The Alpha's Silver Wounds

POV: Selah

Just as I braced myself for the raw surge of power to consume my mind and body, my inner wolf abruptly went dead silent once again. The blazing heat in my veins vanished. The coarse white fur receded back into my skin, leaving behind nothing but the hollow ache of my dormant beast. She retreated into the dark recesses of my soul, locking herself away just as fast as she had awakened.

I collapsed onto my knees on the cold pavement, gasping for breath as the rain soaked through my clothes. I stared down at the dying werewolf sprawled before me. Horrifying black veins of lethal silver poisoning crawled outward from his deep bullet wounds, creeping dangerously across his broad chest.

Every rational survival instinct screamed at me to walk away. I needed to leave this mess behind, especially tonight of all nights. But some foolish, lingering sense of healer's responsibility rooted me firmly in place.

"You better be worth this," I muttered under my breath, my voice laced with frustration.

Leaving his unconscious, groaning attackers behind on the wet street, I painstakingly hauled his massive dead weight onto the back of my motorcycle. His boots dragged heavily across the asphalt. Getting him onto the bike took every ounce of strength I possessed. I strapped his heavy arms tightly around my waist, trying to balance us both as I revved the engine.

Navigating the shadows of the empty streets, I smuggled him directly into Portland University's advanced medical lab. As a dedicated medical student, I frequently used this quiet, empty facility during odd, late-night hours for my secret, off-the-books research. I spent my nights desperately trying to understand the exact biological mechanics of why my wolf had been suppressed for the last three years.

Grunting with exertion, my muscles burning from the effort, I heaved his muscular frame onto the cold steel examination table.

The silver poisoning was aggressively advanced, the toxic black webbing inching terrifyingly close to his heart. I readied my custom-sterilized surgical tools—forceps, scalpels, and a neutralizing solution.

Just as I picked up the scalpel, the man's eyes snapped open.

They blazed with a fierce, electric blue intensity. Moving with blinding speed that defied his severe injuries, his large hand shot out. His thick fingers clamped firmly around my throat in a crushing, suffocating grip. He pinned me against the edge of the steel table.

"Who are you?" he growled, his voice vibrating with lethal authority. "Why did you bring me here?"

Despite the terrifying restriction of my windpipe and the immediate threat to my life, I forced myself to maintain a perfectly cool, detached expression.

"Not interested in dying? Then let go," I choked out, keeping my gaze entirely steady. "Silver bullets are actively killing you right now, and I'm the only one in this room who can get them out."

He sneered. His thick fingers tightened momentarily around my neck. "Why the hell should I trust you, a wolf with barely any scent?"

The casual insult stung sharply. It was a bitter, unavoidable reminder of my dormant, broken wolf, but I expertly masked my sudden irritation behind a wall of professionalism.

"If I genuinely wanted you dead, I would have left you bleeding out on that road," I reasoned, my voice flat. "You're bleeding all over my sterile lab, and I'd really rather not have to explain a dead werewolf to campus security in the morning."

Weighing my cold logic, he finally released his iron grip. He collapsed back onto the metal table, his chest heaving as a fresh wave of pain washed over him.

Drawing deeply on the extensive, secretive medical knowledge my grandmother had taught me back when I was still a respected part of the Moonmend Pack, I meticulously began to dig out the three deeply embedded silver bullets.

It was a brutal, bloody process. My forceps scraped against muscle and bone, searching for the jagged silver fragments in his torn flesh.

He endured the agonizing surgical procedure with silent, white-knuckled restraint. His jaw clenched so tightly I feared his teeth might shatter under the pressure. I pulled the first two bullets out, dropping the bloody silver lumps into a metal dish with a sharp clink. The third bullet was the worst. It rested perilously close to his heart.

The blinding pain of the highly delicate extraction finally broke his resolve. He passed out, his body going limp on the steel table.

Once I confirmed his vitals had stabilized and the terrifying black veins slowly began to recede from his skin, I let out a breath. I rummaged through his leather jacket, found his phone, and dialed his most frequent contact. The line picked up on the first ring.

"Boss, where are you? We've been searching for hours!" a frantic subordinate demanded.

"Your boss was shot in Portland," I informed him calmly and swiftly. "He is stable but unconscious. He is at Portland University's advanced medical lab."

I hung up immediately. As I slipped the sleek device back into his pocket, a heavy, gold-embossed business card slipped from his wallet and fluttered to the tile floor.

I leaned down and picked it up. The bold letters stared back at me.

*Kaelen Cross, CEO, Cross Enterprises. Alpha, Gorefang Pack.*

I froze entirely, my blood running ice cold in my veins.

He was the son of the Alpha King.

The traumatic memory of my exile slammed into my stomach like a physical blow. The sterile walls of the lab vanished, replaced by the dark oak of the Pack Council chamber. I saw my sister Blair’s tearful, flawlessly fabricated accusations, claiming I had viciously attacked a human. I saw my mother’s cold, unhesitating disownment, turning her back on her own flesh and blood.

And standing in the shadows of the chamber, watching impassively as they brutally stripped me of my territory rights and pack protection, was Kaelen Cross.

Hot fury and bitter resentment rose like bile in my throat, choking me worse than his hand had minutes ago. Of all the werewolves to save tonight, it had to be him. I had just risked my cover and my safety to save the life of the man who stood by and watched my entire world fall apart.

In the distance, the heavy hum of approaching car engines broke through the silence of the damp night. His pack was arriving.

I snapped back to reality. Moving with frantic precision, I quickly gathered my bloodied tools. I scrubbed the metal table and erased all physical evidence of my werewolf-related research from the lab, packing my serums into my bag.

Before slipping away unnoticed through the service exit, I paused at the heavy lab doors. I looked at his unconscious, powerful form lying on the steel table one last time.

Why was it he who woke up my wolf?