Chapter 23 Chapter twenty-three
The scream tore through the mansion like a blade.
It was sharp, and filled with a kind of pain. The great stone walls of the pack mansion shuddered with its echo, rattling chandeliers and silencing the low hum of voices from every corridor. For one breathless moment, the entire mansion froze. Then chaos erupted.
Ellie’s scream had always been recognizable, soft and lilting when she laughed, cuttingly sharp when she teased but this one was different. It was primal, a cry of fear and agony so fierce that every wolf in the house reacted instinctively. Conversations broke off mid-sentence. Chairs scraped the floor. Doors burst open.
“Ellie!” Sylvia’s voice cracked the air, a tremor of panic that belied the iron control he usually carried like armor. His boots struck the marble floor in a blur as he sprinted down the grand hallway, his heart pounding with a rhythm that matched the drumming of dozens of other feet converging on the same sound.
By the time he reached the west wing, the scent of blood hit him.
Not the faint, metallic tang of a scraped knee or a minor injury—but the thick, choking scent of real loss. It coated the air, seeped into the rugs, filled his nostrils. His wolf surged beneath his skin, claws raking at the inside of his chest. The sight that greeted him nearly made him lose control.
Claus was there, kneeling on the floor, cradling Ellie in his arms. Blood soaked his shirt and ran down his wrists, pooling beneath them on the tiles. His expression was wild, his eyes burning gold, lips pulled back just short of a snarl.
“Move!” Sylvia’s voice snapped through the growing crowd. He dropped to him knees beside them, his hands trembling despite the years he’d spent training them not to. “What happened?”
Claus looked up, but the words caught in his throat. He didn’t need to answer; his face said everything. Guilt. Fear.
Sylvia’s breath hitched. The sight of Ellie’s pale face, her lips tinged blue, made something inside his chest twist cruelly. Ellie looked so fragile in that moment, like a doll made of glass and porcelain, moments away from shattering.
“Get the healer,” Sylvia ordered sharply. “Now!”
One of the guards sprinted off, Claus’s arms tightened around Ellie’s limp body as if afraid she would vanish the moment he let go.
Claus didn’t hesitate. He lifted Ellie effortlessly, his muscles coiling as he stood, the blood still dripping from his hands. Sylvia followed beside him, matching his pace. Behind them came several soldiers, their footsteps heavy, their expressions dark with worry.
The pack mansion’s grand halls blurred into shadow and motion as they raced through the night. Outside, the cold wind cut across their faces, the scent of pine and wet earth mingling with the heavy smell of blood. The healer’s house wasn’t far, t surrounded by herbs and old oak trees but every second felt like an eternity.
Ellie stirred once, her head rolling weakly against Claus’s shoulder. “It hurts…” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“I know,” Claus choked out, his throat tight. “I know, my love. Hold on.”
By the time they reached Cyprus’s home, she was already outside waiting for them “Bring her inside—gently! Lay her on the bed. You—boil water. And someone get me clean cloths!”
Cyprus’s house smelled of sage, smoke, and something faintly metallic. Shelves were lined with bottles of tinctures, jars of herbs, and bones etched with runes. Claus set Ellie on the wide wooden bed in the center of the room, his hands reluctant to let go even as Hessa pushed him back.
“I need space!” the healer snapped. “You’ll do her no good standing there dripping your panic all over my floor.”
Sylvia grabbed Claus by the arm and pulled him aside. He resisted for a heartbeat, his jaw clenching, before he relented. Together they stepped outside, where the night air was cool and biting. The door shut behind them with a soft thud, leaving the muffled sounds of Cyprus’s work on the other side—clinking glass, tearing cloth, the low murmur of an incantation.
Outside, the pack gathered.
Maids in nightclothes, soldiers still half-armored, elders wrapped in shawls, all drawn by the scent of blood and fear. The full moon loomed above, its pale light washing their faces with silver. It was a cruel irony.
Sylvia thought bitterly; the moon gave them strength, but it also seemed to delight in watching them suffer.
Claus stood rigid beside her, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. Blood had dried on his arms in dark streaks, but he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were locked on the door, every muscle in his body strung taut as a bowstring.
“She’ll live,” Sylvia said softly, though the words felt fragile in his mouth. “Cyprus’s the best healer we have.”
Claus didn’t respond. His gaze flicked toward him briefly, just long enough for him to see the flicker of despair there, then returned to the door.
One of the younger maids, voice trembling, asked, “What really happen to the Luna?”
Sylvia hesitated. “We don’t know yet.”
Minutes dragged into what felt like hours. The moon sank lower, and the forest around them pulsed with quiet tension. Wolves hated waiting; patience was not in their nature. Every rustle, every muffled sound from inside the healer’s house sent a ripple of anxiety through the gathered pack.
Finally, the door creaked open.
Cyprus stepped out, wiping her hands on a bloodstained cloth. Her expression was grave, but her eyes is sharp and knowing, softened when she saw Sylvia and Claus.
“How is she?” Claus’s voice was raw, almost pleading.
Cyprus sighed, a sound heavy with exhaustion. “The bleeding has stopped,” she said slowly. “That’s the good news.”
Sylvia’s stomach dropped. “And the bad?”
Cyprus met his eyes, then Claus’s. “Her body is in danger. Her womb is too fragile, there's a chance of losing the baby.”
Sylvia took a sharp step forward. “please do everything to save Ellie and the baby, especially Ellie,”
“I will try my best to give her a good treatment, but I can guarantee it all,”
Sylvia felt the world tilt. “You’re saying...”
“I’m saying she’s fighting for her life,” Hessa interrupted gently. “If her body rejects the treatment, she’ll be gone by morning.”
The words hung in the air like frost. A collective shudder rippled through the pack. Someone whispered a prayer. Someone else cursed under their breath.
Claus turned away, running a hand through his hair. His breathing came in ragged bursts. “No,” he muttered. “She’s strong. She’ll survive this.”