4. Meet The Pack

Howls woke me.

For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. The bed was too soft, the ceiling too high, the air too heavy with magic that wasn't mine. Then it all

came rushing back-the cursed alpha, the blood oath, the pack of twisted wolves.

Father.

I sat up, heart racing, The Frost's Heart. Ineeded to make sure Dante kept his word about sending it to Father. Morning light filtered through warped windows, casting strange shadows across what I could now see was a mass of contradictions.

The room was clearly once luxurious-silk hangings, carved furniture, plush rugs--but the curse had touched everything. The silk was molding, the wood twisted into unsettling shapes, the rugs stained with something that made my magic recoil.

Through the blood oath bond, I could sense the pack stirring. Their pain was a constant hum beneath my skin, but there was something else too. A stronger presence above me.

Dante.

Even without seeing him, I could feel him like a storm about to break-power and rage and something darker, all barely contained.

What had I done? A year in this cursed castle. A year bound to these wolves. A year with him.

The thought sent an inappropriate shiver through me that had nothing to do with fear.

A bundle of clothing on a nearby chair caught my eye. Someone had left them while I slept the thought should have been more disturbing than it was. Simple but well-made things: warm leggings, a soft tunic, sturdy boots.

Allin shades of blue and grey that wouldn't show dirt. Or blood.

The attached bathing chamber was another mix of luxury and decay. The massive copper tub was tarnished but functional, steaming water already waiting. Magic, probably. The mirors were cracked, reflecting my face back in fragments. I looked pale but determined. Good. I'd need that determination to face what was coming.

I bathed quickly and dressed, trying to make myself presentable for my first real meeting with the pack. My hands shook slightly as I braided my hair. This wasn't just about looking nice--these wolves would be watching for any sign of weakness. Any reason not to trust the new healer.

A knock at the door made me jump. Even beforel could answer, I knew who it was. The bond hummed with his presence, making my skin tingle.

"Come in," I called, proud that my voice remained steady.

Dante filled the doorway, all barely leashed power in human form. He'd dressed formally today--black pants, grey shirt that did nothing to hide his

warrior's build, those ritual scars visible at his collar. His gold eyes swept over me, lingering for a moment before his expression hardened.

"The pack is gathering.

"The flower first." I lifted my chin. "I need to write to my father, make sure he knows what to do with it. That was our deal."

Something flickered in those predatory eyes. Surprise? Respect? It was gone too quickly to tell.

"Very well." He moved to a small writing deskI hadn't noticed, pulling out parchment and ink. "Write your letter. I've arranged for a merchant to deliver it, along with supplies your father will need."

I sat at the desk, very aware of him looming behind me. His heat reached me even from there, along with that scent of winter wind and wild forests. Focus.

The letter.

Father.

My hands shook slightly as I wrote, explaining where I was, what had happened. I kept it simple, reassuring. No need to tell him about blood oaths and cursed wolves. Just that I'd found work as a healer, that l'd send money when I could, that the flower would cure him.

"The Frost's Heart needs specific handling" I said, not looking up. "it has to be brewed at midnight under moonlight, or it loses potency. The merchant will need clear instructions-

"The merchant knows his task." Dante's voice rumbled closer than I expected. "And its importance."

I turned, finding him right behind my chair. He held out the flower, properly preserved in a crystal container. The blue glow seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.

"If anything happens to my father..." I let the threat hang, empty as it was.

What could I really do to an alpha werewolf?

His lips curved slightly. "You have my word, little healer. Both flower and instructions will reach him safely." He set the container down carefully. "Now.

The pack awaits.

The pack. Right. I stood, squaring my shoulders. Time to face what I'd bound myself to.

"l'm ready."

His laugh was dark. "No, little healer. You're not. But you will be."

The great hall in daylight was a revelation of horror.

What I'd glimpsed in shadow now stood stark in morning light streaming through warped windows. The pack gathered below, and my healing magic recoiled at the sight.

Some appeared as wolves, twisted larger than nature intended. Others were caught horrifically between forms--human faces elongated into partial muzzles, hands that were half-paws, bodies contorted by transformation frozen mid-change.

But their eyes... every one of them watched me vwith desperate human

intelligence.

Dante's hand at my back guided me down the sweeping staircase. The pack parted before us, forming a loose circle. Most appeared as wolves or half- transformed creatures, but one man stood apart-not just in his human form, but in the way he carried himself.

Power radiated from him, different from Dante's but no less dangerous. The curse had ravaged the right side of his face, turning his eye a sickly white and threading black lines through his skin like poisoned veins. His other eye, sharp and dark, assessed me with the kind of cold calculation that made my healing magic recoil.

"My beta, Ash." Dante nodded towards the other man. The man remained stone-faced, his scarred hands clasped behind his back. Where Dante's partial dress emphasized his power, Ash's dark leather and wool felt like armor, protecting others from seeing the toll of his transformations.

Movement at the far door drew every eye. An ancient wolf entered, her movement speaking of pain my healing magic ached to soothe. Her fur might once have been grey, but the curse had bleached it almost white, leaving only shadows of her original color.

Despite her obvious suffering, she carried herself with the kind of quiet dignity I'd seen in the oldest of healers. Her golden eyes, though clouded with age, held generations of wisdom-and pain I desperately wanted to ease.

"Maven," Dante said softly. "Our former healer."

The old wolf approached, her golden eyes sharp. She circled me slowly, and though I couldn't understand her thoughts, I felt her magic brush against mine-ancient, powerful despite the curse's corruption.

"She says your magic is old," Dante translated, his voice rumbling close to my ear. "Deeper than she expected."

Maven stopped before me, sitting back on her haunches. A stream of thoughts I couldn't hear passed between her and Dante.

"She wants to test your abilities," he said."Simple exercises first."

The next hour was strange torture. Maven would indicate what she wanted through Dante, requiring him to stay close, translating. His heat against my back and his breath stirring my hair as he spoke made it hard to focus. Each word rumbled through me like distant thunder, his chest occasionally brushing my shoulder as he moved.

The curse might have twisted his nature, but nothing had diminished the raw power that radiated from him. Power that called to something in me I didn't want to examine too closely.

"Channel healing energy to your palms," he translated. "Let her see your natural magic."

I did as instructed, calling forth the familiar warm light. Maven's ears pricked forward vwith interest.

"Now touch the curse magic. Carefully."

Ireached out with my power, brushing against the dark energy that filled the castle. The contact sent ice through my veins, making me gasp. Dante's hands steadied me, but I caught the quick exchange of looks between him and Maven.

"what"l asked, "What is it?"

"Your magic..." Dante paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "It resonates differently with the curse than Maven expected."

Before I could ask what that meant, a small russet wolf pushed forward.

Unlike the others, she seemed stuck in pure wolf form, though far too small for a werewolf. Her thoughts must have reached Dante because he nodded.

"Kira volunteers for a healing attempt," he said. "She's young. The curse hasn't had as long to take hold."

I knelt before the young wolf, letting my magic reach out to assess her condition. The curse had indeed twisted her ability to shift, trapping her in this form. But underneath..

"I can feel where it's hurting her," I said. "I think I can help ease it, at least."

Maven moved closer to observe as I placed my hands on Kira's ruff. The whole pack seemed to hold its collective breath.

I called my magic forth, directing it into Kira's cursed form. At first, it seemed to work-the young wolf relaxed under my touch, some of the tension leaving her frame as warmth flowed from my palms into her twisted body. Her fur felt wrong under my fingers, too coarse, almost brittle from the curse's corruption.

But then the curse fought back.

Dark energy surged up against my magic, trying to corrupt it. I gasped at the sensation-like plunging into frozen, tainted water, like breathing in glass shards.

The taste of copper flooded my mouth as my power flickered, draining faster than l'd ever experienced. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision.

Still, I pushed on, focusing on easing Kira's pain even if I couldn't break the curse entirely. My arms trembled with effort, sweat running cold down my back despite the heat pouring from my hands.

The curse's magic felt oily, slick and wrong as it tried to slide up through my healing power and into me. Each heartbeat echoed in my ears as I fought to keep the corruption at bay while still maintaining the healing connection.

Kira's whimpers of pain turned to relief turned to pain again as the magics warred within her.

When I finally pulled back, sweat dripped down my spine and my hands shook uncontrollably. My stomach churned from the lingering taste of corruption in my mouth, my skin crawling where the curse had tried to seep in But Kira's eyes were clearer, her form slightly less twisted. Not healed, but... helped.

The pack's reaction was immediate-hope warring with disappointment on the faces of those with human features, while the wolves whined softly.

Maven's golden eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made me uneasy.

My vision swam as I tried to stand. Strong hands caught me-Dante, steadying me against his chest. The contact sent sparks through my already overtaxed magic, my body betraying me by wanting to lean into his unnatural heat.

His heart thundered against my back, or maybe that was mine. The curse marks on his skin seemed to writhe at our proximity, and I had to fight the healer's instinct to reach out and touch them, to try to ease their darkness.

"Enough," he growled, the sound vibrating through every point where our bodies connected.

Maven was already approaching, her gaze moving between us in a way that made Dante's grip tighten. Something passed between them through their pack bonds, something that made tension radiate through his entire frame.

"What is it?" asked, but exhaustion slurred my words.

"Nothing that can't wait." His voice was rough. "You need rest."

I wanted to argue, but my legs were shaking, my magic depleted in a way l'd never felt before. He was right. But as he led me from the hall, I caught the looks exchanged between the pack members-something like hope kindling in their cursed eyes.

Back in my room, I sank onto the bed, every muscle aching from the healing attempt. The pack's hope and disappointment weighed on me like physical things.

I'd helped Kira, yes, but barely. Just easing her pain had nearly drained me completely. How was I supposed to heal an entire pack?

Through the blood oath bond, I could feel them alltheir pain, their corruption, their desperate need. And above me., strongest of all, was Dante.

His turmoil reached me even through the floors between us, a storm of emotionl couldn't quite decipher.

Anger? Fear? Something else entirely? Whatever it was made my magic stir restlessly under my skin, reaching toward him without my permission.

I touched the silver mark on my palm, remembering how it felt when he'd steadied me, his heat seeping into my skin, his power calling to my magic in ways I didn't understand. Ways that definitely weren't safe to examine too closely. He was cursed. Dangerous. The alpha of a pack I was bound to heal.

So why did my body still remember every point of contact? Why did my magic keep reaching for his darkness despite my better judgment?

A howl rose from somewhere in the castle--Kira, I thought, recognizing the younger voice. The pain in it was less than before. At least l'd done that much.

One small victory. One tiny step toward helping this cursed pack.

ljust hoped it would be enough. That I would be enough.

But as exhaustion pulled me toward sleep, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more. Something in the way Maven had looked between Dante and me. Something in the pack's strange hope.

What weren't they telling me?