Kael ~
The truck's engine growls under me, a rough echo of the storm in my chest. Elyse slumps in the passenger seat, her breathing shallow, her face pale as moonlight against the worn leather. Her wildflower scent, faint beneath blood and fear, steadies Raze, but her fragility cuts me deep. She's my mate, the one I've sensed since I was a boy, now broken by Zane's world. I grip the wheel, knuckles white, the mountain road blurring as I push the gas, racing toward Ironfang's castle.
Her eyelids flutter, and my heart jolts. Her hazel eyes open, glassy, unfocused, searching the dark cab. "Where…" she whispers, her voice cracked, barely audible over the engine's roar. Her hands twitch, grasping at nothing—safety, maybe, or escape. Before I can speak, her eyes roll back, and she collapses again, her head thudding softly against the window. She's too weak, too lost in pain and confusion.
"Hold on, Elyse," I mutter, my voice rough, flooring the pedal. Raze whines in my skull, urging me to protect her, and for once, we're aligned.
The castle rises ahead, its stone walls and iron gates a bulwark against the night. I screech into the courtyard, gravel crunching, and scoop Elyse into my arms. She's light, too light, her body trembling even in unconsciousness. Her tattered dress, stained with blood and grime, clings to her, and rage burns my throat. Zane's men did this, and Torren—his scent on her, tainted with filth—makes Raze snarl. I'll tear them apart if they come near her again.
My mother's at the door, her gray hair pulled back, her blue eyes sharp with concern. A retired matron, she spent decades patching up our pack, her hands steady despite her years.
"Kael, what's this?" she asks, eyeing Elyse's bruises, her matted hair. Her voice is calm, but I catch the worry—she's seen my rage before, braced for it now.
"My mate," I say, the word heavy, raw, like a vow I didn't know I'd make. "She's hurt, Mom. Help her."
Mom's eyes widen, a spark of hope cutting through her concern. "Your mate?" she repeats, stepping aside. "Bring her in. Now."
I carry Elyse into the great hall, firelight flickering on stone walls, the air warm with cedar and fresh bread. She stirs, her eyes half-opening, unfocused, her breath hitching like she's fighting to stay conscious. I lay her on a velvet couch, careful not to jar her, and she curls into herself, her hands trembling.
Mom kneels beside her, pulling out her first-aid kit. "Hold still, dear," she murmurs, her voice soft as she cleans a gash on Elyse's arm with antiseptic. Elyse flinches, her eyes fluttering, too weak to resist. Mom's hands are practiced, swabbing cuts, wrapping bruises with gauze, her face set with the calm of someone who's stitched up worse.
"She's dehydrated, malnourished," Mom says, glancing at me. "Needs a doctor, Kael."
I nod, yanking out my phone to call Dr. Varn, the pack's physician. "Get here now," I growl. "Main hall, bring a nurse." I hang up, my focus on Elyse. Her breathing's steadier, but her pallor makes my chest ache. She's a fighter, but she's hanging by a thread.
Mara slips in, her brown curls bouncing, her blue eyes softening at Elyse's state. "Gods, Kael," she whispers, kneeling beside Mom. "Hey, I'm Mara," she says to Elyse, her voice gentle, like coaxing a scared animal. "You're safe here, I promise. No one's gonna hurt you."
Elyse's gaze flicks to Mara, wary, but she doesn't speak, just pulls her knees tighter, her hands shaking. I step back, giving them space, though Raze whines to stay close. Mara's good at this—easing fear, building trust. I'm too raw, my rage too close to the surface.
Dr. Varn arrives, a wiry man with graying hair, trailed by a nurse with a medical bag.
"Alpha Kael," Varn says, bowing his head, his tone thick with respect. "We're here. I've also got updates—hospital's short on supplies, and we've got new staff—"
"Not now," I snap, my voice a low growl, Raze's gold bleeding into my eyes. "Treat her, Varn, or I swear I'll rip your throat out." My fists clench, the air crackling with my anger.
Varn pales, nodding fast. "Yes, Alpha." He and the nurse move to Elyse, checking her pulse, starting an IV for fluids. The nurse, a young woman with steady hands, murmurs softly, but Elyse barely responds, her eyes distant, lost in a haze of pain. Varn stitches a deep cut on her shoulder, his movements precise, and checks for infection.
"She'll pull through," he says, meeting my gaze. "Rest, fluids, time. She's resilient."
"She better be," I mutter, my jaw tight. Mom finishes bandaging Elyse's arm, her eyes meeting mine with a silent plea: Stay calm. I nod, but Raze is pacing, itching to hunt Zane down.
When Varn and the nurse leave, Elyse is stable, her breathing even, though she's still barely conscious. I lift her gently, her weight a stark reminder of her fragility, and carry her upstairs to the room I've kept for my mate since I took the alpha mantle.
It's on the top floor, a sanctuary built for a hope I never thought I'd find. The door creaks open, revealing an elegant haven: polished oak floors gleam under a crystal chandelier, its prisms scattering soft light across cream walls. A four-poster bed, draped in deep blue silk, sits against a stone accent wall, flanked by velvet curtains framing mountain views. A fireplace glows, filling the air with cedar and amber, and a bookshelf holds leather-bound pack journals, their spines worn with history. A plush chaise by the window invites stargazing, the night sky a promise of peace.
I lay Elyse on the bed, tucking a blanket around her, and her faint sigh eases the knot in my chest. This room is hers now, a haven for the mate I'll die to protect.
I head downstairs to the dining hall, where Rowan and Mara are snacking, a spread of burgers and fries on the oak table. Rowan's munching, his sandy hair catching the firelight, his limp barely noticeable as he leans back. Mara's nibbling a fry, her eyes brightening as I enter.
"Kael! Food?" she asks, pushing a plate toward me.
I grab a burger, my agitation spiking, and squash it in my fist, the bun crumbling, sauce dripping.
"Not hungry," I growl, tossing it down.
Rowan raises a brow, smirking. "Easy, alpha. That burger didn't start the council's nonsense. Save your rage for Zane. Or at least aim for the fries next time—they're less innocent."
Mara snickers, nudging Rowan. "He's got a point, Kael. You're scaring the food. Also, you're terrible at sandwich-making, so maybe stick to smashing."
I snort, the tension easing for a heartbeat, and sit, forcing myself to breathe. "Fine. Talk, Rowan. What's the status?"
Mara and Mom exchange a glance, then slip out, leaving us at the dining table. Rowan leans forward, his tone serious.
"I held the fort while you were out saving your mate. Patrols are tight—doubled the northern perimeter, rotated the eastern scouts. Formations are solid, but we had a rogue sighting near the ridge. Nothing confirmed yet. Also, pack supplies are low—grain's delayed, and the hospital's whining about bandages."
"Good work," I say, rubbing my jaw. "But there's more. Torren's scent was on her, Rowan. He was at Zane's club. You smelled it too, didn't you?"
Rowan's eyes darken, his jaw tightening. "Yeah. Filthy bastard. I caught it when you carried her in. Zane's running something big—trafficking, maybe worse—and Torren's knee-deep in it."
"The council's circling," I growl, my fists clenching. "Torren's pushing to dethrone me, saying I attacked Zane's men unprovoked. We need proof to bury him."
Rowan nods, grabbing a fry. "Scouts are tracking Zane's dens. We'll find his operation, hit it hard. But Kael, the council's not waiting. They're planning a vote soon."
"Let them try," I say, my voice low, deadly. "We dig into Zane's network, expose Torren. No one touches her again."
Rowan claps my shoulder, his grin sly. "That's the spirit. Let's make some trouble, boss. Just don't squash the next burger—it's bad for morale."
I shake my head, a faint smirk breaking through. Elyse is upstairs, safe for now, her wildflower scent anchoring me. She's my salvation, my storm, and I'll burn the world down to keep her safe.