I remembered the rare times he defended me, stepping in when things got too cruel. He was the quiet shadow in the background, loyal to his brother, yes, but not blind to his faults.
He had once brought me soup when I was sick, back when I was Luna. I hadn’t forgotten that. No matter how much I tried.
Blood pooled under the table, slick and dark. My wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin. His injuries weren’t human. Something had attacked him. Something brutal and unforgiving. Bite marks, claw marks, bruises that hinted at something savage.
I worked for hours. Time blurred. When I finally made the last stitch, when the machines began to stabilize and his breathing leveled out, I stepped back, peeling off my gloves slowly.
He would live.
And I needed to leave.
Before he opened those
