Danae’s POV
The door swung open on a quiet hinge, and a nurse stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the room with the practiced economy of someone trained to read tension without naming it.
“Everything okay in here?” she asked, moving toward my bed with cautious, measured steps.
The shift in Galen was instantaneous and nauseating.
The wild grief in his face smoothed away like a palm wiped across wet clay, leaving behind the composed mask of a concerned fiancé.
I watched it happen from three feet away and felt something cold settle in my chest.
That mask had never slipped before—not once in five years.
Now I couldn’t stop seeing it.
“I was just leaving,” he said, his voice perfectly controlled.
At the door he paused, one hand on the frame.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, the words low, almost private.
“I’m in so much pain.”
For one treacherous second, the old reflexes fired.
I knew what the rejection ritual cost a werewolf—I’d looked it up in a bleak spiral of research three days ago.
Physical agony, the books said.
Like something essential being torn loose.
Then I remembered the folder in his desk.
The photographs.
Elric’s face tilted up at Galen, adoring.
My chest hardened like cooling iron.
The door clicked shut, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
My hands trembled against the thin hospital blanket, and I pressed them flat to make them stop.
“Are you alright, miss?” The nurse checked my IV line, glanced at the monitor.
“Yes.” The lie came out smooth and reflexive.
“Just a disagreement.”
She nodded with a professional neutrality that told me she didn’t believe a word of it, and I was grateful she didn’t press. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
“Your vitals look good.
The doctor will be pleased—the food poisoning wasn’t as severe as initially feared.”
Food poisoning.
The official story.
I wanted to laugh, but I was afraid of what sound might actually come out.
“When can I leave?”
“The doctor should discharge you today.” She made a note on my chart.
“You’re quite lucky, Ms.
Ashgrave.
You’ll be able to resume your normal life.”
Normal life.
After she left, Eirwen dropped into the chair beside my bed, all the careful composure she’d maintained in front of Galen finally crumbling.
Her face was pale, her dark-rimmed eyes wide.
“That was terrifying,” she whispered.
“His eyes.
I’ve never seen him look like that.”
“Neither have I.” My voice shook more than I wanted it to.
“But it’s done now.
I’ve formally rejected him.”
She reached for my hand and held it tight, saying nothing for a moment—the specific silence of someone who understands that some things can’t be made better, only witnessed.
“What will you do?” she asked finally.
“You can’t go back to the apartment.”
I hadn’t let myself think that far.
The wedding preparations had bled my savings dry, and the last of what remained had gone to last night’s ill-fated drinks—my attempt to drink myself into something that felt like courage.
The rental deposit was in Galen’s name.
I owned almost nothing in that apartment, it turned out.
A wardrobe full of clothes he’d bought, a coffee mug I’d brought from my old place, a half-read novel on the nightstand.
“Maybe my parents’?” I said, with little conviction.
“He’ll look for you there first.
And I don’t want to pull them into werewolf drama.” She squeezed my fingers.
“You can stay with me.
It’s not a question.”
The relief that flooded through me was almost painful.
“Are you sure?
I don’t want to drag you any further into this.”
A smile ghosted across her battered face.
“Too late.
I’m already in it up to my neck.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug that was so very Eirwen I felt my eyes sting.
“Besides, what are friends for?”
I couldn’t answer.
I just held on.
Three days later, Eirwen’s voice cut through the fog of sleep like a blade through silk.
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!”
I groaned and dragged the pillow over my head, burrowing deeper into the guest bed.
The sheets smelled like her lavender detergent, and for a moment I considered never leaving.
“Go away.
It’s too early.”
“It’s eleven-thirty.” The pillow was tugged mercilessly from my grip.
“And you’ve been in this apartment for three days straight.
It’s time to rejoin the living.”
I cracked one eye open.
Eirwen stood over me in a purple blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans, her short curls styled, her bruised cheekbone half-hidden under light makeup.
She looked infuriatingly put-together.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
“Because we’re going out.” She moved to the window and threw open the curtains.
Sunlight detonated into the room, and I flinched back like a creature of the deep.
“I don’t want to go out,” I said, pushing myself upright against my better instincts.
“And if we run into Galen?
Or anyone from the Ashmoon Pack?”