THE WOUNDED ALPHA

Lutheran had been stabbed with a poisoned blade and had fallen to the ground. The rival leader has been struck down by Kaelen and the few others have run away. Lutheran men and Isolde have no time to chase after enemies at this point, not when their leader lies unconscious. Together. They carried him back to their pack, and soon, the healer started attending to him.

The room was tense, the air was a mix of herbs, sweat, and blood.

Lutheran's body, which was usually strong and battle-hardened, now lay pale and unmoving on the healer's table, a thick cloth pressed against the deep wound near his ribs, where the poisoned dagger had driven deep. The slash still oozed slowly; there was dark blood despite everything they had tried. His breathing was shallow.

Isolde sat close, her knees were drawn up to her chest as her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her eyes were swollen, and the skin around them had become puffy and red from hours of crying. She muttered under her breath again and again, like a chant, like a stubborn prayer that refused to fade: "You’re not going to die… You’re not allowed to die on me, Lutheran."

The healer is an old man with sharp eyes, he worked with urgency but controlled precision. His fingers moved quickly, smearing thick green paste across Lutheran’s side.

“That’s dragonflower root mixed with blackthorn sap,” the old man muttered to his apprentice. “It might draw out the poison… but it’s old magic. Unpredictable.”

He leaned in, nose close to Lutheran’s wound. “It’s already spread too far... this isn’t just any blade. This was a cursed one.”

Isolde's heart nearly dropped to the floor. “What do you mean cursed?” she snapped. Her voice was raw, and her breath was shaking. The healer didn’t answer at first. He just reached for another bowl and began to mix more ingredients with steady hands.

She rose to her knees beside the table. “Answer me, please…” The old man finally glanced up. “It means if he doesn’t show signs of healing within the next seven days, he might never wake again.”

Isolde covered her mouth, choking on a gasp. “No—no, no… He can’t die. You have to do more, you can’t just rub herbs and wait. He’s your Alpha!”

The healer sighed. “I’m doing everything I can. But this is poison and it has spread far. We can only pray he gets better soon.”

“You have to get him back to consciousness,” she said, trembling. “Do something, anything, please save him.” The healer paused. His eyes studied her face. “You love him.”

“I do,” she whispered. He gave her a small nod and returned to his work. “Then stay beside him. Sometimes, what keeps a man breathing is knowing that someone is waiting for him to come back.”

Outside the healer’s chamber, the pack was in turmoil. The courtyard buzzed with low murmurs, tense glares, and restless pacing. Warriors stood in clusters, dirt and blood still clinging to their armour from the battlefield, but none of them could rest. Their Alpha was lying unconscious and she was still here.

“She shouldn’t even be inside,” one warrior growled as he stretched toward the healer’s den.

“After everything he did for her, he knelt. Our Alpha, our king was on his knees, begging her to stay. Yet she left anyway.”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” a third said, his voice thick with resentment. “We could’ve lost him because of her. He took that poisoned blade meant for her.” A few of them turned to Soren, who stood a little apart from the group, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He hadn’t spoken.

“You should throw her out already,” one of the younger warriors said to him. “If he dies…”

“She fought for us,” Soren said suddenly and coldly. “She didn’t run away. She came back and fought beside us.”

“But she’s the reason he got stabbed!”

“She’s also the reason the eastern flank failed!” Soren snapped, stepping forward. “She tore through five of their warriors with her bare hands. You think I didn’t see it? Do you think I don’t want to blame someone, too? But don’t forget who she is. I am as angry at her as you, but we can't do anything that would upset our Alpha when he wakes up.”

The others fell silent. But the look on their faces said it all; their resentments weren’t going to vanish that easily.

Soren exhaled and turned away, his shoulders were heavy. Inside, a battle of his own raged. He was angry at her, but seeing her sit there beside Lutheran, refusing food, crying nonstop, praying aloud in a whisper like her soul depended on it, has made something twist inside him.

She was hurting. He knew what unspoken love looked like. Isolde didn’t leave the healer’s room, not even once. Her clothes still smelled like blood and smoke. She would not change or eat.

When a servant tried to bring her water, she shook her head.

“Please, my lady you haven’t touched anything.”

“I’m not leaving his side,” she murmured. “Not until he wakes up. Not until I hear his voice.”

The servant bowed and left. Outside the door, he found Soren waiting. “She still refuses?” he asked. The servant nodded. Soren sighed and pushed the door open. “Isolde.”

She looked up, her eyes were red and glassy.

“You can’t starve yourself. What good will you be to him if you collapse?”

“If he doesn’t wake up I don’t want to wake up either.”

“Don’t say that.”

Soren walked toward her and crouched beside her, trying to catch her eyes. “Look. I don’t like what you did, none of us do. You should’ve stayed, but you didn’t. Still, he needs you now, if you fall sick or if you lose strength, what will happen to him if he opens his eyes and you’re gone?”

She blinked, her lip quivered but she didn’t speak. Soren placed a wrapped bun in her hands. “Just take a bite for him.”

She stared at it, then gently placed it beside her. “When he wakes up.”

Soren didn’t argue, he just stood. “Then let’s hope he wakes soon. Because if he doesn’t…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

It's been three days since Lutheran fell into a coma, yet he hasn't woken up or shown any sign of healing. The tension had thickened, and the warriors still muttered behind her back. Some threatened to take matters into their own hands. A few wanted to send her away, healer’s order or not. But Soren stopped them.

“Do anything to her now,” he warned, “and if Lutheran wakes up and finds out, you won’t live to see the next full moon.” Still, their eyes were cold when they saw her.

Isolde didn’t care, she held Lutheran’s hand in both of hers and leaned over him, her voice low and tearful. She kissed the back of his hand, gently like it was the most sacred thing in the world.

“I never should’ve left, I know that now. You knelt for me, in front of your men, and I still walked away. I was angry, I felt betrayed and hurt. But I should have known, I should have listened to your heart.”

She leaned closer, pressing her forehead to his.

“If you wake up, I swear, I’ll never leave you again. Not even for a moment.”

A tear slid down her cheek, landing on his. And then, his fingers twitched.