Chapter 6

“You’re bleeding.”

Wren stared down at her hand in surprise. She’d been so absorbed in grinding herbs—following her aunt’s recipe for a fever-reducing tonic—that she hadn’t noticed the mortar’s edge slice into her palm.

“It’s nothing,” she said, even as blood dripped onto the worktable. “I’ve had worse.”

Cain appeared at her side, his expression unreadable. He’d been lingering in the doorway of the workshop for the past hour, watching her work without saying a word. It should have been unnerving—it was unnerving—but Wren had been too focused to tell him to leave.

Now he reached for her hand without asking, his grip firm but surprisingly gentle.

“You don’t have to—” she started.

“Be quiet.”

He pulled a clean cloth from his pocket—because apparently cruel Alphas carried clean cloths—and pressed it against the wound. His hands were enormous compared to hers, rough with calluses and old scars, but his touch was careful. Almost tender.

“You should be more careful,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“I’m a healer. I can fix a cut.”

“Can you?” He looked up then, and something in his silver gaze made her breath catch. “Have you tried?”

Wren hesitated. She’d been so focused on learning to heal others that she’d never thought about healing herself. According to her aunt’s journals, it was possible—but dangerous. Using the gift on oneself required a level of self-love that most healers struggled to achieve.

“No,” she admitted. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Then let me.” He wrapped the cloth around her palm, his fingers deft and sure. “There. Keep pressure on it.”

She stared at him, thrown off balance by this version of Cain. This wasn’t the cold Alpha who’d claimed her like property or the terrifying predator who’d nearly strangled Mara. This was something else entirely.

“Why are you being nice to me?” The words came out before she could stop them.

“I’m not being nice.” He stepped back, his walls visibly going up again. “I’m protecting an asset.”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

His jaw tightened. “Watch your tongue.”

“Why? What are you going to do, hit me?” Wren lifted her chin, something reckless building in her chest. “I’ve been hit before. By wolves bigger than you. I’m still here.”

For a long moment, Cain just stared at her. The silence stretched taut between them, charged with something Wren didn’t want to name.

Then: “I would never hit you.”

It wasn’t what she expected. The certainty in his voice, the quiet intensity—it knocked the breath out of her.

“Why not?” she heard herself ask. “I’m nothing to you.”

“You’re not nothing.” He moved closer, and Wren found herself frozen in place, unable to retreat. “You’re the woman who’s going to save my sister. The last of an ancient line. The bravest, most infuriating creature I’ve ever met.” His voice dropped lower. “You’re not nothing, Wren Ashford. You never were.”

Her heart was hammering so loudly she was sure he could hear it. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you survived five years in a pack that wanted you dead. I know you kept your gift hidden even when revealing it might have saved you from abuse. I know you came here expecting to hate everyone, and instead you’re in this workshop at midnight trying to find a cure for a woman you met three days ago.” He was so close now she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “I know more than you think.”

“That’s not—” Wren’s voice cracked. “That’s survival. That’s not—”

“That’s you.” He lifted his hand, hesitated, then—so gently it made her ache—brushed a strand of hair from her face. “The survivor. The fighter. The healer who refuses to heal herself because she doesn’t think she’s worth saving.”

Tears burned in Wren’s eyes. She blinked them back furiously. “You don’t get to—”

“I know.” He pulled back, and the loss of his warmth was startling. “I don’t get to tell you what you’re worth. Only you can decide that.” He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the frame. “But for what it’s worth—I’m glad you’re here. Not just because of Sera.”

He left before she could respond.

Wren stood alone in the workshop, her bandaged hand throbbing, her heart doing something complicated in her chest. She looked down at the herbs she’d been grinding—the beginning of a tonic that might help Sera.

Then she looked at the door Cain had walked through.

You’re not nothing, Wren Ashford. You never were.

She’d spent five years believing she was. Five years convincing herself that her life didn’t matter, that she was just waiting to escape or die. And in five minutes, Cain Voss had made her question everything.

Damn him, she thought, even as something warm unfurled in her chest. Damn him for making me feel.

She went back to work, but her hands were shaking—and it had nothing to do with the cut on her palm.

It was nearly dawn when Wren finally left the workshop, her eyes gritty with exhaustion but her mind buzzing. She’d made progress—real progress. The tonic was ready to test, and she’d figured out the missing component in her aunt’s notes.

Emotional connection.

Her aunt had theorized that the curse attacking Sera couldn’t be healed through medicine alone. It required a healer’s touch—but not just any touch. The healer had to genuinely care about the patient. The magic wouldn’t work otherwise.

Which meant Wren had to let herself care about Sera.

She was still thinking about this when she rounded the corner toward the pack house and walked straight into chaos.

Wolves were everywhere—running, shouting, gathering weapons. In the center of the courtyard, Cain stood issuing orders in a voice like thunder, his entire demeanor transformed from the gentle man who’d bandaged her hand into the deadly Alpha she’d first met.

“What’s happening?” she demanded, grabbing the arm of a passing warrior.

The man looked at her with wild eyes. “Scouts spotted a war party at the eastern border. They’re carrying the banner of the Shadow Fang pack.”

Wren’s blood turned to ice.

Shadow Fang.

The pack that had massacred her family.

And leading the war party, according to the breathless scout who’d just arrived, was their new Alpha—a wolf named Vorik.

A wolf who, if the rumors were true, had been searching for the last Ashford healer for years.

And somehow, he’d found her.