Page 14 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
“You’re safe,” I tell her, keeping my voice low and steady. “These people are here to help you. No one will hurt you.”
Her gaze locks with mine, searching, desperate. I don’t look away. I let her see the truth in my eyes, the promise there.
“Jerry is going to heal you,” I explain, nodding toward the healer. “It may feel strange, but it won’t hurt. I’ll stay right here.”
Her fingers tighten around mine—just slightly, but enough. Her first deliberate action. Her first choice. It sends something warm and protective surging through my chest.
Jerry begins his work in earnest now, passing his glowing hands over her wounds. The girl flinches at first, but she doesn’t pull away. She keeps her eyes fixed on mine, using me as an anchor as the magic seeps into her flesh. The lacerations on her stomach slowly begin to close, angry red fading to pink.
“That’s it,” I murmur, brushing my thumb across the back of her hand. “You’re doing so well.”
The healing drains her quickly. Her eyelids grow heavy, her grip loosening as consciousness slips away. I stay beside her until her breathing evens out, until I’m certain she’s sleeping peacefully.
I step outside, and the night air hits me in the face. I breathe deeply, trying to clear my head, but all I can see is her face, her scars, the fear in her eyes that hasn’t quite faded even in sleep.
The guilt is suffocating—not just for her, but for all of it. For Griffin’s lost decade, for every moment I wore his crown while he suffered in captivity. For every night I slept in safety while others endured horrors I can barely comprehend.
I don’t hear Griffin follow me, but suddenly he’s there, his shoulder brushing against mine as he leans against the outside wall of the cabin.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says quietly.
I know he’s referring to his own captivity, to the years I spent searching while he endured torture at the hands of our enemies. But knowing and believing are two different things.
“I never stopped feeling guilty,” I admit, staring at the midnight sky. “Not for a single day.”
Griffin sighs, the sound thick with memories neither of us can change. “I don’t live in the past anymore, Erik. It took me time, and Maya, but I’ve found my way forward.” He pauses, then adds softly, “That young wolf in there—she needs what I needed. Care. Patience. Affection. You might be the one who can give her that.”
The implications hang heavy between us. Fated mates. A bond that transcends choice, that draws two souls together across distance and circumstance. I’ve seen what it has done for Griffin and Maya, for Cedric and Leanna. But this is different. This girl is broken in ways I’m not sure I know how to heal.
“She doesn’t even have a name,” I whisper. “At least, not one she’s told me. They called her ‘Subject Twenty-Three.’”
Griffin’s jaw tightens. “Then let her pick a name. Give her choices. Give her the dignity they stole from her.”
I close my eyes, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders. Not the burden of a crown this time, but something more intimate. More personal.
“And if I can’t help her?” The fear slips out before I can stop it.
My brother’s hand grips my shoulder, steady and sure. “You will. Because you won’t give up. You never do.”
I have no answer to that, only the knowledge that inside this cabin lies a girl who has survived more than anyone should have to endure. A girl whose wolf recognized mine, whose fate is now tangled with my own. A girl who needs more than pretty words and promises.
She needs a future she can believe in.
And I’m not sure if I know how to give her that.
Chapter 3
Fiona
Light filters through my eyelids, strange and soft.
I wake without pain. Without the bite of metal against my wrists or the cold slab beneath my back. There’s something under me that gives way, that cradles instead of bruises. My fingers curl into it—cloth, thick and clean, nothing like the soiled scraps they sometimes tossed at me.
I don’t move. Not yet.
Years of waking to pain have taught me to assess before I open my eyes. I inhale deeply, testing the air. No chemical burn. No bleach or blood or the sour reek of unwashed bodies. Just wood smoke, pine, and something warm and male that makes the creature inside me stir.
My eyes open to a ceiling that looks smooth and polished, not one made of concrete and fluorescent lights.
