her head slightly, her expression sharpening with disdain.
“The Alpha calls her his mate openly, worries over her more than any Luna, and even commands that not a single scar be left upon her skin. Meanwhile, you—”
Her gaze swept over Evelyn’s pale, damp hair and trembling frame.
“You are left here, forgotten. Can you not see the difference?”
Evelyn said nothing more. She simply lowered her eyes, allowing the weight of those words to settle where it hurt most.
Then, without warning, one of the apprentices set down her bowl and retrieved a silver-tipped needle used for medicinal infusion. There was no scent test, no consultation with a senior healer, no proper ritual of verification. She simply stepped forward, seized Evelyn’s arm, and pressed the needle into her skin.
Pain flared instantly, sharp and invasive, but before Evelyn could pull away, her wrist was forced down again. The apprentice did not stop after the first insertion; instead, she continued puncturing the same area with deliberate repetition, as though venting resentment rather than administering treatment. Blood quickly marked Evelyn’s skin, staining the pale linens beneath her arm.
“This is what happens when you harm Lady Sterling,” the apprentice said flatly, her voice devoid of remorse. “A few needles will not kill you. Stop acting as though you are fragile.”
Only after several moments did she withdraw the instrument, leaving behind a bruised, bleeding arm before turning away as if nothing of consequence had occurred.
When the door closed behind them, the chamber fell silent once more.
Evelyn slowly lowered her gaze to her arm. The puncture marks were numerous and uneven, some already swelling beneath the skin. Blood continued to seep faintly from several points, staining her fingers when she touched them.
She reached for the small basin of water and cloth beside the bed, intending to stop the bleeding, but before she could even tear the fabric, her breath suddenly tightened.
It began as a pressure in her chest, as though something heavy had been placed upon her ribs. Then came the burning sensation in her throat, followed by a violent tightening that made each inhale feel jagged and incomplete.
An allergic reaction.
The realization came too late.
She reached weakly toward the call bell carved into the stone wall, but no response came. The chamber remained silent, untouched, as though she had been completely forgotten within it.
And then she remembered what the apprentice had said.
The healers had all been summoned to Lady Sterling’s chamber.
Evelyn’s vision began to blur at the edges. Her fingers trembled as she searched for anything, any connection, any thread through the mate bond that might reach him. But even that felt distant, as though something had been placed between them, dulling the connection she once trusted without question.
In desperation, she reached for the only thing left within reach of her fading strength and pulled out the communication stone inscribed with Adrian’s name. It was an old artifact used among high-ranking packs when distance separated bonded mates, allowing voice and presence to be carried through the spiritual thread of the bond.
Her hands shook as she activated it.
The response was almost immediate.
A faint connection formed, and for a moment hope flickered inside her chest.
“Adrian…” she tried to speak, but her voice broke before the word could fully form.
Then, before she could say anything more, the connection wavered.
A soft sound followed, distant and indifferent.
And then silence.
The link was severed.
Evelyn’s fingers went slack.
The stone slipped from her grasp and struck the floor with a dull sound.
Her vision dimmed rapidly, the chamber fading as though even the moonlight carving on the ceiling were being swallowed by darkness. The last thing she saw, faint and distant, was not a healer rushing in, not her mate’s face, but the cold emptiness of a failed bond connection disappearing into nothingness.
And then she fell into complete darkness.
