Chapter 10: A Wounded Alpha

RAVEN

The night stretches wide and endless, the moon low and swollen over the thick canopy of trees. The wind carries the crisp scent of damp earth and pine, brushing cool fingers against my skin as I move silently through the undergrowth, my heartbeat steady but quickened with anticipation.

I’m not supposed to be out here.

Lilliana would flay me alive if she knew. Seraphina would have me locked in the cellar for a week just for the fun of it.

But I don’t care.

I need to breathe. To stretch. To exist beyond the walls of the packhouse, where I am nothing more than a ghost.

Slipping past the watchful eyes of the guards had been easy. Avoiding the drunken warriors lounging near the firepits had been easier. And now, I move through the forest like a shadow, unseen, unnoticed.

Here, I am free.

For now.

I inhale deeply, closing my eyes for just a moment as I tip my head back to the sky. The stars wink down at me, and for the first time in weeks, my lungs don’t feel so tight.

I want to run.

To shift into my wolf form and tear through the trees until the world blurs around me. Until I can forget.

But just as I take a step forward, something catches my attention.

A scent.

Faint. Distinct.

Blood.

My stomach twists.

It’s fresh.

And strong.

I turn toward the scent, my instincts on high alert.

Moving carefully, I push through the trees, stepping lightly over fallen branches, each breath slow and controlled.

Then I see him.

A figure slumped against the base of a tree, his body limp, his breathing shallow. The dark crimson of blood stains his clothes, pooling beneath him in the grass.

Even from a distance, I know.

Kieran Stormfang.

Alpha of the neighboring Stormfang Pack.

An enemy.

And he is dying.

I freeze, my pulse roaring in my ears.

I should leave.

I should turn around, walk away, let the forest swallow him whole.

He is not my responsibility.

But my feet refuse to move.

I swallow hard, stepping closer. His scent is strong, thick with the metallic tang of blood and the underlying musk of an Alpha.

Kieran's skin is pale beneath the moonlight, sweat slicking his forehead, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His clothes are torn, his body riddled with claw marks and deep gashes.

He has been attacked.

And from the jagged shape of his wounds—it wasn’t rogues.

It was wolves.

His own kind.

I clench my jaw, kneeling beside him.

"Shit."

I press a hand to the worst of the wounds, trying to gauge how much blood he has lost.

Kieran stirs, a weak groan slipping from his lips.

His eyes flicker open—deep silver, glazed with pain.

For a moment, he just stares at me.

Then—his body tenses.

He tries to move, to lift an arm, to fight, but he is too weak. His hand barely lifts off the ground before falling limply back against his side.

"Relax," I mutter, shifting him slightly so I can better examine his wounds. "You're half-dead. Fighting me right now would be pathetic."

Kieran lets out a strained, humorless chuckle. "And yet… I think I could still… take you."

I snort. "Yeah, well, if I wanted you dead, you’d already be buried, so shut up and stop bleeding out."

I press harder against one of the wounds, trying to slow the bleeding.

Kieran hisses through his teeth, his body jerking in pain.

I exhale sharply.

I have no supplies. No herbs. No way to properly stop this.

But I can’t just leave him here.

He is an Alpha.

Someone will come looking for him.

And if I leave him in this state, he won’t survive the night.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest. His eyes are more alert now, though still unfocused, his gaze locked onto me.

"You’re from… Nightshade," he rasps. "Victor’s daughter."

I stiffen slightly, pressing my lips into a thin line. "What’s it to you?"

Kieran lets out another rough, painful laugh. "Didn’t know… he had a daughter."

A sharp pang shoots through my chest, but I bury it. "Yeah, well. Guess that tells you everything you need to know about my place in the pack."

Kieran doesn’t argue.

Doesn’t offer some half-hearted apology or empty words of comfort.

He just watches me.

And I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.

"You shouldn’t be here," he mutters after a moment, voice raw.

I arch a brow. "Oh? And you should?"

Kieran tries to smirk, but it comes out as a wince.

"Fair point."

His body sags against the tree, his strength draining fast.

I hesitate only a second before moving closer, bracing an arm behind his back.

"I need to get you out of here."

Kieran lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh.

"What, planning to drag me home with you? Pretty sure your pack would rather mount my head on a wall."

"Please. You’d look terrible as decor," I mutter, adjusting his weight. "I know a place. It’s not far, but you have to stay conscious, or this is going to be a lot harder."

He grunts in response, but he doesn’t argue.

Slowly, painfully, I lift him to his feet.

He is heavy, his body pressing against mine, his heat seeping into my skin.

My muscles scream under the strain, but I grit my teeth and start moving.

The forest is quiet around us, the only sounds our uneven breaths, the rustling of leaves beneath our feet.

My heart pounds.

I am helping an enemy Alpha.

If anyone in my pack finds out, I will be executed.

And yet…

I don’t stop.

I don’t hesitate.

Because no matter what Kieran is, no matter who he leads, no one deserves to die alone in the dirt.

Not even him.

Not even an Alpha.

By the time we reach the abandoned hunter’s cabin on the outskirts of the territory, Kieran is barely holding on.

His weight presses heavier against me, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

I kick the door open, half-dragging, half-carrying him inside.

He collapses onto the old cot, his body limp.

"Hey," I snap, patting his cheek—maybe a little harder than necessary. "Stay with me. You’re not dying on my watch."

He cracks an eye open, locking his gaze onto mine.

For a moment, neither of us speak.

Then, finally, he lets out a weak chuckle.

"You’re bossy."

I exhale sharply. "You’re just now figuring that out?"

Kieran’s lips twitch. "Noted."

I roll my eyes, grabbing a cloth from the old supply chest and pressing it against his worst wound.

"I’m going to need to stitch these up," I mutter. "You might want to bite something."

Kieran smirks—even half-dead, the arrogant bastard still smirks.

"I think I’ll manage."

I arch a brow. "Yeah? We’ll see."

As I thread the needle, Kieran watches me, his expression unreadable.

"Raven."

I glance at him, surprised by the way he says my name—like he already knew it.

"Yeah?"

His silver eyes hold mine.

"Why are you helping me?"

I still.

Then look away.

Because I don’t know.

And maybe, just for tonight, I don’t want to.