CHAPTER 4

Kira'S POV.

I sank into the chair beside his bed. For a moment, I simply watched him breathe. The blood had been cleaned, and Erica was right—he didn’t look like one of them. But the mark, that cursed symbol, peeked from beneath the bandage, burning in the corner of my mind.

The Midnight Fang. My parents’ killers. The reason I became a doctor—to save lives in a world that took them so easily.

I told myself to stand, finish reports, check the supply room. Instead, exhaustion dragged my eyelids down. I rested my arms on the edge of the bed and leaned forward—just for a moment. The next thing I knew, I was drifting off.

The hum of the machines blurred. Then the smell changed.

Smoke. Blood. Screams.

I was back in the pack house. Walls trembled beneath snarls and fire. My mother’s hoarse, desperate voice cut through the chaos.

“Run, Kira! Hide!”

I turned too late. Large black wolves burst through the door, shifting to human form, the mark blazing on their chests. My father fought and fell. My mother screamed my name—and then silence. Only the mark remained, glowing red in the firelight.

Flames and screams twisted into something new, yet terrifyingly familiar. The heat faded, replaced by a sudden chill. Smoke lifted, revealing a night sky painted crimson—blood-red and burning with its own light.

My heart skipped. The scene grew clearer. The pack house had transformed into the grounds of the mating ceremony. Wolves of Night Crescent gathered in tense ranks, fangs bared—not in celebration, but in fear. At the center, Alec and Amanda stood beneath the rising blood moon, their forms illuminated in a sinister glow.

But this wasn’t a ceremony. Chaos tore through the gathering like a storm. Wolves screamed—some falling to unseen claws, others scattering in panic. Shadows twisted across the crowd. The scent of blood churned my stomach.

And then I saw him.

A lone figure, standing still amid the chaos, untouched by the storm around him. The moonlight danced across his form, yet he didn’t belong to this world. He radiated a presence that drew every gaze—even from those fleeing or screaming.

Slowly, he turned, and immediately recognition struck like ice and fire entwined. The stranger—the man from the hospital—now wore a crown of bones, jagged and ghastly, catching the blood-red moonlight.

Every detail was impossibly vivid: the crown, the cold authority in his eyes, the raw power thrumming from him. He was the eye of the storm.

I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. My gaze remained on him.

The red moon climbed higher, bleeding across the scene. His eyes found mine, piercing through blood and fire. My chest froze, my mind screaming in silence.

For a moment, time itself held still.

The world waited.

Then a faint shift of air brushed my face. I stirred, half caught between dream and waking.

Then I felt it again—something light touching my face.

My eyes fluttered open and I froze.

The stranger’s hand hovered above me, trembling. A strand of hair had fallen across my cheek; he moved it aside, gently and cautiously.

He froze the instant our eyes met.

The faint light from the monitors revealed his pale, dazed eyes, full of curiosity.

For a long, fragile second, neither of us moved.

Then his hand slowly fell back to the bed, draining him of effort. His lips parted in a shallow breath as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

“You’re awake,” I whispered, voice rough from sleep.

He didn’t answer, only blinked slowly, studying me as if confirming his own existence.

I leaned back. “Don’t move,” I murmured, reaching for the monitor. “You’re safe. For now.”

I wasn’t sure whether I was reassuring him—or myself.

“How long,” I asked softly, “have you been awake?”

His brow furrowed, struggling to process the question. “I… I don’t know. I think I just woke up. Yeah…” His voice was rough, hoarse.

I offered a glass of water. “Slowly,” I murmured.

He sipped carefully, then looked around, dazed. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Night Crescent territory,” I said, watching him. “You were found unconscious in the woods. You’d lost a lot of blood.”

He blinked, a crease forming between his brows. “Night Crescent… Where’s that?”

“You don’t remember? It’s a werewolf pack,” I said cautiously.

He closed his eyes, wincing. “Noise… flashes… blood… trees… claws… Then—” He pressed a hand to his head. “Nothing. That's all I remember.”

My lips parted as realization dawned on me. Amnesia. Head trauma—or something worse.

“Can you tell me your name?” I asked, jotting notes automatically.

There was a long silence. Then, barely audible, he spoke. “Anton.”

“Anton,” I repeated softly in relief. “That’s your name?”

“I think so,” he murmured, eyes searching mine. “It’s what comes to mind when I try to remember… me… Yeah, I think that’s it.”

He studied me, as if trying to read my face for truth. “Have we met before?”

I paused, caught off guard by his question. “No. You were a stranger when they brought you in. I’ve never seen you before.”

His eyes narrowed. “Not even once? Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” I said.

He fell silent, distant, lost in thought.

“Anton,” I repeated softly. “You’re sure that’s your name?”

“It feels right,” he murmured. “But… there’s a fog. I can’t see past it.”

I nodded slowly. “Do you remember anything else? Where you came from? How you ended up in the woods?”

His jaw tightened. “I—I was running. Voices… lots of voices… I can’t remember… Then—” He pressed a hand to his temple, groaning softly.

“Stop forcing it,” I said, standing.

“I almost had it…” he rasped. “There was a face… someone called my name… They handed me something… Then—”

He broke off, teeth gritted. The monitor beside him beeped faster.

“Enough,” I said firmly, placing a hand on his arm. “Stop pushing it. You’ll make it worse.”

His body relaxed slightly, the tension easing. The beeping slowed. I waited until it was steady before letting go.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood and taken a heavy blow to the head,” I said gently. “Memories will come back when they want. Forcing them won’t help.”

He turned toward me, eyes half-lidded but still searching. “You sound certain of that.”

“I have to be,” I whispered. “It’s my job.”

For a moment he just stared at me in silence. Then slowly he nodded. "Then I believe you."

For a moment, his words lingered in the quiet. "Then I believe you."

I didn’t want his belief. I wanted answers. I had gone against practically my whole pack to keep this man alive, inspite of our history with his pack. The least I deserved was an answer.

But his voice—calm, sincere, and strangely steady for a man who’d nearly died—sent an uneasy shiver through me. I stepped back, keeping the bed between us, forcing distance where there wasn’t enough air to breathe.

“Good,” I said curtly. “Now rest. You’ll need it.”

He nodded faintly, but his eyes didn’t leave me. They were unsettling—clearer now, focused, and way too observant. He was studying me again, like he had when he first woke, as if trying to place me somewhere in a memory he couldn’t reach.

“What happened to me?” he asked at last.

“You were attacked near the border. I think,” I said. “That’s all we know.”

“Attacked by who?” 

“That’s what I’d like to know too.”

His confusion looked genuine, but I’d seen good liars before—men who could feign innocence with a single tremor in their voice. I’d treated them. Questioned them. Watched them bleed.

My gaze dropped, unwillingly, to the faint edge of the bandage around him. The mark lay beneath it—burned into his skin like a curse. The Midnight Fang. My jaw tightened.

He followed my eyes. “There’s something on me, isn’t there?”

I froze. “Why do you ask?”

“I saw it,” he murmured. “When I woke up before. Just a glimpse—black lines, something like claws or teeth. It’s not a tattoo, is it?”

His tone was curious, not defensive. That made it worse.

“No,” I said softly. “It’s not.”

He frowned, trying to read my face, but I turned away, pretending to check the chart again. The pen shook faintly in my hand.

“I can feel it,” he said quietly. “Like it burns. Like it’s… alive. I don't remember what it is, but I can tell it's nothing good.”

I swallowed hard. That mark wasn’t alive—it was a brand of death, carved by monsters who’d torn my family apart. That was what it was for me, nothing more.

Maya stirred in the back of my mind, her growl a low vibration. "Something's not adding up here, Kira and I don't like it."

“I know,” I whispered under my breath.

Anton’s head tilted slightly. “You said something?”

“Nothing.” I kept my voice steady. “You need rest, not conversation.”

But he didn’t close his eyes. His gaze lingered, even more sharp and aware. “You’re afraid of me.”

My pulse spiked. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he said, almost angrily. “Your eyes—people only look that way when they’re scared or angry.”

I set the chart down with a click. “You’re imagining things.”

He smiled faintly. “Maybe.” His expression softened. “Still, you should ask yourself… if I was capable of harming anyone, would I even be lying here right now?”

The question hit harder than I expected. Because he was right—if he were one of them, why would they leave him bleeding in our woods? Why leave their own behind?

Unless…

Unless he wasn’t left there.

Unless he escaped.

Or maybe this was all a good set up to penetrate this pack. 

Goddess, I hope I'm wrong. I hope I didn't

just help the enemy into our lands. But even as I thought that, another thought ran through my mind. What if Alec was right after all? What if I'd just betrayed my pack by saving this stranger?