Pain yanked me awake before I even opened my eyes.
My shoulder was the first to complain—a deep, throbbing pulse that matched my heartbeat, leaking outward until my whole body felt flayed raw.
I only noticed things in pieces.
Cool sheets on my skin.
A sharp whiff of antiseptic.
The low, steady hum of a machine nearby.
I pried my eyes open and blinked.
The ceiling was wrong.
No wooden beams like the Redthorn pack house, no trees above me like I’d expected—just white plaster, a lazy ceiling fan, sunlight slicing through unfamiliar blinds and laying golden stripes on the wall.
I’m alive.
The thought landed weird, hollow, like it belonged to someone else.
Honestly, I’d already made my peace on that border, figured I’d die under a rogue’s teeth while my pack walked away without a backward glance.
Waking up felt like the universe had bungled something.
I tried to sit up.
Stupid idea.
Pain shot through my shoulder like fire.
I barely got a gasp out before a cool, steady hand pressed me gently back down.
“Don’t,” said a woman, calm as you please.
“You’ll tear the stitches.
Again.” Again.
I turned my head and saw her.
Mid-fifties, dark hair, a white coat that probably cost more than everything I owned, and reading glasses shoved into her hair.
Her eyes said she’d seen worse before, stitched it up, and slept just fine that night.
“Where—?” My throat scraped like sand.
She grabbed a glass and brought the straw to my lips, not waiting for me to ask.
I drank.
Honestly, I was too wiped out to be suspicious yet.
“You’re in Vitale territory,” she said, watching me.
“I’m Dr.
Voss.
You’ve been out for two days.
You lost a lot of blood, and whatever tore into you left more than an ordinary infection behind.
You’re lucky to still be breathing.” Vitale territory.
That meant nothing.
Never heard of any pack with that name.
And the way she said it—flat, almost bored, like she was naming a city instead of a pack—set my nerves to humming.
“I need to reach my sister,” I blurted out.
My voice cracked.
“Nova.
She’s at Redthorn.
She doesn’t know if I’m—” “You’re not calling anyone.” A man’s voice, straight from the doorway.
I hadn’t heard the door open.
My wolf—what little of her still lingered, weak and sleepy under the silver working out of my system—should have caught his scent.
She didn’t even twitch.
That scared me more than the pain.
He leaned in the doorway like he owned the whole building, and I’d learn soon enough he pretty much did.
Dark hair, darker eyes, sleeves rolled up on a black shirt—a guy who didn’t waste time on details that didn’t matter.
I recognized his eyes right away; they were the same ones that hovered over me in the blood and moonlight, two nights ago, studying me like a half-finished riddle.
“You,” I said.
“Me,” he replied, without moving.
“You’re welcome, by the way.
For saving you from being rogue chow.” “Who are you?” “Adrian Vitale.” He said it like saying the time.
Dr.
Voss straightened up just hearing his name, almost like a soldier coming to attention.
“This is my territory.
My men found you bleeding out, not even on my side of the border, wearing what was left of a ceremonial dress, and silver burns on both wrists.” I said nothing.
My wrists throbbed beneath their bandages—a fresh reminder of how I’d earned them.
“So.
Someone ties you up, dumps you in enemy territory, leaves you for dead.
Literally,” he added, voice bone-dry.
“You want to tell me why I should care what happens to you now?” Most people would be scared hearing that.
Instead, something inside me—a tiny, furious piece that spent two days asleep and most of two years pretending patience was a virtue—finally snapped.
“You shouldn’t,” I said flatly.
“You don’t owe me anything.
Stitch me up, toss me back to whoever wants me, or just leave me on the border.
I honestly don’t care anymore.” There was something—surprise maybe—flashing over his face for just a second before he masked it.
Dr.
Voss watched us like she was stuck in a chess game she didn’t know the rules for.
“That’s an interesting answer,” Adrian said quietly.
“From a Luna.” My blood went icy.
“I’m not a Luna.” “You were dressed like one.” He studied me, intent, cataloging every detail.
“Silver burns from pack rope, not enemy cuffs.
That’s punishment, not a kidnapping.
Your own people did this.” I stayed quiet.
I couldn’t trust my voice not to shake.
“So here’s what I really want to know.” He crossed to the foot of my bed, close now.
He didn’t look soft, or kind, or even particularly interested in mercy—just cold, focused, in a way that made me feel like prey.
“What does a pack do to their Luna to make her beg strangers not to send her back?” The question landed hard, right where it hurt the most.
My eyes burned and I hated that they did.
I blinked against it.
“They rejected me,” I finally forced out.
I didn’t have the energy to lie.
“In front of everyone.
Then they sent me here—quietly—to get rid of the problem.” The room went silent.
Even Dr.
Voss went still.
“Rejected you,” Adrian repeated, like tasting the words.
Something tightened in his jaw.
Not sympathy, really, just interest.
Dangerous, calculated interest—the kind you get when a man finds something valuable everyone else missed.
“Yeah,” I sighed, bitterness crowding out everything else.
“Congrats.
You saved the pack’s garbage.” He considered me for a long moment, his gaze sharp, shifting—like he was seeing the pieces and liking what he saw.
“I don’t think that’s what I saved,” he said, voice quiet.
Before I could ask what he meant, the door banged open.
A younger man in a suit barreled in, breathless, rattled in a way that shot warning signals across my skin.
“Adrian.” He glanced at me, then back at his boss.
“We’ve got a problem.
Word’s out we’re sheltering a wolf.
Moretti’s people are asking questions at the border.” Adrian didn’t flinch or look away, even as his whole presence went razor-sharp.
“Let them ask,” he murmured.
Then, turning that focus on me again, voice low enough to make the room feel suddenly much too small: “Looks like you’re about to get a lot more interesting than either of us expected.”