Chapter 7

Drey’s POV

I saw her before I smelled the blood.

The battlefield was still—silent in that unnerving way that only comes after a storm. Bodies littered the ground, most of them already being dragged away by their pack. But then there she was. Crumpled near a broken tree, motionless. A dark stain pooled beneath her.

At first, I thought she was dead.

Then her fingers twitched.

I ran.

She was barely conscious, breathing like her lungs were on fire. Her side was torn open. Her wrist—maybe both—looked broken. I dropped to my knees and touched her cheek gently.

“Hey… hey, can you hear me?” I asked.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

She flinched when I tried to lift her, a soft, strangled sound catching in her throat—like she expected pain no matter what came next.

I swallowed hard. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

I carried her back to the truck. She weighed almost nothing. Bones and bruises. My wolf stirred, restless. Angry.

I didn’t even know her name yet, but something about her made every protective instinct in me flare to life.

Who the hell leaves a girl like this—blind, injured—on the edge of a battlefield?

Who sees her as disposable?

………………………………………………..

Tessy opened the front door before I even parked.

She didn’t ask questions at first. She took one look and sprang into action. That’s how we’ve always worked—me and her. No need for words when someone needs saving.

I stayed up that night by Clarissa’s side, even when Tessy told me to rest. I couldn’t.

Every time she whimpered in her sleep, my hands clenched. My wolf snarled.

It wasn’t just anger—it was personal. And I didn’t know why.

……………………………………………..

The second night, I caught myself just… watching her.

She slept like she didn’t trust the bed to hold her. Still curled at the edge, as if leaving room for someone else, or expecting to be kicked out.

And when she woke up, she looked straight through me.

No fear. No anger.

Just nothing.

Like the world had drained her dry.

I’ve seen soldiers return from war looking more alive than she did.

………………………………………..

The morning Tessy brought her tea, I stayed in the hallway, listening.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe gratitude. Maybe a soft “thank you” or something to show she was aware of where she was.

But Clarissa said nothing. Just sat there with her eyes open, her back straight as a rod, like she was bracing herself for bad news that never came.

I should’ve felt frustrated.

Instead, I felt… respect.

She was broken, but she didn’t let it show. Not the way most people do. Her silence was armor. Her stillness, a rebellion.

That night, I asked Tessy, “What do you think happened to her?”

She didn’t even blink. “Something no one deserves.”

That answer settled into my bones like lead.

………………………………………………

On the fourth morning, I found her trying to get out of bed on her own.

I stepped in before she collapsed.

“You need more time to heal,” I said, supporting her weight easily.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” she whispered, voice so hoarse I barely recognized it as hers.

I stared at her.

“You’re not,” I said, more fiercely than I meant to.

She didn’t reply. But she didn’t pull away either.

………………………………………………

I don’t know when the shift happened. When she went from being a stranger to someone I thought about constantly.

Maybe it was when she flinched at her reflection in the mirror.

Maybe it was the way she never asked for help but always struggled silently.

Maybe it was the first time she fell asleep and didn’t cry out.

All I know is—I wanted to protect her.

Not because she was weak.

But because I saw her strength buried beneath the pain.

And damn it, I wanted her to see it too.