Chapter 7
581words
"Why didn't you tell anyone?" I asked, alarmed by the severity of the injury.
"The pack needs to see their Alpha as strong," he said simply. "Especially now, with Victor watching for any sign of weakness."
Silver wounds were dangerous for werewolves—they resisted natural healing and could fester if left untreated. This one was deep, the poison clearly spreading through his veins in dark lines.
"Let me help," I said, reaching toward the wound.
He caught my wrist. "No. You were drained yesterday after healing that young wolf. I won't risk your health."
"I'm stronger than I look," I insisted, pulling my hand free. "Trust me."
His eyes searched mine for a long moment before he nodded. "I trust you."
I placed my palm gently over the wound, calling to Silver. The familiar warmth spread through me, silver light glowing beneath my fingers. I focused on knitting the damaged tissue, drawing out the silver poison.
The healing took longer than I expected. The wound was deep, the silver having penetrated close to vital organs. By the time I finished, my vision was blurring, my legs unsteady.
"Lena?" Derek's voice sounded distant. "Lena!"
I felt myself falling, then strong arms catching me. The world went dark.
---
I drifted in and out of consciousness, catching fragments of reality. Cool cloth on my forehead. Whispered conversations. A warm hand holding mine.
"...pushed herself too far..."
"...never should have let her..."
"...won't leave her side..."
When I finally opened my eyes fully, the room was dim, lit only by a single lamp. Night had fallen. How long had I been unconscious?
A weight pressed against my hand. Derek sat in a chair beside the bed, his head resting on the edge of the mattress, his fingers intertwined with mine. He had fallen asleep watching over me.
I studied his face in the soft light. Without his usual guarded expression, he looked younger, vulnerable. There were dark circles under his eyes and—my heart tightened—dried tear tracks on his cheeks.
He had been crying. For me.
As if sensing my gaze, his eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he looked disoriented. Then his eyes found mine, and relief washed over his face.
"You're awake," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.
"How long was I out?" I asked.
"Three days." His grip on my hand tightened. "You nearly died, Lena. Your heart stopped twice."
I hadn't realized the healing had drained me so severely. "I'm sorry," I whispered.
"No." He shook his head fiercely. "I'm the one who should apologize. I should never have let you heal me."
"It was my choice."
"A choice that nearly killed you." His voice broke. "I thought I'd lost you. I can't—I can't lose anyone else I care about."
The raw pain in his voice made me reach out, touching his cheek. "What do you mean?"
He leaned into my touch, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, they were filled with a grief that matched my own.
"My father was murdered too," he said quietly. "Six months ago. That's why I returned to take over the pack."
"I'm so sorry," I whispered.
"The official story was that he died in a hunting accident. But I knew better." His jaw tightened. "There was silver in the wound. No accident."
"Do you know who did it?"
