Chapter 87

Alyson

My body is trembling, burns gashing over my face and down my neck, the feeling oddly familiar from the scar I once bore as Alissa Clark. I try to force the memories aside, the acid on my skin tingling like a million little pin pricks poking at me simultaneously. Alpha Olivera is running, pressing my body to his chest, forcing his way through onlooking rogues as he runs down lengthy, winding halls.

"Get out of my damn way!" He barks, forcing me to flinch, my throat catching a breath and causing a grating cough. "Easy, blood pet, just relax," Olivera hums, as though trying to be snarky and yet, I hear the lap of concern in his voice.

I wait for him to stop running and set me down before I open my eyes up, seeing a bright white light shift overhead, hands working at my throat and my jaw, the fingertips soft and unfamiliar. Olivera is standing opposite of this rogue, his glare pointed and critical of his every poke and prod around my burning surface.

"She's got a perfect platelet," the stranger says, holding up a small vial with my blood shifting in the bottom of the glass tube. He holds it to the light, as though showing Olivera, the Alpha's fists tightening as his knuckles rest on the table. "This isn't a lab rat, healer, I need you to fix her—NOT STUDY HER!"

The healer jumps at the volume, as do I, and we both shrivel at the Alpha's burning rage. Obviously he is upset, seeing as he pushed his own warrior out of his window, sending him to his horrid death below. I try not to think about it, feeling the healer settle the end of the test tube onto my throat, the feeling of my cool blood dripping down my burnt wounds.

The healer raises his brow. "Her blood has healing qualities."

"Don't…take…it…" I pant.

"No one is aiming for your blood, sweetheart, just your connection to the elders," Olivera hums, his fingers dragging over my throat, any remanence of pain and burn scars somehow gone. "Very good, healer. Continue on."

He does as instructed, patting my chin and jaw with a damp rag before brushing some of my ow n blood down the marks. It stings to the touch but heals quickly, the exterior of my face finally mended back to it's semi-perfect state, thanks to my overly perfect blood.

"Ouch," I hiss, the healer puncturing my upper arm with a long, silver needle.

"Relax," Olivera says, stern.

"Just putting it where it belongs this time," the healer murmurs.

I feel my body go limp; my wolf long gone now. "Wolfsbane."

Olivera brushes his relaxed hand over my cheek, now solid and not as burned as before, though it is awfully sore, and moves the loose strands of my hair off of my face. I am blushing, either in frustration, embarrassment, or pure sadness; I can't decipher what I feel anymore. I miss my wolf, I miss my connection to Ryan, and I wish this nightmare would end.

I aim to sit up, to fight with what little energy I have left, but I end up tumbling right off the edge of the table, hitting the floor rather hard at the healers boots. He gives me a puzzled look as I struggle to sit up, feeling like metal splinters are flowing through every blood vessel in my entire body.

"Why bother with this plan, Alpha?" The healer taps his foot, almost like a threat in my face to strike me from here. "I say you kill her, make an example of what the elders do to us every day. It would get the point across faster."

"It would also spark a war with every wolf in the world who isn't a rogue," Olivera snarls. "I'm not doing this to form an example, I am doing it to ensure that we are safe in future generations. Then we disband the pack and we all go about our merry lives."

I lean on my elbows, then force my hands under my chest to hike myself somewhat upright. It doesn't help me for long, sending me back down to my side when my arms tremble too hard to keep me stable. I growl a noise, feeling hot tears fall down the spots that were burns just moments ago. He healed me with my own blood; they now know what my blood can really do, aside from powering their pushy Alpha.

"Let me go," I breathe, pulling my body toward the door.

The healer mocks me with a chuckle. "Well, if we can't make her an example, can we at least do something with her? Anything is better than watching this parade."

I hear Olivera shift, seeing him move before my path to the door, thwarting my hopeless plans. "What exactly are you suggesting, healer?"

He clears his throat. "She is a Luna, after all. She's attractive and she is stuck here awhile as the only female around this pack. I'm just suggesting we try her out and see—"

Something is thrown, something glass, and it shatters at the healer's chest, the million shards hitting the ground around his thick boots. My breath hitches, my heart sinking, seeing the healer growl a noise of disapproval but Olivera doesn't budge, standing over top of me in a protective, possessive, stance.

"You suggesting we disparage the Luna and then hand her back over afterwards?" Olivera asks, his voice so deep, so ungodly, that I have to look up to make sure he isn't shifted, or at least halfway there, his voice that of another being altogether. "You want me to hold her captive, let every wolf have their way with her, and run tests on her like a lab rat? I am not the elders, and I would never act like them either; that includes holding up my end of this bargain. She will remain unharmed and returned in such condition, only with the deal being made that the slaughter of rogues by the elders is made clear."

I hiccup a cry, my chest convulsing and my cries coming in heavier waves.

"You know her Alpha would do the same if the tables were reversed and he had one of ours held captive," the healer snarls. "You just aren't strong enough to make that kind of choice."

I watch a silver needle cross the room, flying with such precise aim, I am not surprised when I see it puncture the healer's chest. He looks down at the syringe, half surprised, but the stench that followed it's trail makes my stomach turn. It's filled with wolfsbane, the clear toxins in the vial now murky with blood as it travels through his system and shuts it down in a mere matter of milliseconds.

When I look up Olivera, he is already staring back down at me with tired, warm eyes.