Page 48 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
“He’ll live,” Jerry responds, starting to hover his hands over my last wound. “But he needs rest. Several days, at minimum.”
Griffin nods, pulling a chair closer to sit beside me. “What happened out there?”
I recount what we found—the two bases, the experiments, the artificial shifters who seemed more monster than wolf or human. As I speak, I can’t help glancing toward the door, hoping it will open and reveal Fiona.
“We destroyed both facilities,” I conclude. “Killed several of their scientists. But the important ones had already evacuated. They knew we were coming.”
Griffin absorbs this, his expression grave. “Rest,” he says finally, standing. “We’ll discuss next steps when you’re recovered.”
“Where’s Fiona?” I ask, unable to contain the question any longer.
Something flickers across Griffin’s face—regret, perhaps, or pity. “Focus on healing, brother,” he says, avoiding my eyes as he turns to leave.
The evasion sends anxiety spiraling through me. “Griffin—”
“Later,” he says firmly, and he’s gone before I can press further.
Jerry finishes healing my wounds in silence. When he’s done, he hands me a small vial of dark liquid.
“For the pain,” he explains. “And to help you sleep.”
I stare at the vial, a terrible suspicion forming. “How is she, Jerry?” I ask quietly. “How’s Fiona?”
The old healer sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “She’s fine, Erik,” he tells me. “Don’t worry about her right now. Just rest.”
His response does little to ease my concern, but exhaustion is quickly overtaking me. I drink the potion and sink back against the pillows, darkness claiming me before I can ask anything else.
It takes a week for me to heal properly. Seven days of restless sleep, of wondering why Fiona hasn’t come to see me, of increasingly evasive answers from everyone I ask about her.
Maya visits briefly, bringing books and reports but changing the subject whenever I mention Fiona. Jerry checks on me daily, always assuring me that “she’s fine” without offering any details.
By the eighth day, I can no longer stay confined to my quarters. I dress carefully, mindful of the still-tender areas across my ribs, and set out through the palace.
I go to the library first, checking the quiet corners where I’d often find her reading. Nothing. Just empty chairs and silent shelves.
Next, I try the gardens, searching the secluded spots she prefers. No trace of her.
Growing more concerned, I head to her quarters. I knock but receive no answer. After a moment’s hesitation, I try the handle. The door swings open to reveal...nothing.
The room is empty. Not just unoccupied—completely cleared out. The bed is stripped bare, the wardrobe stands open and empty, and the desk that once held her sketches and books has been wiped clean. It looks as if no one has lived here for weeks.
A cold feeling settles in the pit of my stomach. I turn and nearly collide with a young maid carrying fresh linens.
“Where is she?” I demand, my voice sharp. “The woman who was staying in this room. Fiona.”
The maid looks surprised, then confused. “She left, Commander,” she says, as if this should be obvious. “About a month ago, just a few days after you departed with your soldiers.”
The words take a moment to register on me. “Left? Where did she go?”
The young woman shakes her head. “I don’t know, sir. Her room was already empty when I was assigned to this wing. I only heard that she had gone.”
I stagger back, my mind reeling. A month ago? She’s been gone the entire time I was away?
I find myself moving through the palace corridors, my pace increasing until I’m nearly running. Guards and servants flatten themselves against walls as I pass, concern and confusion on their faces.
I burst into Griffin’s study without knocking. He looks up from the documents spread across his desk, unsurprised by my entrance.
“Where is she?” I demand, my voice a growl.
