Chapter 16

Unexpected Mercy

Grace's POV

The news reached me at dawn, carried by one of Grandfather's border scouts who'd intercepted Storm pack communications during the night. Alpha Storm had been gravely injured in a coordinated rogue attack. Three pack warriors were dead. Jace Storm was reportedly "not handling the situation well."

I stood in Grandfather's study, staring at the written report while my coffee grew cold in my hands. The clinical language couldn't hide the severity of what had happened—spinal injuries, massive blood loss, possible paralysis. The kind of wounds that could end an Alpha's reign permanently.

"The attack was professional," Grandfather said from behind his desk, his weathered face grim. "Military precision, silver weapons, coordinated assault. Someone wanted Storm pack's leadership eliminated."

I nodded absently, still processing the implications. Alpha Storm had always been fair to me, even when his son hadn't. He'd been the one to place me under pack protection when the cheating allegations surfaced. He'd tried to find the truth when everyone else was ready to condemn me.

"The surviving rogues?" I asked.

"Scattered to the winds. But Connor managed to capture one before he bled out. Under interrogation, he revealed that there are more attacks planned. Storm pack isn't the only target."

That got my attention. I looked up from the report to meet Grandfather's steady gaze. "How many packs?"

"At least five in the mountain territories. Someone's making a play for regional control, and they're starting by eliminating established leadership." He paused meaningfully. "Including us."

The weight of that revelation settled over me like a shroud. This wasn't just about old grudges or territorial disputes. Someone was orchestrating a systematic campaign to destabilize the entire region, and they were willing to use assassination to achieve their goals.

"What do we know about Jace's condition?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.

"Physically? Minor injuries, nothing that won't heal. Mentally..." Grandfather shook his head. "By all accounts, he's barely functional. Hasn't left his father's bedside, hasn't eaten, hasn't slept. His pack is leaderless at the most crucial moment in their recent history."

I set down my coffee cup with deliberate care, my mind already working through the political ramifications. Storm pack controlled key mountain passes and trade routes. If they collapsed from internal chaos, it would create a power vacuum that could destabilize the entire region.

"The other packs are watching," I said.

"Vultures circling a wounded animal," Grandfather agreed. "If Storm pack shows weakness now, their neighbors will start claiming territory. The alliances we've spent years building could fragment overnight."

It was a practical concern, nothing more. Regional stability was crucial for Silver Moon's long-term security. We couldn't afford to have one of the major mountain packs collapse into chaos, no matter what personal history existed between their heir and me.

At least, that's what I told myself.

"I need to make a call," I said, already moving toward the door.

"Grace." Grandfather's voice stopped me before I could leave. "Be very careful. Whatever you're planning, remember that your first loyalty is to Silver Moon. Not to old wounds or older feelings."

I nodded and left without responding, because I wasn't entirely sure which category this decision fell into.

Twenty minutes later, I was on the road to Storm pack territory with a small security detail, my mind churning with justifications for what I was about to do. It was about regional stability. About honoring the memory of Alpha Storm's fairness during my darkest hour. About preventing the kind of chaos that could consume the entire mountain territories.

It had nothing to do with the desperate edge I'd heard in Jace's voice on that balcony, or the way he'd looked at me like I was the only thing that could save him from drowning.

Nothing at all.

Two Hours Later - Grace's POV

Storm pack territory looked the same as I remembered—sprawling forests broken by clearings where pack buildings nestled against the mountainside. But there was a tension in the air that hadn't existed during my childhood, a sense of barely controlled chaos that spoke of leadership vacuum and uncertainty.

The guards at the gate recognized me immediately, their expressions shifting from suspicion to confusion to something that might have been relief.

"Alpha Silver," the senior guard said, stepping forward with careful respect. "We... we weren't expecting you."

"I heard about the attack," I said simply. "I wanted to pay my respects to Alpha Storm and discuss regional security concerns with his heir."

It was mostly true. The fact that my wolf was pacing restlessly in my chest, demanding to know if Jace was hurt, was irrelevant.

"Of course. Should I announce you?"

"That won't be necessary. I know the way to the pack hospital."

The guard nodded and waved us through, though I caught the look of barely concealed desperation on his face. Storm pack was floundering without strong leadership, and everyone knew it.

The pack hospital was a low, modern building that had been expanded significantly since my childhood. I remembered being brought here after my fall down the school steps, remembered the kindness of the medical staff who'd treated me despite knowing I was persona non grata.

Dr. Martinez met me in the lobby, his face showing the strain of the past day.

"Alpha Silver," he said with genuine warmth. "I'm honored by your visit, though I wish the circumstances were different."

"How is he?" I asked directly.

"Stable, but critical. The spinal injury was severe—we won't know the full extent of the damage for several more days. He's conscious, lucid, but..." He shook his head. "The next 48 hours will determine whether he walks again."

The weight of that prognosis settled over me. Alpha Storm had been a pillar of strength for forty years, a leader who'd earned respect through fairness and wisdom. The thought of him paralyzed, diminished, was almost unbearable.

"And Jace?"

Dr. Martinez's expression tightened. "That's the real problem. He hasn't left his father's side since they brought him in. Won't eat, won't rest, barely speaks. He's running on adrenaline and guilt, and when that crashes..." He spread his hands helplessly. "The pack needs their future Alpha to be strong right now. Instead, they're watching him fall apart."

"Take me to him," I said.

Dr. Martinez hesitated. "Alpha Silver, I'm not sure that's wise. Jace is... fragile right now. Seeing you might—"

"Take me to him," I repeated, putting enough authority in my voice to end the discussion.

He led me through sterile corridors that smelled of disinfectant and fear, past rooms where other victims of the attack were recovering. The damage had been extensive, the cost in blood and trauma higher than the initial reports had suggested.

We stopped outside a private room at the end of the hall. Through the glass window, I could see Alpha Storm lying motionless in the hospital bed, machines monitoring his vital signs. And beside him, slumped in a chair that looked like it hadn't been vacated in hours, was Jace.

He looked terrible. His clothes were torn and bloodstained from the fight, his face gaunt with exhaustion and guilt. His hands shook slightly as he reached out to touch his father's still fingers, and I could see the barely controlled desperation in every line of his body.

This wasn't the arrogant future Alpha I'd grown up despising. This wasn't even the conflicted young man who'd approached me on that balcony at Silver Moon. This was someone broken, someone drowning in responsibilities he wasn't equipped to handle while the foundation of his world crumbled around him.

"He blames himself," Dr. Martinez said quietly. "Thinks he should have seen the attack coming, should have been able to protect his father. Classic survivor's guilt, but logic doesn't penetrate that kind of pain."

I studied Jace's profile through the glass, noting the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders shook with barely suppressed emotion. He was destroying himself with guilt and responsibility, just as I'd once nearly destroyed myself with rejection and trauma.

The irony wasn't lost on me. The man who'd once called me weak was now displaying the same kind of vulnerability he'd scorned in others. The difference was that he had a pack depending on him, people who needed him to be strong when strength felt impossible.

"Has anyone tried to relieve him? Force him to rest?" I asked.

"Mia's been trying, but he won't listen to anyone. Says he can't leave his father's side, can't trust anyone else to keep watch." Dr. Martinez shook his head. "At this rate, we'll have two patients instead of one."

I made my decision with the clinical detachment that had carried me through three years of rebuilding myself. This wasn't about forgiveness or second chances. This was about recognizing when someone needed help and being strong enough to provide it, regardless of personal history.

"Open the door," I said.

"Alpha Silver—"

"Open it. Now."

Dr. Martinez hesitated for another moment, then complied. I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me, shutting out the world and leaving just me, Jace, and the unconscious man who'd once tried to protect me when no one else would.

"Hello, Jace," I said quietly.

He looked up at the sound of my voice, and the expression that crossed his face was so raw, so completely unguarded, that it nearly stole my breath. Hope and despair warred in his eyes, along with something that looked like desperate gratitude.

"Grace?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard about the attack," I said, moving closer but maintaining careful distance. "I came to check on your father."

"He's..." Jace's voice cracked, and he had to stop and compose himself. "The doctors don't know if he'll walk again. If he'll be able to lead. And it's my fault. If I'd been paying attention, if I'd seen the signs—"

"Stop," I said firmly, cutting through his spiral of self-blame. "This isn't your fault. Professional assassins targeted your pack's leadership. No one could have predicted that level of coordination."

"But I should have—"

"You should have what? Been psychic? You fought them off, protected your father, saved Connor's life. You did everything right when it mattered."

Jace stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language. "Why are you being kind to me? After everything I've done, after the way I treated you..."

I looked at him for a long moment, this broken man who'd once held my heart and shattered it beyond repair. The answer was complicated, layered with motivations I wasn't entirely ready to examine.

"Because," I said finally, "someone needs to be. And right now, your pack needs you functional, not drowning in guilt."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it was enough. For now, it was enough.