Chapter 12

Zane POV

The sharp evening air bit at my skin as I opened the car door. The dull, rhythmic sound of traffic filled the silence around me. Alexander, my precious boy, had shifted back into his wolf form after begging me not to leave Tyla behind. His small frame trembled in my arms, his dark fur pressed against my chest, and his soft whimpers resonated in my mind.

"I'm here, son," I whispered through our mind-link, stroking his fur gently.

I didn't know what awaited me inside the decrepit shelter. All I knew was that I couldn't ignore Alexander's desperate plea.

I approached the battered building, its broken windows and peeling paint a testament to years of neglect. The faint glow of a single light bulb flickered above the entrance, casting eerie shadows on the cracked walls.

Pushing open the door, the stench of mildew and despair hit me like a wave. The interior was worse than I had imagined: dust-covered floors, overcrowded beds, and hollow-eyed inhabitants who barely spared me a glance.

Then I saw her. Tyla.

She was on her knees, tears streaming down her face as she begged a group of indifferent strangers to help her friend. Her small frame looked even more fragile under the dim lighting, her hands trembling as she clutched Lucas's arm.

"Please," she cried, her voice cracking, "somebody, anybody, help me save him!"

I couldn't help it. A dry chuckle escaped me, cutting through the room's oppressive silence.

"Are you always this dramatic, or is tonight special?" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Her head whipped around, her wide, tear-filled eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, she looked stunned, her breath catching in her throat. Relief washed over her expression as her gaze dropped to Alexander in my arms.

"You came back," she whispered, disbelief evident in her tone.

I crouched down to her level, my eyes boring into hers. She looked so lost, so desperate, but I wasn't convinced. Something about her didn't add up.

Alexander's voice broke into my thoughts, his pleading tone echoing in my mind. "Daddy, help her."

I sighed deeply, my resolve crumbling under the weight of my son's trust.

The sterile scent of antiseptic and the quiet hum of fluorescent lights filled the hospital waiting room. Tyla sat across from me, her eyes red and puffy from crying. Despite the doctor's assurances that Lucas would be fine, she couldn't seem to stop her sobs, which grated on my nerves.

Leaning back in my chair, I decided to cut through the crying with bluntness.

"Why are you living in a homeless shelter?" I asked, my voice sharp. "Where are your parents? Your boyfriend? Your husband?"

She looked startled, her gaze snapping to mine. For a moment, she looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"I don't have anyone like that," she said quietly, her voice a mere whisper.

I raised an eyebrow, my skepticism evident. "You expect me to believe that? No parents, no boyfriend, no husband?"

"My parents died a long time ago," she replied, her voice trembling. "And I don't have a boyfriend or a husband."

Liar.

Did she truly think I was a fool? Her scent betrayed her. She wreaked of an alpha wolf—fresh, potent, unmistakable. That was no faint memory or distant bond. Whoever had marked her was alive and well, and the sheer audacity of her denial gnawed at my patience.

She was lying. And if there was one thing I detested more than betrayal, it was deceit. Marking wasn't something done lightly in our world. Among werewolves, it was sacred—a bond forged with consent and reverence, not a casual whim. To mark a human, a vampire, or even a witch required explicit agreement, a deep understanding of its gravity.

It wasn't just a bite or a scar; it was a claim, an eternal link. To mark without consent was a crime punishable by the Royal Enforcers.

So Tyla had given her consent. She had allowed herself to be marked, fully knowing what it meant. Yet here she stood, spouting lies, denying her mate's existence as if the bond meant nothing. To me, that was worse than a rejection. It was desecration.

Even if she didn't want to reveal the truth to a stranger, the least she could do was acknowledge she wasn't unattached. How could she take something so profound for granted? The thought sickened me. If I could have even one moment with Emma again, I'd treasure it with every fiber of my being. But Tyla? She was shedding tears over another man, while her mate—bound to her by the deepest magic we knew—was likely somewhere worrying about her.

Was this just selfishness, or was there something darker beneath her lies? My mind flickered to my uncle, Prince Nathan. Manipulation was his weapon of choice. Could Tyla be one of his pawns? Could she have been sent to infiltrate my life, using my innocent son as leverage? My chest tightened with the possibility. Was this all part of an elaborate scheme to end my life and place that wretched man on the throne?

The memory of Marcus surfaced unbidden. My brother, so kind, so trusting—he had been lured to his death by an innocent-looking girl under the guise of needing help. Marcus hadn't seen the lies until it was too late. But I wasn't Marcus. I wouldn't fall for the same trap.

Yet, my hands were tied. Alexander had formed a connection with her. I couldn't afford to sever it—not yet. But that didn't mean I wouldn't dig for the truth.

At the hotel, I took precautions. I booked a separate room for Tyla, intending to keep her at arm's length. Alexander, however, had other plans. He insisted on staying with her, his wide, pleading eyes making it clear I couldn't refuse. My son had always been my weakness.

After settling her in, I retreated to my room. The weight of suspicion pressed heavy on my chest. Picking up my phone, I dialed the hospital director. The call was brief but deliberate.

"I'm ready to make a generous donation to your facility," I said, my voice firm and authoritative. "In exchange, I need your doctors to tell the girl I'll be bringing by tomorrow that Garrick's condition is deteriorating and he needs to be transferred to another facility. Do I make myself clear?"

There was hesitation on the other end, but money, as always, proved to be a persuasive force. The director eventually agreed, and I ended the call, a smirk tugging at my lips.

Garrick would be my key to unraveling who Tyla truly was. For now, I would play the part of the accommodating host, but Tyla had no idea who she was dealing with. She might think herself clever, but I would prove to her that deceit comes with a price.