Elara's POV

That inexplicable vibration within my chest refused to subside, even as I pushed my battered body into a desperate sprint toward the Moonlight Pack’s medical compound. My left hand kept drifting to the center of my sternum, rubbing at the skin as if I could physically massage away the strange, electric warmth the stranger had ignited.

I cast one final, paranoid glance over my shoulder, but the dark-haired man didn’t follow. For that, I was profoundly grateful. I knew nearly every face in this territory, and he was a ghost, an outsider. He appeared to be roughly my age, and in a society as obsessed with status as ours, a shifter with that kind of devastating physical presence would have been the centerpiece of every pack gala and social mixer. The fact that he was lurking near our borders, unannounced and unclaimed, suggested something far more dangerous than a chance encounter.

Forget him, I commanded myself. Forget the green eyes and the way his touch felt like a drug. Whatever this localized madness was, it would surely wither away once the reality of my survival took over again.

The healing center was a sprawling, multi-winged complex designed to handle the high-speed recovery needs of a predator population. Building Number Five was the designated clinic for my sector of the outskirts, but the moment I limped through the glass doors, the welcoming atmosphere evaporated. Sarah, the receptionist, looked up from her computer and immediately broadcast her disgust with a theatrical roll of her eyes.

“We’re at full capacity today, Elara. Try somewhere else,” she droned, not even bothering to look at the blood matting my hair.

I wasn’t in the mood for the usual dance of degradation.

“Is Mary on shift?”

“Do I look like your personal assistant?” Sarah snapped, her voice sharpening into a jagged edge. “I told you, we’re swamped. Come back next week or better yet, don’t.”

I exhaled slowly, trying to keep my vision from tunneling. My face was a throbbing map of agony, my neck felt like it had been flayed, and every breath I took was a reminder of the ribs Thorne Elvyr had likely cracked. The metallic tang of blood was heavy on my tongue, and the room was beginning to tilt in a way that suggested a significant concussion.

“You aren’t busy, Sarah,” I said, my voice rasping. I gestured vaguely toward the empty waiting area. “I can see the entire treatment floor from here, and there’s exactly one patient. One.”

Sarah stood up, her posture stiff with unearned authority.

“If I say the schedule is full, it’s full. We reserve our energy and our medicine for shifters, not for useless, hollowed-out shells like you.”

“A hollowed-out shell?” I repeated, a bitter spark of anger reigniting in my gut. “That’s rich coming from you. You aren’t a healer, Sarah. You’re a glorified gatekeeper who failed the aptitude tests. Why don’t you find a shred of professional dignity and go find Mary? Or any healer who hasn’t lost their sense of duty.”

I knew that would draw blood. In the Wolf Kingdom, there is a specific type of tragedy for shifters who possess the innate urge to heal but lack the raw power to manifest it. Sarah was one of those bitter anomalies. She craved the status of a medic but was stuck behind a laminate desk, filing paperwork for those who actually held the gift.

I refused to feel a lick of remorse for the insult. She had spent the better part of a decade using me as a whetstone for her cruelty. I no longer believed in the nobility of “taking the high road.” When the world kicks you for twenty-two years, you learn how to bite back.

“How dare you?” she hissed, her eyes shimmering with frustrated tears. “At least I have a wolf! I have a spirit! You’re nothing but a charity case sucking the life out of this pack’s resources. You don’t deserve the air you breathe, let alone our medicine. Get out before I throw you out!”

I didn’t move an inch.

“Get me a healer, Sarah, or I’ll march straight to the Pack Council and file a formal grievance for medical discrimination.”

The Council of Elders was the only thing standing between me and a shallow grave in the woods. While they didn’t love me, they were obsessed with the ancient laws of “Pack Custody,” which dictated that even the lowest member must be afforded basic sustenance and care. They were the reason the orphanage hadn’t been allowed to starve me.

Sarah’s face went pale, but her spite was a powerful motivator.

“Go ahead! Report me! The Elders would throw a party if you finally had the decency to drop dead and stop embarrassing us.”

Her ruthlessness wasn’t a surprise. We had grown up in the same orphanage, sharing a cramped room until we were ten. Once, she had been a shy, quiet girl who shared her extra bread with me. But the moment the pack hierarchy began to exert its pressure, she realized that being my friend was a social death sentence.

She was the first to turn, evolving from a companion into a bully who would spit in my soup or hack off my hair in my sleep just to prove she wasn’t “one of the weak ones.”

“If you won’t get me a healer,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous low, “I’ll just walk back there and find one myself.”

She leaped from behind her desk, blocking the hallway with a sneer.

“You take one more step and I’ll kill you. I swear it. Just give me a reason to claim self-defense.”

I managed to lift a brow, even though the movement sent a spike of pain through my swollen cheek.

“You’ll kill me? For trying to see a doctor? I’m sure that will look fantastic on your permanent record. ‘Killed a defenseless orphan for seeking first aid.’”

“I’ll tell them you attacked me in a delusional fit. I’ll say I had no choice.”

She looked almost gleeful at the prospect of her own lie.

“Try it,” I challenged, baring my teeth. I lacked a wolf’s strength, but I had spent my life learning how to fight dirty. I knew where the soft spots were, and the idea of finally landing a solid blow on Sarah’s smug face was almost enough to distract me from my broken ribs.

“There will be absolutely none of that in my clinic!” an authoritative, gravelly voice barked from the hallway.

We both froze. Behind Sarah stood Edith Monroe, one of the most respected senior healers in the Moonlight Pack. Her silver hair was pulled back into a knot so tight it looked painful, and her eyes were like two flinty stones. Despite being in her sixties, she radiated a sharp, formidable energy.

“Sarah, return to your station immediately. I will deal with your insubordination later this evening,” Edith commanded.

Then she turned her gaze to me, her expression softening into a familiar look of exasperated pity.

“And you, Elara. Can you truly not manage twenty-four hours without showing up at my door looking like you were dragged behind a truck?”

Sarah bristled, her voice a sharp whine.

“The bitch probably started it. She’s always looking for ”

Edith’s eyes narrowed into terrifying slits.

“Repeat that word one more time, Sarah.”

The receptionist’s mouth snapped shut.

Edith took a slow, deliberate step toward her.

“I allowed you to work here because you pleaded for a role in the healing arts, despite your lack of aptitude. I took a chance on your sincerity. What gave you the impression that you have the authority to triage patients based on your personal petty grievances?”

Sarah’s face turned a violent shade of crimson.

“She’s not a patient! She isn’t one of us! She’s just a waste of space who contributes nothing to ”

“And what exactly is your contribution to the pack’s greatness, Sarah?” Edith interrupted, her tone frigid.

Sarah’s eyes widened.

“I… I’m a shifter! I have my wolf! I ”

“You contribute nothing but paperwork and a bad attitude,” Edith cut her off. “Next time you attempt to turn away someone in need of care, you’ll be looking for work in the sanitation pits. Am I making myself perfectly clear?”

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.

Edith was a force of nature. While most healers treated me like a biohazard, she was always efficient and fair. She was a high-level medic who usually handled critical traumas, but she had a soft spot for the underdog or perhaps she just hated seeing her profession tarnished by prejudice.

“Come along, Elara,” Edith ordered, turning on her heel. “I have actual work to do and limited patience.”

As I limped past the desk, Sarah glared at me with a hatred so pure it was almost impressive. Her eyes were wet with humiliated tears. I didn’t hold back; I gave her a sharp, satisfied sneer that said I’m still here.

Edith didn’t even look back as she navigated the hallway.

“Stop smirking, child. You look ridiculous with a swollen lip.”

I immediately wiped the expression from my face, falling into a somber, respectful silence as I followed her into the exam room. The fight for the day was over, but the war for my life was just beginning.