Chapter 263: Can You Tell Me What Happened In Cave?

Chapter 263: Can You Tell Me What Happened In Cave?
Rachel

Damian and I grabbed a couple of old stools from the storage pile and sat down beside her bed. The room had been slowly converted into a storage space since the pack stopped employing live-in staff.

Random furniture, boxes of holiday decorations, old books. But it was quiet and private, which was what Lyra needed.

"How are you feeling?" I asked, keeping my voice low in the dim lighting.

She didn't answer right away. Then I heard this raspy attempt at speech, like her vocal cords were remembering how to work.

"Take your time," I encouraged. "If you're up for it, try a few simple sounds first. No pressure."

For the next few minutes, she worked on basic vocalizations. Single syllables. "Ah." "Oh." Testing her voice like an instrument that had been put away for too long.

"How are you feeling?" I asked again. "Don't rush yourself."

"Fine," she managed, her voice hoarse but clearer. "I'm... fine."

She gave me a weak smile, and despite the blood still matted in her golden hair, despite the obvious exhaustion, her brown eyes held that familiar sharpness. Alert. Focused.

"Do you remember what happened?" I asked carefully.

She was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Feels like I went ten rounds with a monster and barely made it out alive." Her voice was gravelly but steady. "That's about the size of it."

The wound on her abdomen was healing slowly but steadily. Orion's claws had done massive damage—torn through muscle, punctured organs, nearly killed her. But werewolves are resilient creatures. With proper medical care, even potentially fatal injuries can heal.

Thank God for supernatural healing abilities.

"Can you tell me what happened out there?" I asked gently, scooting my chair closer to her bed. Damian remained standing, his arms crossed. "I mean, when you're ready. No pressure."

Lyra was silent for a long time, her fingers absently picking at the edge of the blanket.

"I went to the stream in the forest to get spring water," she finally said. "I heard some pack members talking about how it makes food taste better, so I asked for directions and headed out with a bucket."

She paused, her hand trembling slightly.

"But I got lost. When I reached this grove of old oak trees, something felt off. The scent was all wrong—like something that didn't belong was out there."

Her voice was getting stronger as she talked, but I could see the memories weighing on her.

"I should have gone back for backup. I knew it was stupid to investigate alone. But I thought maybe it was rogues, you know? Maybe planning to attack the pack. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing. And I was confident that... well, I'd dealt with rogues before. Thought they might be more reasonable with me."

Rogues. If only it had been that simple.

"I followed the scent trail deeper into the forest," Lyra continued. "It led to that old cave near the border. The one that's always been covered in brambles."

My blood ran cold. That was exactly where Dominic had found Orion.

"The bushes had been cleared out," she said quietly. "Like something had torn them apart from the inside. The smell coming from that cave... it was death and rage and something else I couldn't identify."

She shuddered, and I reached out to squeeze her hand.

"I shifted into hybrid form before going in," she continued. "I'm not stupid—I knew I was walking into danger. But I thought I could handle one rogue. Maybe two."

One rogue. God, if only.

"The cave was bigger than I expected. Much bigger. And it wasn't empty." She gripped my hand tighter. "Orion was there, in full werewolf form, and he was... different. More savage than he'd been in the dungeon. Like being free had unleashed something even darker in him."

I could picture it clearly—Lyra alone in that darkness, facing a monster who had already killed one of our pack members.

"He attacked immediately," she said, her voice going flat and cold. "No talking, no posturing. Just pure violence. I got in a few hits, but he was stronger than me. Faster. And he was hungry."

Hungry.

The word sent ice down my spine. A hungry werewolf was one of the most dangerous creatures alive—driven by primal, powerful instincts that overrode any rational thought.

"He got his claws into my stomach," Lyra continued, unconsciously covering her bandaged abdomen with her free hand. "Tore me open like I was made of paper. I thought I was going to die in that cave."

"But you didn't," I pointed out. "You survived. You fought him off."

Lyra shook her head, confusion flickering across her face.

"No, I didn't fight him off. Something else did."

Something else.

"What do you mean?" I asked, though I was starting to get a terrible suspicion about what she was going to say.