Chapter 8

Fists tighter, nails biting. "Zoe's 'rescues'? Open your eyes, Joseph—she's burning your stash on what?!"

Pups violated till their insides rot, lifelong bags and scars—monsters she "redeems" 'cause the moon gives second chances, or some rot.

Gambler wolves who beat their own to death, crippled mates for sport—she calls it "tough love," worth saving.

...

He barked a laugh, ice-cold. "Think I'd swallow your poison, Gina? On your knees—crawl to Zoe, beg forgiveness, every step a bow."

Those pics? Some trussed like hogs, others dangling mid-air—every soul battered, marked.

My stare glazed over, distant.

Friends... my pack...

"Don't make me—"

"I'll do it." Flat, numb, cutting him off.

Hospital steps crawled with eyes, all pinned on me—the scrawny she-wolf in baggy scrubs, barefoot and hollow.

Step. Drop. Thud—skull kissing concrete, the crack turning stomachs.

"Isn't that Joseph's prized mate? What's her deal—full tilt? In Galathia Town, who'd dare grind her down like this?!"

"You sleeping? She's old news—crossed his new flame, that saintly do-gooder. Can't top that. Lucky she ain't skinned alive!"

"Tsk, how the pack turns. He used to worship the ground she padded..."

Murmurs swirled, a buzz I tuned out, deaf as dirt.

Three hours of grind later, I rapped on Zoe's door.

Blank-faced, I bowed deep—ninety degrees of nothing. "Zoe. Sorry."

My forehead? Pulp, blood sheeting sticky over my lids.

She clocked the wreck and sighed pious, chanting some peace mantra. "Gina, the moon heard your howl. Straighten up—be better."

Crowd outside? Phones out, live-streaming the slaughter.

Head low, I floated—detached, like it was someone else's carcass on display.

All Galathia Town tuning in: me, gutting my pride at Joseph and Zoe's paws.

Then stomping it to dust...

Jeers piled on, a landslide of spit and scorn, spine screaming under the weight.

Clang—can to the dome.

"Bitch! Zoe's a saint—you bully her?!"

"Yeah! Moon's own angel—you're green with it, even your mate's done. Drop dead!"

"Pound her! Get her!"

Chaos erupted—trash flying, fists swinging from the front lines.

"Folks, easy—Gina's seen the light." Zoe smiled sweet, ducking back inside.

But her vigilantes? Stone-deaf, frenzy building.

Joseph, pacing for my return? Gut twisted uneasy.

Phone buzzed—he snatched it. "Joseph—trouble! Gina's in the thick of it!"

By the time Joseph rolled up, the scene was a total dumpster fire.

Cans and bottles littered the pavement like confetti from a bar fight gone wrong. Spilled drinks sloshed everywhere, sticky and stomach-turning.

And off to the side? A smear of blood that hit like a sucker punch to the gut.

Then arms wrapped around him from behind, and that knot in his chest finally loosened—though his voice came out grumpy. "Gina, why the hell didn't you pick up—"