Chapter 5

Royal’s POV

The moon was a cold, sharp blade in the sky, carving our shadows into the dirt. We stood like statues. Five grown men, leaders and killers, paralyzed by the sight of a girl who was supposed to be a ghost.

The silence didn't last. It shattered when Ripley moved.

He didn't just walk; he lunged. In a blur of desperate movement, he was on his knees over her, his fingers locking around her throat. The sound that came out of him was a jagged hiss, full of years of rot and resentment.

"You parasitic bitch," Ripley spat. He squeezed until his knuckles turned white. "You really think you can just show up? After everything?"

His voice cracked. It was a terrifying sound, the noise of a man finally touching the thing he hated most.

"How are you even breathing?" he roared. "You don’t deserve the air. You’re a stain. You’re nothing but a filthy whore who stayed alive while better people died."

The rest of us just watched. My heart was hammering against my ribs, but my feet were lead. Ripley wasn't the only one who wanted to see the life leave her eyes. That fire was burning in all of us. I looked down at her face, expecting to see her clawing at his wrists or gasping for mercy.

She didn't.

She just let her head fall back. Her eyes fluttered shut, her expression smoothing out into something that looked horribly like relief. She wasn't fighting the hands around her neck. She was welcoming them.

The sight of her surrender hit me like a bucket of ice water. If she died now, everything we had planned would turn to ash.

"Ripley, stop!" I shouted, throwing myself forward. I grabbed his forearms, trying to pry his fingers back. "Let go of her! Now!"

"She killed my sister, Royal!" Ripley’s face was a mask of agony. He didn't let go. If anything, he tightened his grip. "My mother is in the ground because of her. You want me to let her live?"

"I know," I said, my own voice shaking as I wrestled with him. "I know what she took. But think about Philip. Think about what happens if we lose this chance."

I felt his muscles bunch under my hands. He was a second away from snapping her spine.

"If she’s a pureblood, she’s the only way Rosamund survives," I hissed, leaning close to his ear. "Do you want to be the reason Philip loses her, too? Do you want to be the one who kills his last hope?"

The names acted like a physical blow. Ripley’s hands trembled. The murderous light in his eyes flickered, replaced by a hollow, gut-wrenching hesitation. He was breaking.

I looked over my shoulder at Rory. I didn't have to say a word. Rory lived for Philip’s orders, for the stability of our pack. He stepped in without a hint of emotion, his boot connecting with Ripley’s ribs in a short, brutal arc.

The force sent Ripley sprawling away from her. He hit the dirt with a grunt, gasping for the air he had just tried to deny the girl.

I scrambled toward her. She was too still. Her skin looked like gray marble under the moonlight, and her chest was a flat, unmoving plane. No air. No pulse.

"Damn it," I muttered, my pulse racing. "She’s stopped breathing."

I looked up at Philip. He hadn't moved an inch. He stood there with his arms crossed, his jaw set so tight the bone looked ready to pop through his skin. His fists were clenched, the veins in his forearms bulging like thick cords.

Philip had lost the most. His parents. His future. The woman he loved was rotting in a hospital bed, and their child had never even seen the light of day. All of it led back to the girl on the ground. He looked like he wanted to grind her into the dirt with his bare heels, but he was holding back. He was suffering for Rosamund’s sake.

I reached out to start chest compressions, but a shadow fell over me.

A heavy boot slammed into her sternum.

The impact was sickening. It was a dull, wet thud that made me flinch. Her body jerked upward, her back arching off the grass as her lungs forced a desperate, ragged gasp of air. She started coughing, a spray of dark blood hitting the grass.

I looked up at Robbie. He was standing over her, his eyes cold and empty.

"Are you trying to finish the job?" I snapped.

"I wish I was," Robbie said. His voice was like grinding stones. "But this bitch is too much of a cockroach to stay dead. She shouldn't even be here."

I didn't argue. There was no point in defending her. We all hated her. But someone had to keep their head on straight if we were going to get what we needed.

"We have to get her to the clinic," I said, reaching down to lift her.

"Wait." Rory’s voice was quiet, but it stopped me cold. He was looking at her with a clinical, detached sort of suspicion. "Isn't she a hybrid? Since when did she become a pureblood? Did those people lie to us?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. We all remembered her as a weakling. A hybrid wolfess with no standing and even less power.

Ripley, who was pushing himself up from the dirt, wiped blood from his lip. "If she's a hybrid, she's useless. There's no reason to keep her. We can end this right now."

I stepped in front of her, shielding her broken body with my own. "They wouldn't lie. Not to the Alphas. They saw the reports. They sent us the blood work themselves. It confirmed her status."

Ripley walked right up to me, his chest hitting mine. He was vibrating with a frantic, ugly energy.

"We know your game, Royal," he snarled. "We know you've been obsessed with finding a pureblood. You want the perfect little lineage, the dream family. But don't let your pathetic fantasies blind you. This girl isn't a prize. She’s a curse."

My temper flared. I grabbed his collar, pulling him close. "She was a child when she left. She hadn't shifted. She hadn't come into her own. Purebloods are hidden for a reason, Ripley. You know how the old families operate. They hide the girls until they can be traded."

I shoved him back, my voice echoing in the clearing.

"This isn't about what I want. It's about Philip. It's about Rosamund. We go to the hospital. We run the tests ourselves. If the blood says she’s a hybrid, I’ll hand you the knife and help you bury the body. But until then, she stays alive."

"Enough."

The word wasn't loud, but it had the weight of a falling mountain.

Philip stepped forward. The air seemed to thin around him. He looked at Ripley, then at me, and finally at Robbie. His eyes were like two pieces of flint.

"Robbie, take Ripley," Philip ordered. "Go to the source. Find out if we were played. If they lied about her blood, don't just kill them. Make sure they regret being born."

Then he turned his gaze to me. It was a heavy, suffocating look.

"Take her to the clinic," Philip said. "Run every test we have. If she’s a hybrid, don't even bother calling me to tell me what you did with her."

He didn't wait for a nod. He turned on his heel and walked into the darkness, Rory trailing him like a silent shadow.

That left me alone in the woods with a dying girl and a lot of questions.

"Can you hear me?" I whispered, looking down at her. "Because if you're lying about what you are, you're already dead."