Chapter 13 The Second Attempt
I wake with the taste of iron on my tongue.
For a long moment, I lie still, staring at the ceiling of the adjoining room, my heart pounding hard enough to make my ribs ache. The bond hums beneath my skin—restless, alert, uneasy—like it sensed the skirmish before I did and never truly settled afterward.
Tomorrow will be worse.
Alaric’s words echo through me as I dress, the memory of his expression replaying in my mind. Grim. Resolute. A man already preparing to choose violence because that’s what leadership demands of him.
And if he does…
The coven will get what they want. War. Blood. Proof that wolves can’t be trusted to coexist.
I press my palm flat to my chest and breathe until the ache eases.
Today, I need clarity.
Today, I need to decide how far I’m willing to go.
The infirmary is quieter than yesterday, the air heavy with exhaustion and grief. Selene stands near the far table, her posture rigid, her scent sharp with barely restrained anger.
“You shouldn’t be here yet,” she says when she sees me.
“I’m fine.”
She snorts softly. “That’s not what I meant.”
I don’t ask her to explain. I already know.
The pack lost a scout. They won’t forget it. Wolves rarely forgive blood.
I work in silence, my movements precise, my thoughts anything but. Every bandage I tie, every wound I clean, I feel the weight of the poison vial against my ankle—constant, accusing.
By midmorning, the bond shifts.
It tightens suddenly, sharp enough to steal my breath. I brace myself against the edge of a table as a surge of awareness rushes through me.
Alaric.
Not nearby. Approaching.
“Here we go,” Selene murmurs under her breath.
Before I can respond, Alaric enters the infirmary, flanked by two council members. The room stills immediately. Conversations drop. Eyes track his movement with reverent focus.
His gaze finds me without hesitation.
The bond flares—heat, tension, something darker threaded beneath it.
“Mira,” he says. “Walk with me.”
It isn’t a request.
I follow him out, the council members peeling away as we move through the corridor. He leads me not to his quarters, but to a smaller antechamber near the council hall—a private space, warded and quiet.
He closes the door behind us and turns.
“The council wants an answer,” he says without preamble. “They want to know whether you’re a risk or a resource.”
My stomach drops. “And what did you tell them?”
“That I would decide.”
The bond hums, tight and uneasy.
He steps closer, his presence filling the room. “They’re pushing for a demonstration of loyalty.”
I swallow. “Mine?”
“Yes.”
My pulse spikes. “What kind of demonstration?”
Alaric studies my face, his expression unreadable. “They want you to assist with a healing ritual tonight. Publicly.”
Relief and dread collide in my chest. “Healing?”
“The wolf injured yesterday wasn’t the only one,” he continues. “Several others are still weak. The council believes your presence calms the pack.”
The words feel like a blade wrapped in silk.
“And you?” I ask.
“I believe,” he says slowly, “that putting you in front of them will either solidify your position… or expose whatever you’re hiding.”
The bond pulses, warning and intent.
I force myself to nod. “I’ll do it.”
He searches my face, sharp and penetrating. “You’re agreeing too easily.”
“I don’t have the luxury of refusal.”
Something flickers in his eyes—approval, perhaps. Or resignation.
“Be ready by nightfall,” he says. “And Mira—”
“Yes?”
“Don’t make me regret this.”
He leaves before I can answer.
By evening, the compound is alive with anticipation. Torches blaze along the central courtyard, wolves gathering in loose circles, their scents mingling—expectation, suspicion, hunger.
I stand near the edge, Selene beside me, my nerves singing.
“You know this is a test,” she murmurs.
“I’m aware.”
She glances at me sharply. “Then don’t fail it.”
Alaric steps forward, commanding silence with a single raised hand. The pack stills instantly, eyes trained on him.
“We heal our own,” he says, voice carrying easily across the courtyard. “Tonight, we strengthen what was weakened.”
His gaze flicks to me. “Mira Holloway will assist.”
A ripple of reaction moves through the pack—curiosity, doubt, restrained hostility.
I step forward, my heart hammering, my magic coiled tight beneath my skin. The injured wolves are brought forth, settling onto the stone ground. I kneel beside the first, my hands steady as I work.
Healing magic is subtle. Quiet. It requires focus, not force.
I let it flow carefully, controlled, binding torn muscle, easing inflammation. The bond hums softly, almost approving.
The pack watches.
I feel their attention like weight pressing down on my shoulders.
One by one, the wolves strengthen under my hands. Murmurs ripple through the crowd—not awe, but reluctant acknowledgment.
I move to the final wolf.
This one is older, his injury deeper. He looks at me with narrowed eyes, his scent sharp with pain and distrust.
“Don’t flinch,” he growls.
“I won’t.”
As I lay my hands against his ribs, the bond surges unexpectedly—heat flooding my veins, my awareness snapping outward.
Alaric.
He’s watching closely now, his posture rigid, his gaze locked onto me.
The magic falters for a heartbeat.
That’s all it takes.
Pain lances through my chest, mirrored through the bond. I gasp softly, my focus slipping.
The older wolf stiffens. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” I lie quickly, forcing my magic back into control.
But the damage is done.
Alaric steps forward, his voice cutting through the courtyard. “Enough.”
He helps the wolf to his feet, then turns to me, his expression tight.
“Inside,” he says quietly.
The walk back to his quarters is tense, silent. The door closes behind us with a heavy thud.
“You lost focus,” he says.
“I didn’t—”
“The bond spiked,” he interrupts. “I felt it.”
My heart pounds. “I was distracted.”
“By what?” His eyes narrow. “Or by who?”
The room feels suddenly too warm.
“I’m doing the best I can,” I say, frustration bleeding into my voice. “You put me under scrutiny, surrounded by wolves who don’t trust me, and expect perfection.”
“That wasn’t the problem,” he replies. “The problem is that when the bond surged, your first instinct wasn’t fear.”
My stomach drops.
“It was guilt.”
Silence crashes down between us.
Alaric steps closer, his presence overwhelming. “What are you guilty of, Mira?”
The truth claws at my throat, desperate to escape.
Instead, I say, “Of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The bond pulses—hard, disbelieving.
Alaric exhales slowly, his jaw tightening. “This isn’t sustainable.”
“I know.”
“You’re running out of chances.”
“I know,” I repeat, softer now.
He studies me for a long moment, then turns away. “Get some rest.”
“That’s it?” I ask.
“For now.”
He leaves me standing there, my heart racing, my thoughts spiraling.
Back in my room, I sink onto the bed and retrieve the vial with shaking hands.
Tonight wasn’t the opportunity.
But the next one will be harder to walk away from.
The coven is pressing closer. The pack is watching more carefully. And Alaric’s patience—fragile as it is—is thinning by the hour.
The lie tightens around me like a noose.
And the next time the bond surges…
I might not be able to stop myself from choosing wrong.