1: Blood on my Hands

There was silence now.

The kind that made every little sound seem louder than it should have been. The scrape of my shoe against the cave floor. The faint tapping of my thumb against my cracked phone screen as I searched for a signal that refused to appear.

“Come on,” I whispered.

One bar flickered at the top of the screen, then vanished.

If I could just reach Dad.

My hands were shaking so badly that I almost dropped the phone. I tightened my grip and tried the call again, but it failed immediately.

My blouse was torn at the shoulder. My hospital ID still hung from the torn edge of my blouse, forgotten in the chaos. Blood had soaked through the fabric around my knee, and a sticky red crust sat beneath my fingernails. Most of it wasn't mine.

I swallowed the sour nausea rising in my throat. Outside, somewhere beyond the mouth of the cave, a man lay motionless on the damp earth with my knife wound in his chest.

Varek. The Rogue Alpha whose name every northern pack spoke in hushed warnings.

The man I had just killed.

I pressed my back against the cold stone and closed my eyes. How had I even ended up here?

A few hours earlier, the world had been predictable. I was sitting behind my desk at Thornwood Medical Centre, reviewing patient files while the afternoon light filtered through the blinds. Then my phone shrilled, the sharp emergency tone shattering the quiet.

MEDICAL EMERGENCY

PATIENT: Thornwood Border Patrol

STATUS: Severe blood loss

LOCATION: Eastern Borderlands — Thornwood Cave Access

A red marker blinked rhythmically on the attached map.

The Borderlands? It was farther out than our standard calls, but patrol wolves occasionally took bad hits near the boundary. A rogue skirmish or a poorly timed shift could turn lethal in minutes without a healer on site.

I dialed the contact number attached to the dispatch. The disconnecting tone dropped off. No response.

That silence unnerved me more than the remote location. I pushed my chair back, grabbed the heavy emergency kit from the supply cabinet, and hurried down the hall.

The corridor outside was strangely deserted; most of the surgical team was locked in a complex procedure downstairs, and the remaining healers were out on field calls. There was no time to wait around for backup. Someone was bleeding out.

I rushed to the parking lot, unlocked my SUV, and tossed the kit onto the passenger seat. The navigation system auto-synced with the emergency coordinates.

For the first fifteen minutes, the drive was uneventful. Shops and apartment blocks gave way to dense pine trees and scattered patrol checkpoints. But then the screen flashed, re-routing me off the main highway and onto an overgrown, unpaved service lane.

“This better be accurate,” I muttered.

Something isn't right, Elara warned, shifting uneasily inside me. I felt her long before her voice echoed in my mind—a restless pressure coiled beneath my skin.

I eased my foot off the accelerator.

“You've been saying that since we left the main road.”

The scent, she snapped. Breathe.

I opened the vents slightly. Beneath the smell of damp pine and crushed leaves lay something sour and heavy. Wolf—multiple wolves and none of them carried the clean, familiar scent of Thornwood.

My knuckles turned white against the steering wheel. The navigation voice chimed, announcing I had arrived at my destination.

There was no injured patrol wolf. Just an abandoned stretch of dirt road swallowing itself into the forest.

I killed the engine, my heart hammering against my ribs.

It's an ambush, Elara growled, her fur bristling along my mental perimeter.

This time, I didn't doubt her. I reached beneath my blouse, resting my fingers on the small silver blade tucked securely into my waistband—a mandatory precaution whenever traveling near the border. As a healer, I knew precisely how much damage a knife could do to muscle and arteries. I had prayed I'd never have to prove it.

Grabbing my phone and medical kit, I slipped out of the vehicle and retreated into the dense tree line. Standing next to a marked Thornwood SUV was a beacon I didn't want to light. I crouched behind an ancient oak and tried calling the centre again.

No service.

Voices drifted through the brush.

“Shut up,” a deep voice hissed. “Just check the perimeter.”

My pulse hit my throat. I held my breath, pressing deeper into the shadows. Maybe they’ll pass. Maybe they haven’t spotted the car.

Then the footsteps halted. A heavy pause hung in the air, followed by a sharp inhale.

“Sweet lavender,” a voice purred.

Elara went rigid. Run.

“It's coming from over there,” another called out.

Dry leaves crunched under heavy boots. Three men broke through the thicket—strangers, reeking of stale sweat and the wild, unbonded stench of rogues. The leader caught sight of me and smiled, exposing sharp teeth.

“Well, well, look what dropped into our lap.”

I stood up slowly, keeping my hands visible while my back remained braced against the tree. “Stay where you are.”

The three men chuckled. One glanced back toward my SUV.

“She came out here all by herself.”

My fingers crept toward the small of my back. “I'm a medical responder. I received an emergency distress call.”

“And I'm the Alpha King,” the middle one sneered. The others laughed, a rough, grating sound.

Cold dread settled in my stomach. There was no accident. The emergency alert had been a lure, and I had walked right into the trap.

“I'm leaving,” I said, taking a measured step toward the road.

The tallest rogue shifted instantly, cutting off my exit. “You just got here, sweetheart.”

“I said move.”

His eyes dragged down my uniform jacket, lingering on the fabric before returning to my face. “Be nice to us, and maybe we won't tear off your little jacket.”

“Just a little entertainment,” another grinned, taking a step closer. “You wouldn't deny a few hungry wolves, would you?”

Elara snarled, her fury surging through my veins.

“Get out of my way.”

“She’s feisty,” the lead rogue laughed, reaching out a calloused hand.

“Don't touch me!”

His fingers clamped around my forearm like iron. I drove my knee upward with everything I had. He grunted, cursing as his grip tightened, yanking me forward. My emergency kit tumbled to the ground, scattering bandages and sterile glass vials across the dirt.

He slammed me hard against the tree trunk. Pain flared through my shoulder blade. He pinned my chest with his forearm, his other hand tearing at the front of my blouse.

The fabric shredded. Something inside me snapped.

I yanked the knife from my waistband. He saw the flash of silver a second too late. Years of anatomical study overrode my fear. The carotid artery.

I drove the blade across his throat in one fluid, desperate stroke.

Warm blood burst across my hand and chest. His grip vanished. The rogue stumbled back, clutching at his neck as dark red spilled through his fingers. His eyes met mine in utter disbelief before his knees gave out and he hit the dirt.

I stared at my red-stained fingers, gasping for air. I had never cut anything deeper than surgical incisions.

“Oh, shit!” one of the remaining rogues yelled, backing away.

The third man bared his fangs, bloodlust overriding his shock. “You crazy bitch!”

I raised the dripping blade, my hands trembling violently. “Stay back!”

He lunged forward, his eyes turning golden as his wolf pushed to the surface.

“What the hell is going on here?”