Anna Wakes

"You carry the pup of a stranger."

"Was it an Alpha, a beta, a stray, or a human?"

"You whore of a Luna."

"You're my greatest heartbreak."

The words circled through her mind like vultures over a carcass, relentless and sharp.

They echoed in an endless loop, growing louder with each repetition until she forced her eyes open. The accusations faded, replaced by the steady beeping of an EKG machine.

Anna blinked against the harsh fluorescent light. "Where am I? How am I still breathing?" The questions tumbled through her foggy thoughts. By the sterile smell and the rhythmic hum of medical equipment, she was in a hospital. But that didn't make sense.

She'd felt death creeping through her veins, seen the edges of her vision blur into darkness. Someone must have found her—but who? An angel? Or something far worse... Deimon.

At least she wasn't chained in some forgotten dungeon, small mercies. She glanced down at her left arm, an IV line snaking into her vein. The pain that had consumed her was gone, her wounds sealed as if they'd never existed. Whatever else had happened, she was alive. That had to count for something.

Then reality crashed back;  Aurora, the escape,  Bug, the prosecution waiting if she was ever caught.

She was still sorting through the fragments of memory when a scent drifted through the room. Not human, Werewolf. Her pulse quickened, survival instinct flooding her system. Had Deimon tracked her down already? Every muscle in her body tensed, preparing for fight or flight. But then again, this scent was different—unfamiliar. It carried no malice, no threat, just a strange, unsettling calm.

The door opened, and a man stepped inside. Young, built like a warrior, all coiled muscle, well trimmed beards, and quiet strength. A werewolf, without question—the source of that intriguing scent. He carried a tray with a kettle and a single mug.

"Oh, you're finally awake."

His smile was genuine, warm even. "Gave me quite the scare there."

Anna stared at him surprisingly, trying to place him. He was younger than Deimon , but carried himself with the same natural authority. His scent, though... it was calm yet overwhelming, the kind that belonged to someone powerful, someone who didn't need to prove it.

"Don't mind me. Sorry if I startled you, miss." He set the tray down on the bedside table, movements precise and practiced. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"You gave us quite the heartbreak," he continued, pouring tea into a porcelain cup. "We thought you were gone for good. Miracles still happen, I suppose."

"Where... where am I?" Anna's voice came out rough, uncertain.

The man chuckled, a rich sound that filled the small room.

"Right, forgive me. Where are my manners? I'm Jebediah Ozeth. Most people call me J.B.—you're welcome to do the same. And you're in my home."

"But this is a hospital, isn't it?" Anna frowned.

Jebediah laughed harder this time, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. His scent shifted, sweeter somehow, almost hypnotic.

"You're funny, I'll give  that. It's a clinic, technically. Part of my home, but yeah, same difference."

He handed her the cup of tea. "Here. You need this. Been on IV fluids for three days straight.  Cocoa from the tropics—trust me , it's  tastes hits different."

Anna accepted the cup, bringing it to her lips. The first sip washed through her like a wave of calm, resetting frayed nerves she didn't know were screaming. She exhaled slowly in relaxation , and took another drink.

"See? Told you it was good." Jebediah's grin widened.

"How did I get here, Mr. J.B.?"

Anna asked quietly. "I remember... I remember dying."

"Well,  that's correct. You almost died. Sort of."

     His tone was playful, but something flickered behind his eyes. Anna raised an eyebrow, and he held up his hands. "Kidding, i'm kidding. Dead people don't appreciate good cocoa. But yeah, you were in bad shape when my scouting team found you. Freezing, bleeding out on the Ridges. Which, by the way, is strange. The Ridges is a no-man's land, how'd you end up in a place like that? Lose a challenge? Get lost?" On the run?

Anna's expression shifted, walls going up. Jebediah caught it immediately.

"You know what? Don't answer that ,forget I asked."

His voice softened. "What matters is you're here now, and you're safe. This place is a sanctuary. No one's going to hurt you here. You have my word on that—and I don't give my word lightly."

Anna nodded slowly, studying him. His presence was disarming, the tension in the room dissolving with every passing second.

"You must be starving," he said suddenly.

"You half-dead still, if I'm being honest. What sounds good? Rice? Salad? Pudding?" He didn't wait for her answer.

     "Actually, I'll just bring everything on the menu and you can pick. Be right back."

He turned to leave, moving with that same effortless speed that marked their kind. But he stopped at the door, glancing back.

"Almost forgot. I don't know your name yet, miss. Care to share?"

"Anna," she said after a heartbeat. "Anna Wilson."

"Anna." He repeated it like he was committing it to memory. Then he was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

And one very uncomfortable question: Why did his scent feel so much like Deimon's? Why did it carry that same weight, that same dominance that only Alphas possessed?

What kind of wolf had really saved her?

---

At the Silverwood manor, Deimon studied the faces gathered around him. Every expression was grim, shadowed by exhaustion and worry.

"Master Ashworth,"

Greystone began carefully, "what situation could possibly require us to meet in your family's bunker? Are we expecting an invasion?"

"Of course not, Greystone."

    Deimon's voice was flat, controlled. "But what I'm about to share can't be discussed in the council room. The walls have ears, and they are always listening ."

His paranoia hung in the air like smoke. The only people he trusted anymore were here—the Scion members, bound to him by blood oath and ancient loyalty.

Once everyone settled, Deimon gestured to Jabari.

"Tell them what you found."

Jabari stood, folder in hand, his expression grave.

"This won't be easy to hear, but Aurora—handmaid to Master Ashworth's former Luna—is dead. We found her body hanging from Wolf's Peak."

Murmurs rippled through the group like wind through tall grass.

"What happened?"

     Dubois leaned forward, voice tight with concern. " I know Aurora , she was kind, gentle. She doesn't appear to be the kind to take her own life."

"Please." Deimon's command cut through the noise. "Let Jabari finish."

Jabari opened the folder, revealing photographs that made even the hardened wolves shift uncomfortably.

    "The coroner examined her body thoroughly. What appeared to be suicide, well... wasn't."

"What are you saying?" Greystone's tone darkened.

"She was murdered. Strangled first, then hanged to stage a suicide. The bruising patterns tell the story—they don't match a self-inflicted hanging. And there's more." Jabari paused, letting the weight settle. "We found genetic material under her fingernails. She fought her attacker."

"DNA?" Greystone's jaw tightened.

"Yes. Werewolf DNA. But it doesn't match anyone in our database—not our pack, not the neighboring territories. The markers are unusual, ancient, according to our lab tech. He's never seen anything like it in twenty years of analysis."

"The foreign scent," Deimon said quietly. "The one Wolfhart mentioned."

"Exactly."

    Jabari nodded. "Whoever killed Aurora belongs to a pack we have no record of. A pack sophisticated enough to mask their scent from our best trackers."

Seraphina looked up, her voice barely above a whisper.

"And Anna?"

"Still missing. No trace, no trail. But..."

Jabari hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "One of our sentinels reported something unusual during the Ascension ceremony. A figure on the horizon, watching from the Ridges. Cloaked, tall. When he approached to investigate, the figure vanished."

"Man or woman?" Edith pressed.

"Couldn't tell. But he described the presence as wrong, powerful. Definitely not under the Crescent ."

Deimon's mind worked through possibilities like a wolf circling prey.

"Could this be sabotage? Another pack trying to destabilize my leadership?"

"Possible,"

Jabari agreed. "I've already recalled Wolfhart's team. The Nomads have volunteered to track this foreign scent—find out who they are, where they came from, and what they want with us."

"Could be a challenger," Edith suggested. "Someone putting up a performance to get your attention."

"Killing one of my own isn't a performance—it's a declaration of war."

Deimon's fist slammed against the wooden table. "Blood demands blood."

"But it doesn't explain Anna's disappearance," Dubois said softly. "For all we know, she could be dead. Or something worse."

Deimon's jaw clenched.

     "I told the Crescent Council I'd already dealt with her myself. Executed her for her crimes. If they discover she's alive, that I lied..." He didn't finish. He didn't need to.

"And if she is alive?"

Seraphina asked, watching him carefully. "If she survived somehow?"

"Then I'll finish what I started."

Deimon's voice was ice. "I made a vow, Seraphina. I intend to keep it. But let's hope it doesn't come to that. What do the spirits tell you?"

Seraphina pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the vision burn behind her eyes—the darkness growing inside Deimon, spreading like rot. But she couldn't tell him. Not now. Not when he was already teetering on an edge.

"Nothing, Master Ashworth. The spirits are silent. The slates are blank."

"That's terrible. So we'll have to solve this ourselves."

Deimon exhaled slowly. "Which brings me to the last issue. Brothers and sisters, what I'm about to say stays in this room. There's a traitor among us. Someone helped Anna escape. The silver shackles that held her were unlocked with a master key—an artifact that only members of this council possess."

Shocked silence filled the bunker.

"Yes. A master key." Deimon's gaze swept across each face. "I'm not accusing anyone here—you're bound by blood oath. But someone's key was either stolen or borrowed. At our next gathering, every member of this council will present their master key. We clear the doubt, or we expose the rot. Either way, we'll know the truth."

"These are testing times," he continued. "Forces we can't see are moving against us. But I won't break. I'll show them exactly what I'm capable of."

Agreement murmured through the group. Deimon reached beneath the table and produced an ancient bottle, its label faded with age.

"I found this in my family's vault. Five, maybe six hundred years old. I thought we should share it with you, my brothers —a reminder that we've survived worse. Moving forward, the tide  will turn in our favor."

He poured the dark liquid into glasses, passing them around.

But as they raised their cups in unity, Seraphina's eyes darted at the corner of the room. She noticed the shadow that flickered across the bunker's single narrow window.

A shadow that shouldn't exist.

  Seraphina's heart raced, another vision. The wine halting on her throat .