Chapter 12

Chapter 12
The Pup Incident

Claire's POV

The scream was faint, it was more like a whimper, really but it clawed at something deep in my chest.

I froze mid-step on the trail that curved near the edge of the forest, my boots half-sinking into the damp earth. Birds had stopped chirping. Even the wind had gone still.

Then it came again. A short, sharp cry. Desperate. Pained.

I didn’t think. I ran.

I was just on my way to gather herbs and see if there was any other thing worth taking for before the sound.

Branches scratched my arms and snagged my hair as I tore through the underbrush. The scent hit me before the sight did—blood. Sharp and bitter, like rust and rain. My heart slammed against my ribs.

I found him curled beneath a hollow log. A tiny pup, no older than six or seven, trembling and soaked in blood. His fur was matted with dirt, his eyes dull with shock. A gash ran down his flank, too deep, and raw.

My hands shook as I reached for him. “Hey… hey, you’re okay,” I whispered, even though he couldn’t hear the lie in my voice. “You’re going to be okay.”

He flinched when I touched him, a whimper escaping his throat. I had no bandages, no herbs—but I had something else. Something I hadn’t used since arriving here. Something I wasn’t even sure I should use again.

But this pup was dying.

I closed my eyes and pressed my palm against the wound.

Heat surged up my spine. My heart stuttered. The poison inside me—the one I’d always feared—shifted and curled around the pain, drinking it in. My skin tingled, then burned. The pup cried once more, then fell silent, breathing steady.

When I opened my eyes, the wound had closed.

Not all the way. But enough. And he had shifted back to his human form.

When I picked him up, his tiny body sagged in my arms, exhausted but alive. I let out a shaky breath, blinking back tears. “There. You’re safe now.”

I cradled him to my chest and stood, unsure what to do next. If I returned through the woods, it would raise questions. But I couldn’t just leave him.

So I walked straight to the infirmary.

The moment I stepped through the pack house gates, I knew something was off. Conversations slowed. Heads turned. And then I saw her—Mirabel—standing near the steps, flanked by a few warriors. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“What happened?” she asked, gaze flicking to the pup in my arms.

“I found him in the woods,” I said. “He was bleeding. Alone. I healed what I could.”

Something shifted in her posture. “Interesting.”

I barely made it five steps before someone muttered, “She did something to him.”

“Probably testing her poison again.”

“I heard she snapped.”

The words hit like stones, each one sharper than the last. I held the pup tighter, but it was too late. The damage had already begun. The gossip—swift and cutting—moved faster than wildfire.

How could they be so callous. In Crystal Falls, I'm treated like a disease, here in treated like some murderer.

I didn't know which one was worse anymore. I just wanted to sink on my knees and cry.

“He was fine before she found him!”

“My cousin saw her crouching over him. Said there was blood on her hands.”

“There’s always blood where she goes.”

I turned to face them. “He was hurt. I helped him.”

“Helped?” A tall warrior sneered. “Or experimented?”

Mirabel raised her hands gently. “Everyone, calm down. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

But her voice was too smooth, too measured. She wasn’t calming them—she was fueling them, feeding the hysteria while pretending to soothe it.

I took a step back. “Where’s the healer? He needs rest.”

Someone laughed. “What he needs is a cleanse.”

“He needs to be kept away from you.”

The pup whimpered, curling closer to me.

Then, like a whisper against the storm, a voice broke through—silent, trembling.

It was the omega girl. The mute one who I’d seen fighting one of the pack members even though she was outmatched. She stepped out from behind the crowd, eyes wide and panicked. She pointed at me, then made signs with her hands.

A few gasps.

“She says Claire helped him,” someone translated.

“She saw it all.”

The girl nodded.

But Mirabel’s voice turned icy. “She’s confused. The trauma of the situation likely clouded her memory.”

The omega flinched like she’d been struck.

“She shouldn’t be making claims she can’t explain,” Mirabel added with a gentle smile, but her eyes narrowed.

And just like that, the silence girl stepped back. Her chin lowered. Submission.

I swallowed hard. My throat burned.

And then I saw him.

Blake.

He stood near the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. Watching.

I forced myself to meet his gaze. “Do you believe them?”

His jaw clenched.

“Blake.”

He didn’t answer.

I let out a bitter laugh. “Of course. Why would you?”

He said nothing. Nothing at all. Just watched me—silent, detached, guarded.

I turned my back to him.

I handed the pup over to a reluctant young healer and walked away before the burn behind my eyes turned into tears. The crowd parted like I was something toxic. A sickness they couldn’t wait to rid themselves of.

By the time I reached the guest quarters, my heart had gone cold.

\---

Night fell like a shroud. I barely touched the food someone left outside my door. Sleep didn’t come either. I sat by the window, legs pulled to my chest, staring out at the trees.

My mind played the scene again and again. It wasn't really the accusations that hurt most. It was the detached way Blake watched the whole episode play out.

Blake watched, choosing to say nothing.

Why did that hurt more than the accusations?

A rustle outside.

I stood, instincts on alert. Quiet footsteps. Then the unmistakable scent of iron.

Blood.

I opened the door.

The word was painted in thick, crimson strokes across the wood.

WITCH.

For a long moment, I couldn’t breathe. The letters dripped, still wet. Still warm.

Behind me, the wind moaned through the room like a warning.

Someone had made their judgment.

And they wanted me to know.