Chapter 2

Elara's POV

Multiple healers move between the beds, their green robes marking their status within the pack hierarchy. At the center of it all stands Healer Morrigan’s office, a glass-walled space that allows her to oversee everything and establishes her authority.

Leaving small drops of blood on the pristine white floors, I limp toward her door, my basket of hard-won herbs clutched tightly in my arms. Several healers glance my way, but no one offers assistance. They’re too busy with “proper” pack members.

Healer Morrigan looks up from her desk as I approach, her plump figure draped in the finest green robes to mark her position. Her warm brown eyes—the kind that crinkle at the corners when she smiles at other pack members—regard me with obvious displeasure. Her graying hair is pulled back in a neat bun. Normally, her round face would be welcoming, but when she looks at me now, all the compassion drains from her expression.

“You’re late,” she says, her usually melodious voice turning cold. I’ve heard her comfort injured pack members with that same voice, but it never holds any warmth for me. “I expected these herbs two hours ago.”

“I’m sorry, Healer Morrigan.” I set the basket down carefully on her desk, trying to keep my voice steady despite the pain shooting through my leg. “There were complications—”

“Complications?” She straightens in her chair, her eyes turning calculating. “What kind of complications could possibly excuse your tardiness? The pack members waiting for these remedies don’t have time for your excuses.”

I take a deep breath, straightening my shoulders despite the pain. “Your nephew Marcus and his friends stole my first basket of herbs. They destroyed everything I’d spent three hours collecting, deep in the Wyvern Woods.”

Her expression shifts slightly—not with concern, but with protective defensiveness. “And?”

“And I had to go back past the territorial markers to gather everything again before sunset.” My voice rises slightly, frustration bleeding through. “I barely escaped with my life from a shadow bear. That’s why I’m late.”

Healer Morrigan’s plump hands fold together on her desk, and she gives me the kind of patient look she usually reserves for difficult children. But there’s no kindness in it, only condescension.

“Don’t you dare blame my nephew for your own shortcomings, Elara,” she says, her voice remaining level, almost gentle, but the words cut deep. “Marcus is a promising young wolf with a bright future ahead of him. Boys will be boys, and if you can’t handle a simple herb-gathering task without making excuses, perhaps you’re not suited for this work.”

My mouth falls open in disbelief. “Shortcomings? I risked my life to get these herbs because your nephew and his friends—”

“Enough.” She waves her hand with the same gesture she uses to dismiss minor concerns, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’ll pay you half the usual rate. Consider yourself lucky I’m paying you at all, given your poor performance.”

“Half?” The word comes out sharp, my chin lifting defiantly. “I gathered everything on your list. These are the exact herbs you requested.”

She counts out a handful of silver coins with the same careful precision she uses when measuring medicines for other pack members. “Take it or leave it.”

I stare at the meager payment, my jaw clenching. This won’t even cover the cost of the healing salve I need for my leg, let alone help me save up for winter supplies. My hand moves toward the basket handle, resolving hardening in my chest.

“If you’re not paying me full price, then I’m not selling these to you,” I say, my voice determined as I start to lift the basket from her desk.

Before I can fully grasp it, Healer Morrigan’s hand shoots out and snatches the basket away from me, her eyes flashing with irritation.

“You can either take half the price or walk away empty-handed,” she snaps. “Choose quickly. I have more important matters to address.”

“That’s not fair!” The words burst out of me, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. “I risked my life for those herbs. I went beyond the territorial boundaries after sunset and barely escaped from a shadow bear. You wouldn’t do this to any other pack member!”

Healer Morrigan’s eyes harden. “Fair? Life isn’t fair, Elara. If you were a proper shifter, you wouldn’t have to ‘risk your life’ for such simple tasks. A real wolf could have handled those juveniles and gathered these herbs without drama.” She leans back in her chair, her plump figure settling comfortably. “This is the least you can do for the pack, considering you’re nothing more than a burden to us.”

Her words hit me hard. But instead of cutting me down, they fuel something fierce inside me. I square my shoulders and meet her gaze directly.

“No other shifter dares to venture past the territorial markings,” I say proudly. “I’m the only one who does. The only one brave enough—or stupid enough—to risk my life for herbs that grow in the most dangerous parts of the forest. Herbs that you need, by the way.”

Healer Morrigan’s expression darkens. “And yet here you are, making excuses and demanding praise for doing what you’re paid to do.”

Arguing with her is fruitless. Her attitude toward me will never change. Like the rest of the pack, she considers my life expendable. Why else would I be the one forced to risk my life every week for her prized herbs?

“Can you at least heal me with your magic?” I hiss, the pain burning through my entire leg. “I can barely walk.”

She glances down at my injured limb with the same expression she might use for a minor inconvenience. “Selene!” she calls to one of the younger healers, her voice returning to its usual warm tone. “Bring this girl a bandage.”

“A bandage?” I protest, my voice sharp with disbelief. I lift my torn pant leg to show her the deep gashes. “Look at this wound! It’s deep, and it’s still bleeding. With proper healing magic, it would close in minutes.”

The young healer, Selene, approaches with a simple cloth bandage, her eyes sympathetic but her hands trembling slightly. She clearly doesn’t want to cross Healer Morrigan.

“This is a serious injury,” I continue, my voice growing stronger with each word. “If it doesn’t heal properly, I won’t be able to collect herbs next week. I need to be able to walk through the forest—”