The snarls of the pursuing wolves were so close Kimberly could feel the heat of their breath on her hindquarters. Her muscles screamed in protest, her energy spent. This was it. She was cornered, with no hope left.
I'm not going to make it.
A wave of despair washed over her, certain that the next second would bring teeth sinking into her neck.
But it didn't.
Instead, a figure materialized from the trees ahead—a blur of motion so fast it was barely more than a shadow. And then, a thick, unnatural fog erupted from the ground, swallowing the forest whole in a matter of seconds. Visibility dropped to zero, the snarls of the wolves turning to confused yelps of frustration.
Seizing the miracle, Kimberly's wolf didn't question it. She changed direction on instinct, her paws finding a familiar path as she poured the last of her strength into a sprint straight for home.
---
Her gait was a limping, painful stumble as she approached the hospital's rear entrance. The majestic wolf was gone, replaced by a battered woman barely staying upright. Doctor Mike, as if sensing her arrival, was already there, his face a mask of professional concern. Without a word, he threw a heavy cloak over her trembling shoulders.
The moment the fabric touched her skin, she let the transformation go. She stood on human feet, gripping the cloak tightly around herself. Fresh blood began to seep through the material from the claw marks on her back and leg.
"Let me get you inside. You need stitches, Kimberly," Mike said, his voice low and urgent.
She shook her head, wincing with the movement. "Don't worry. They'll heal." Her tone left no room for argument. She pushed past him, her focus singular.
She barely registered the busy hallways of the hospital until she saw him. Tyler. Leaning against a wall, alive. Relief, sharp and sweet, cut through her pain. He was a mess of bandages, one wrapped around his ribs and another on his thigh, and he wore nothing but his underwear, seemingly oblivious to the impropriety.
Her eyes, drawn to the heavy bandaging on his leg, locked onto his thighs. "What are you looking at?" he grumbled, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
A tired, almost amused smirk touched her lips. "They were determined to make you a cripple, you know?" Without waiting for a reply, she moved on, her destination clear: Abigail's room.
---
"This is not a choice I can allow you to make." The voice's warmth vanished, replaced by an immutable, cold will. "You are needed. Now… get her out of here."
"No! No, please, don't make me go back!" Abigail pleaded, but her protest was swallowed by the void.
The next sensation was a harsh, sterile light against her eyelids. A rhythmic, electronic beeping sounded in her ears. Her throat felt raw, her body heavy as lead. With a monumental effort, she pried her eyes open. The world was a blur of bright lights and bleary shapes. Her hand, clumsy and weak, rose to her face and fumbled with the plastic oxygen mask, pulling it away.
Blinking slowly, her vision cleared. Tubes were taped to her arm. And then she saw her. Sitting in a chair beside the bed, draped in a dark cloak, was Luna Kimberly.
A tear traced a path down Abigail's temple into her hairline. Kimberly leaned forward, her own eyes shimmering, and gathered the girl into a gentle, fierce hug.
"I am so glad you're back, my darling," Kimberly whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Abigail could only cry, her body trembling. The rejection and torture she expected were replaced by this… this unconditional love. In that moment, she realized the voice was right. There was something worth returning for.
But a new question echoed in her mind: Who was the voice?
---
Elsewhere in the palace, Isabella stared down at the sleeping Alpha. Byron's powerful form was still, his handsome face peaceful in repose. He was everything she had ever wanted—strong, powerful, a true leader. A mate to be proud of.
Driven by a desire she could no longer suppress, she leaned down, her lips inches from his.
A hand of iron snapped up and locked around her throat.
"How dare you?" Byron's voice was a low, dangerous boom, his eyes wide open and blazing with fury. He didn't give her a chance to explain. With a strength that belied his long inactivity, he hurled her across the room.
She landed in a heap against the wall with a pained grunt, scrambling to her feet and fleeing before his rage could fully manifest.
Byron swung his legs over the side of the bed, his head spinning. How long had he been out? His hand went to his pocket for his phone. Empty. He yanked open the bedside drawer, finding it there. The screen lit up: 5:30 PM. He'd lost five hours.
---
Later, after a full battery of tests confirmed she was perfectly healthy, Abigail was discharged. Kimberly's personal guards drove her back to the mansion. Kimberly herself stayed behind, mentioning something about needing groceries.
As soon as the car pulled away, Abigail asked the guards at the gate if she could walk the grounds for some fresh air. They nodded, and she made her way to the garden. It was a sanctuary of calm, the air sweet with the scent of blooming flowers. She knelt, inhaling deeply, letting the peace soothe her ragged nerves.
She never heard the footsteps behind her.
"Hey! This is great. You're awake."
The voice made her jump. She sprang to her feet, spinning around to find Tyler standing there. He was smiling, but she could see the pain behind it in the tightness around his eyes, the way he favored his bandaged leg.
"I… I…" she stammered, her mind blanking.
"How are you?" he asked, his voice softer now.
"I'm fine," she managed, wrapping her arms around herself. "I appreciate your concern." The air was awkward, thick with unspoken history.
"I came to give you something," he said, cutting through the tension. He held out a folded white piece of paper. "Something you'll need."
Before she could ask what it was, he pressed it into her hand. "It's a cheque. Ten million dollars. Don't try to reject it."
Abigail stared at the paper, then up at him, utterly bewildered. "Why?"
"You'll know," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He turned and left before she could form another word, disappearing into the twilight.
She looked down at the cheque, a slip of paper that represented a freedom she'd never dreamed of. Unsure of what it truly meant, but feeling its immense weight, she carefully tucked it into her pocket. Her future, once so certain and bleak, was now a wide-open question.
---
Elsewhere, Isabella slammed the door to her room, seething. Every part of her ached from Byron's throw, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the humiliation. He had never loved her. He had kept her around like a pet, a convenient ornament.
She stared at her reflection in the dark window, her eyes hardening into chips of ice. A new plan, cold and vicious, forged in her heart.
If she couldn't have his love, she would take his power. She would take everything. She would make the royal family pay.She would start by eliminating the ones he loved most, the ones who gave him strength.
And then, the pack would be hers.