Chapter 8

Grace's POV

Seven days. Seven days of stumbling through forests, sleeping in hollow logs, and drinking from streams that might or might not be safe. Seven days of running on nothing but the stubborn refusal to die that seemed to be the only thing left of my father's legacy.

My feet were bloody and blistered inside my worn sneakers, and my clothes hung loose on a frame that had been too thin to begin with. The last of my food had run out two days ago, and I'd been surviving on berries and roots that my father had taught me to identify during our camping trips.

*At least some of his lessons stuck,* I thought grimly as I forced one foot in front of the other.

I'd been heading northeast, following half-remembered directions from conversations I'd overheard years ago. My mother had family somewhere in the mountains—her father, who'd cut ties with her when she mated outside his pack. I'd never met him, wasn't even sure he was still alive, but it was the only destination I could think of.

The alternative was becoming a true rogue, living on the edges of civilization and slowly going feral. I'd seen what that did to wolves—the madness that crept in when you were cut off from pack bonds for too long. Maybe my grandfather would reject me just like everyone else had, but I had to try.

The mountain path I'd been following for the past two days was getting steeper, and my legs shook with exhaustion. I could smell pack markers in the distance—the first sign of civilization I'd encountered since leaving Storm territory. The scent was different from what I was used to, wilder somehow, with undertones of pine and snow.

*Just a little further,* I told myself, though my vision was starting to blur at the edges. *Just make it to the gate.*

That's when I saw them—two massive stone pillars marking the entrance to what was clearly pack territory. Between them stretched an iron gate that looked like it could stop a tank, and beyond that, I could see the outline of buildings nestled among the trees.

I stumbled toward the gate, my heart hammering with a mixture of hope and terror. Guard posts flanked the entrance, and I could sense eyes watching me even though I couldn't see anyone. My wolf, already weakened by the rejection and days of hardship, whimpered in submission.

*Please,* I thought desperately. *Please let them listen before they attack.*

I made it within ten feet of the gate before my legs finally gave out. I collapsed to my knees, then forward onto my hands, my backpack sliding off my shoulders to land in the dirt beside me. Everything hurt—my body, my heart, my very soul felt like it had been shredded and left to rot.

"Please," I whispered to the empty air, knowing that whoever was watching could hear me with their enhanced senses. "My name is Grace Matthew. My mother was Rebecca Silver. I think... I think my grandfather might live here."

The words came out in a broken rush, and I could taste blood in my mouth. When had I bitten my tongue?

"I'm not here to cause trouble. I just... I have nowhere else to go."

The world started to go dark around the edges, and I felt myself sway. The last thing I heard before consciousness left me was the sound of heavy footsteps approaching and a gruff voice saying, "Well, I'll be damned."

Alpha Marcus Silver's POV

I was reviewing border patrol reports in my office when Samuel burst through the door without knocking—a breach of protocol that immediately put me on alert.

"Alpha," he panted, clearly having run from wherever he'd been stationed. "There's a girl at the main gate. She's collapsed, but before she went down, she said... she said she's Rebecca's daughter."

The papers in my hands fluttered to the floor as shock hit me like a physical blow. Rebecca. My daughter, who I'd banished eighteen years ago for mating with that Storm pack male. My daughter, who'd died in a rogue attack along with her mate, leaving behind a child I'd never met.

"Bring her to the medical center," I said, already moving toward the door. "Now."

The run to the main gate took less than three minutes, but it felt like an eternity. When I arrived, I found a small group of guards clustered around a figure lying motionless in the dirt. My heart clenched as I took in the sight—a young woman, barely more than a girl, clearly malnourished and exhausted. Her dark hair was matted and dirty, her clothes torn and stained, but even in her current state, I could see the resemblance.

She had Rebecca's face. My daughter's delicate bone structure, her stubborn chin, even the same sweep of dark lashes against pale cheeks. But there was something else there too—a strength in the set of her jaw that reminded me of someone else entirely.

"How long has she been unconscious?" I asked Dr. Hayes, who was already kneeling beside the girl with his medical kit.

"Just a few minutes. She's severely dehydrated and malnourished, probably hasn't had a proper meal in days. But Alpha..." He looked up at me with concern. "There's something else. I can smell rejection bond trauma on her. Recent."

My hands clenched into fists. Someone had rejected my granddaughter and cast her out to die. The protective rage that surged through me was primal and absolute.

"Get her to the medical center," I growled. "Whatever she needs, she gets it. And Samuel?"

"Yes, Alpha?"

"Send word to all patrols. I want to know everything about how she got here, where she came from, and why she's alone. Everything."

As Dr. Hayes and his assistants carefully lifted Grace onto a stretcher, I found myself studying her face again. She was so young, so fragile-looking. But she'd made it here on her own, across miles of dangerous territory, with nothing but determination keeping her alive.

*Just like her mother,* I thought with a mixture of pride and heartbreak. Rebecca had been just as stubborn, just as unwilling to give up when she believed in something.

I followed the stretcher to the medical center, my mind already racing with questions. What had happened to drive my granddaughter to my gates? Who had hurt her badly enough to leave rejection bond trauma? And most importantly, what was I going to do with the daughter of the child I'd disowned?

Grace's POV

I woke to the sound of steady beeping and the smell of antiseptic. For a moment, I panicked, thinking I was back in the Storm pack hospital after my fall down the stairs. But the scents were different here—wilder, with undertones of mountain air and snow.

"Easy," a gentle voice said beside me. "You're safe."

I turned my head slowly, wincing at the movement, to see an older man in a white coat sitting beside my bed. His hair was silver-gray, and his face was kind but weathered, like someone who'd spent years outdoors.

"Where am I?" I croaked, my throat feeling like sandpaper.

"Silver Moon Pack medical center," he replied, offering me a cup of water with a straw. "I'm Dr. Hayes. You've been unconscious for about six hours."

Silver Moon Pack. The name hit me like a lightning bolt. My mother's maiden name had been Silver. This was it—I'd actually found my grandfather's pack.

"Is he..." I started, then stopped, afraid to hope.

"Is who what?" Dr. Hayes asked gently.

"Is Alpha Silver still alive? Marcus Silver? He was... he was my mother's father."

Dr. Hayes's eyebrows rose slightly. "He's very much alive. In fact, he's been waiting outside your room since we brought you in. Would you like to see him?"

I nodded, even though terror and hope were warring in my chest. What if he took one look at me and decided I wasn't worth the trouble? What if he blamed me for my mother's death, for the choices that had led to her banishment?

Dr. Hayes stepped outside, and I heard muffled voices in the hallway. Then the door opened again, and a man entered who made my breath catch in my throat.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with silver hair and eyes the same shade of brown as my mother's. His face was stern but not unkind, and when he looked at me, I saw recognition flicker in his expression.

"Rebecca's daughter," he said softly, and it wasn't a question.

"Grace," I whispered. "My name is Grace."

He moved closer to the bed, his movements careful as if he was approaching a wounded animal. "Grace. A good name. Your mother chose well."

Tears started to slide down my cheeks before I could stop them. "I'm sorry for coming here. I know you didn't want anything to do with us after she mated outside the pack, but I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or regret. "Child, what makes you think I didn't want anything to do with you?"

"Because you cut her off," I said, my voice breaking. "When she mated my father, you banished her. She told me."

Marcus—my grandfather—was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was heavy with old pain.

"I was angry," he admitted. "Angry and proud and foolish. I thought she was throwing away her heritage for some pretty boy from a neighboring pack. By the time I realized I was wrong, by the time I wanted to reach out..." He shook his head. "It was too late. She was already gone."

The tears were coming faster now. "She never stopped loving you. Even after everything, she still talked about this place. About the pack she grew up in."

"And I never stopped loving her," he said quietly. "Or you. You're my blood, Grace. My granddaughter. And as long as I draw breath, you have a place here."

For the first time in weeks—maybe months—I felt something that might have been hope stirring in my chest. I wasn't alone anymore. I had family.

"What happened to you?" Marcus asked, his voice gentle but firm. "Who hurt you? I can smell the rejection bond trauma."

The question brought everything crashing back—Jace's cold words, Amber's triumphant smile, the agony of having my soul torn in half. But looking at my grandfather's face, seeing the genuine concern there, I found the strength to tell him everything.

And for the first time since my parents died, I wasn't carrying my burdens alone.