Chapter four

Kael's Pov

I smirked as I dodged another hit from my sparring partner, twisting just enough for his fist to slice through empty air. Training was the only thing that kept my mind quiet. The only thing that stopped it from dragging me back to two nights ago.

Her screams.

Her pleas.

The sound of dirt hitting the grave as they covered it.

I blinked hard, forcing the memory away.

That moment of distraction was all John needed.

He lunged, aiming a heavy blow at my ribs. I reacted on instinct, spinning around him and using his momentum against him. I grabbed his arm, twisted, and slammed him into the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

“Trying to hit a man while he’s distracted is low,” I said, looking down at him. “Don’t you think, John?”

He grunted, pushing himself up from the dirt, his jaw clenched. Instead of answering, he rushed me again, throwing wild, careless punches that had no real aim behind them.

I sighed. “Concentrate,” I told him evenly. “Pick your shots.”

He ignored me.

I caught his fist mid-swing, my hand closing tightly around his. For half a second, everything was fine.

Then pain tore through my chest.

It came out of nowhere. Sharp. Violent. Like someone had reached into my ribcage and wrapped their hand around my heart, squeezing without mercy. My breath left me in a harsh gasp as my knees buckled beneath me.

I staggered back, my grip loosening.

John didn’t hesitate.

He took advantage of my stumble, landing one blow, then another. I barely felt the impact over the agony ripping through my chest. I fell hard to the ground, curling instinctively as the pain intensified.

“Enough!”

The command echoed across the training grounds.

John froze mid-strike, chest heaving as he turned toward the voice.

“Can’t you see he’s in pain?” Caitlin snapped as she stormed toward us.

I writhed on the ground, gasping for air that wouldn’t come, my vision blurring at the edges. The pain was unbearable now, pulsing with every frantic beat of my heart.

Caitlin came into view above me, her face pale, eyes wide with something that looked dangerously close to fear.

“Get him to the infirmary,” she ordered sharply.

Two enforcers moved immediately. One of them knelt beside me, lifting me carefully as if I might shatter, and carried me toward the pack infirmary.

The door burst open as they kicked it inward.

Henry jumped back with a startled curse, nearly dropping the herbs he had been sorting. “What— what happened?” he asked, his eyes darting between us.

“I don’t know,” Caitlin said quickly. “He was training with John and just collapsed.”

I barely registered their voices. The pain was still there, relentless, radiating outward until my entire body shook with it. I couldn’t stop gasping, couldn’t find a rhythm to my breathing.

Henry began examining me, his hands moving over my arms, chest, ribs. Every touch sent another wave of agony through me.

“There’s nothing broken,” he muttered after what felt like an eternity. “No visible injuries. His organs are intact.”

Caitlin turned on him. “What do you mean nothing’s injured?” she snapped. “He’s clearly in pain.”

Henry swallowed, shaking his head. “I—I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Her patience snapped.

She grabbed him by the collar, yanking him closer, her nails digging into his skin. “Then you better figure it out fast,” she hissed.

Henry’s eyes flicked desperately toward the enforcers, but not one of them moved.

The door opened again, slowly this time.

We all turned.

The pack priestess stepped inside, her expression calm, almost detached.

“Alpha,” she greeted.

I managed a slight nod, unable to speak.

She approached the bed, lifting her hands above me, moving them slowly as if she were feeling something invisible in the air. Her brows furrowed.

She shook her head.

“Unnatural,” she muttered.

Caitlin released Henry immediately. “What’s wrong?” she demanded. “What’s happening to him?”

The priestess ignored her.

“Where is your mate?” she asked me.

I frowned weakly, confusion cutting through the pain. Why would she ask about Christina?

The moment her name crossed my mind, the pain surged, sharp and punishing. I groaned, clutching at my chest.

“She’s dead,” Caitlin said flatly, rolling her eyes.

The priestess didn’t even look at her. “Where is your mate?” she asked again, her gaze fixed on me.

“She’s dead,” I rasped.

“She is not,” the priestess said calmly. “If she were, you would not be feeling the bond.”

Caitlin scoffed. “Even if she wasn’t dead, he already rejected her. It can’t be the bond.”

The priestess finally looked at Caitlin, her expression cool, uninterested. “Since when did it become your place to speak for the alpha?”

“I am your future Luna,” Caitlin said, her tone sharp, threatening.

The priestess ignored the attempt entirely and turned back to me.

“Your mate is alive,” she said quietly. “And her wolf has awakened. Your bond is stronger than any I have ever felt. What you’re experiencing is the pain of rejection.”

I swallowed hard. “But I barely felt anything when I rejected her,” I whispered. “Why now?”

“Find her,” the priestess said simply.

Then she turned and left.

Caitlin let out a harsh laugh. “She’s no priestess. Just a batshit old woman.”

“Take me to the grave site,” I said to the enforcer.

Caitlin stared at me. “You can’t seriously be taking her words seriously.”

I ignored her.

We moved quickly through the pack grounds, one of the enforcers grabbing a shovel as we passed. My chest still ached, a dull, constant reminder with every step.

When we reached the grave, I stopped dead.

We didn’t need the shovel.

The earth was already disturbed. The grave dug open.

And it was empty.