Chapter Three

Thorne's POV

“Did you make sure every one of them is dead?” I asked, my voice cutting through the silent night air like a blade.

Silas, my Beta nodded. “Yes, Alpha Thorne. We made sure to clear them all. Not a single rogue is left breathing.”

As much I wanted to believe him, I couldn't. I needed to cross check myself. So I started walking towards the forest.

I’ve learned—never take anyone’s word as truth. In my world, I don't get to sleep with my both eyes closed.

Not after I had witnessed betrayal firsthand as a small boy of six. The memory never fades. My father, Alpha Ronin, once hailed as the fiercest and wisest Alpha in the NightWalker lineage, knelt with a silver dagger buried in his heart. His best friend and Beta stood over him, blood dripping from his blade and from his lies with a triumphant smirk tugging on his lips.

I hide behind that pillar in father's chamber and saw everything. I screamed, cried, ran to the Elders. They didn’t believe me. Not even my own mother.

They said I was traumatized by the father's death. Delusional. A liar. They thought he had no reason to kill father and an assassin must have done it.

And when I kept insisting, they called me cursed. Mad. The Mad Prince of NightWalker. And when I became king they upgraded the title to the Mad king. I never forgot that betrayal and I wore the title like an armour. I watched. I waited.

And on the day of my coronation ceremony, I drove a dagger of my own into that traitor’s chest—this time in front of the same Elders and Pack members who once mocked me.

They didn’t question me again after that because they now believe that I have always been right.

But the damage was done. The curse placed upon me as a child, perhaps by the Goddess, or by guilt—festered. On the night of every full moon, I lose control. I shift, and my wolf becomes feral. Unrecognizable. Unstoppable. A beast even I can’t tame. I ordered to be chained down—alone in the dungeon—to keep my pack safe.

So I trust no one.

Not even myself.

“Wait,” I growled, nostrils flared up as I picked up a strange scent of blood, mixed with lavender and something faintly… feminine.

I quickly reached for my dagger as we stepped closer to the direction where the smell was coming from.

Then I saw her.

Curled at the root of a tree, bruised, bloodied, and barely breathing. Her clothes were ripped, her stomach and thighs was stained with dried blood, and thick red marks lined her back in neat, cruel rows.

“Rogue?” Silas asked, his tone sharp with suspicion.

I crouched beside her, my gaze lingering on the whip marks. Those weren’t from a rogue attack. They were deliberate. Systematic. Punishment.

“I don't think so,” I muttered. “She was probably flogged and left out to die.”

A moment of silence, then I continued. “Let's take her since she is still alive.“

Silas eyes furrowed in shock. Then he frowned. “That’s not our problem, Thorne. She’s a burden we can’t afford. She might bring trouble with her. Who knows what she might have done to be punished like that.”

I didn't reply immediately. He was right. She could be a bait from our enemy pack or something. But then, what if she isn't?

“Let's save her first. We can worry about all those later,” I said coldly, brushing a strand of blood-matted hair from her cheek.

“Thorne, no—”

“Are you really arguing with me right now?“ I snapped at him, my patience wearing thin. 

Silence.

Good. Even though he is my friend, he knows better than to piss me off.

I scooped her into my arms. She was light—too light. I could feel every broken piece of her fragile body against mine.

“Take us to the border,” I ordered as I walked towards the patrol call. “Call for the healer.”

We arrived at the NightWalker border medical tent ten minutes later.

Healer Elara took one look at her, feel her pulse and her face went pale with worry.

“She’s in critical condition,” she said, hands already moving in practiced expertise—she was trying to strip her. “She may not survive the night.”

Something inside me spark. Something familiar. Protective. 

“Then make sure she does,” I growled. “Use everything you have. Every herb, every drop of moonroot or wolfsbane extract. Do you understand me?”

Elara bowed. “Yes, Alpha.”

Then she began administering treatment to her, barking out orders to her subordinates.

I watched as they try to stabilise her for a while before stepping out of the tent.

I let out a long, exasperated sigh as I pressed a finger to my temple. Then I made my way back towards the forest to check if the Rogues are all dead. 

Three days passed.

She didn’t wake. For some unknown reason, I became worried but Elara assured me that she was out of the danger zone for now even though it was a miracle that she was still alive.

I visited her each morning and each night. Not because I really care, but because I needed to know what kind of danger she might bring to my pack.

But every time I stood there, watching the rise and fall of her chest, something inside me twisted. Something I didn’t recognize.

On the third night, I walked in and saw her eyes flutter open. She gasped, panicked, trying to sit up.

“Easy,” I said, stepping forward. “You’re safe now.“

My words surprised even me. I have never been nice, but with this woman right here, I'm willing to break all protocols for her.

She blinked at me, her pupils struggling to adjust. “Where… where am I?”

“I'm Thorne. And you’re in NightWalker territory,” I said. “You were found barely conscious at the edge of the forest. What’s your name?”

She hesitated.

“I… I don’t remember.”

“Where did you come from?” I pressed, watching her face closely.

Again, a long pause.

Her eyes filled with a haunted kind of confusion. “I don’t know. I—there was pain, so much pain. And then darkness.”

Silas stood behind me, arms folded, watching her with distrust.

My wolf was restless inside me. Suspicion gnawing at me.

I studied her for a while and she seems like she's hiding something. “Who the hell are you?“ I asked, tilting my head and staring deep into her wide blue eyes.

She was silent for a while before she suddenly snapped, “Why did you care?“

“What?“