Page 1 of Bronx

Prologue

MOONLIGHT FILTERED THROUGH THEsmall window, casting a silver glow across Bronx Bishop’s exhausted features. The white walls of the Moonstone Pack hospital seemed to swallow up the darkness. In his human form, lying in a sterile bed with crisp sheets, he appeared almost vulnerable—though anyone who knew him would have dismissed such notions quickly. He was the head guardian of the Moonstone Pack; strength and authority were etched into every line of his imposing frame.

Still, a low groan escaped Bronx’s lips as pain lanced through his body. His injuries served as a constant reminder that complacency could lead to disaster. Despite the throbbing in his limbs, he felt restless; the pack needed him to be strong and alert, not confined to a hospital bed.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his fists as another wave of pain coursed through him. Even with his ability to shift and heal, this kind of injury would not be easily overcome. Every muscle in his body tensed and relaxed, fighting the urge to jump out of bed and return to his duties. But for now, he had no choice but to stay put and endure the discomfort.

After all, the Moonstone Pack alpha, Steele Jacobs, had ordered him confined to this hospital room, this bed.

In the silence of the room, Bronx’s thoughts turned to the task at hand: protecting his pack. He envisioned the faces of the wolves he led, their fierce loyalty matched only by their own fearsome abilities. And as he considered how best to address the recent threats from outside forces, he wondered what might have been if fate hadn’t chosen him to take on such an important role. Would he still be the quiet, brooding figure he was now? Or would he have a chance at something more…something different?

Stop it, Bronx, he scolded himself mentally, shaking off the distracting thoughts. No matter what might have been, his duty was clear: ensure the safety and well-being of his pack, no matter the cost to himself. He gritted his teeth and forced his eyes shut, hoping sleep would provide some measure of relief from the pain.

For now, all he could do was wait and hope that his body would heal quickly enough to return to his duties.

But in the stillness of the hospital room, as the moon continued its slow ascent across the night sky, Bronx felt a strange sense of anticipation—an unspoken promise that something was about to change, whether for better or worse.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filled Bronx’s ears, making it impossible to ignore his own vulnerability. Sweat trickled down his brow and dampened the thin hospital sheets that barely covered his battered body. He inhaled sharply, the pain in his side intensifying with each breath. This was not how he wanted to spend his time: helpless and confined to a sterile room.

The door creaked open, and Greg Weiss, the Moonstone Pack’s doctor, stepped inside. He was a lean man with sharp features and many years of experience tending to injured wolves drawn into the lines on his face. He carried a clipboard, scanning the contents as he approached Bronx.

“Evening, Bronx,” Greg said, giving him a quick smile before examining the sensors attached to his patient. “How’s the pain?”

“Manageable,” Bronx grunted, unwilling to admit just how much it plagued him. In truth, he longed for the freedom his wolf form offered, where the pain would recede and allow him to carry out his guardian duties.

“Good, good,” Greg murmured, scribbling something on his clipboard. He looked up, meeting Bronx’s eyes with a reassuring gaze. “You should be able to shift back into your wolf form in another day or two. That’ll speed up your healing considerably.”

Bronx nodded, relief washing over him at the prospect of returning to his duties sooner than he’d feared. But Greg’s next words ignited new anxiety within him.

“However, you need to take it easy when you shift back,” Greg warned, wagging a finger at him. “No heroics or pushing yourself too hard. Your body needs time to recover fully.”

“Understood,” Bronx said, gritting his teeth against the frustration welling up inside him. His pack needed him, but so did his body. He couldn’t risk his own well-being if it meant endangering those who counted on him. It was a careful balance, one he’d have to maintain until he was completely healed.

“Good,” Greg said with a final nod, making his way to the door. “I’ll be back to check on you later. Get some rest.”

As the door clicked shut behind the doctor, Bronx tried to relax, focusing on the comforting words Greg had given him. The pack was relying on him to recover quickly, and he couldn’t afford to let them down.

But there was another part of him, buried deep within his soul, that yearned for something more than duty and responsibility.

A part he wouldn’t be mooning over now if he weren’t in so much pain.

He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the quiet room amplifying his heart monitor’s steady beeping. Bronx couldn’t deny the pull of his wolf form and its promise of strength and freedom.

“Here,” Greg said, moving back into the room, carrying a syringe with a clear liquid. “This should help you sleep and allow your body to focus on healing.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Bronx muttered, allowing himself to relax slightly as Greg administered the shot. As the drug began to take effect, his eyelids grew heavier, and the pain that had tormented him started to recede, replaced by numbness.

Bronx could hear footsteps outside, followed by the deep, steady voices of his cousins, Steele and Ryker.

“Is he going to be all right?” Steele asked. Bronx could almost see the furrowed brow of the alpha as he spoke with Dr. Weiss.

“He’ll pull through,” Greg assured them. “He should be able to shift within a day or two, which will help speed up the healing process. But for now, all he needs is rest.”

“Can we see him?” Ryker asked, his fun-loving demeanor momentarily set aside in light of the situation.

“Give it a few days,” Greg said. “Right now, what Bronx needs most is sleep and time to heal. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

The muffled voices faded away as Bronx felt the drowsy fog of the medication pulling him under. He fought against the urge to sleep for a moment longer, his mind racing with thoughts of duty and the pack’s safety.

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