Chapter 8: Salvation or Destruction
Jackson
I watched as our future Luna walked out of Alpha's room, muttering under her breath. Grace Montgomery was a firecracker - stubborn, smart, and entirely unaware of how her habit of voicing her thoughts entertained everyone around her.
Ethan had already mind-linked me before she'd even suggested guards for his room: Jackson, send someone to retrieve Grace's clothes and car. Check for trackers, especially anything Blake might have planted.
"Dr. Montgomery," I said, approaching her in the hallway. "The Silverback Alpha has asked me to retrieve your belongings. If you could tell me where they are, I'd be happy to collect them for you."
Grace shook her head. "That won't be necessary. Once I've fixed Ethan's leg, I'm heading back to Princeton. I have a thesis to write."
I straightened my posture. "I'm afraid I can't allow that, doctor."
"What's that supposed to mean?" She whirled around, hands on hips, emerald eyes flashing defiance.
I deliberately leaned closer. "I said no. You can't leave. The mate bond has already begun forming – leaving would harm you both."
"And I thought I might like you," she muttered. "So arrogant." With that, she stomped into the first patient room where a warrior with deep leg wounds awaited.
"What is the meaning of this?" Dr. Richards scowled. "Why is an outsider in my treatment area?"
"Your services are no longer required, Dr. Richards," I stated flatly. The man had been testing my patience for years, especially since I'd noticed warriors' wounds healing suspiciously slowly.
"I cannot believe this!" Richards protested, glaring at Grace, his gray eyes flashing with resentment behind gold-rimmed glasses.
I let out a warning growl. "You can leave of your own accord, or I can have a warrior escort you out."
"Fine," Richards spat. "When she gets everyone killed, don't come crying to me!" He stomped out, each step dripping with reluctance.
Grace turned to the warrior. "Let's see what we're dealing with, shall we?" The warrior looked over her shoulder at me for confirmation.
"Not sure why you're looking at him. He's not a doctor," Grace muttered. I shook my head, beginning to understand why Ethan didn't comment on her little complaints. They provided much-needed comic relief during these tense times.
Grace examined the warrior's leg, her expression shifting from professional assessment to growing alarm. "This wound has been completely mismanaged," she said, voice hardening. "The infection should never have progressed to this stage in a werewolf."
She pressed her fingers around the injury's edge, and Liam jerked back with a pained hiss. Dark fluid oozed from the wound, emitting a subtle but foul odor.
"What's been done to treat this so far?" Grace asked, examining the poorly healing tissue.
"Dr. Richards applied his standard treatment three days ago," one of the staff answered. "Said it just needed time."
Grace's eyes narrowed. "This isn't standard infection. Look at these sutures - they're trapping the infection inside rather than allowing drainage." She carefully snipped one of the stitches, releasing more dark fluid. "And this salve... what is this? It's actually preventing your natural healing."
She scraped some of the ointment into a sample container, her movements precise but urgent. "Someone with medical training had to know this would worsen the wound, not heal it."
The omega medical staff exchanged uncomfortable glances. One whispered, "Dr. Richards insisted this was the proper protocol."
Grace shook her head. "No competent doctor would treat a werewolf wound this way. It's as if it was deliberately sabotaged."
"The wolf that got me... its claws felt burning hot," Liam admitted, now staring at his leg with growing concern.
"That might explain the initial injury," Grace said, "but this aftermath - this is medical negligence at best, deliberate harm at worst."
She looked at me, her green eyes urgent. "Jackson, I need your authorization. This treatment is experimental, but I've seen similar cases."
I hesitated. Authorizing an unknown treatment from an outsider could undermine Pack protocol. If something went wrong, I'd be responsible. But delaying could cost us a warrior.
"Do it," I ordered, watching her immediately begin work.
The next thirty minutes were tense as Grace worked with intense focus, extracting samples while treating the affected area. Her hands never trembled despite the pressure.
"The tissue is responding better," she finally said.
After checking on a second warrior, I pulled Grace aside. "Dr. Montgomery, if you want me to retrieve your car, I need to know where it is."
"Arrogant Alpha," she muttered, the moonstone pendant swinging at her neck. She finally told me her car was parked near the forest edge by Silver Creek.
"Watch them both closely," I instructed my subordinates before leaving. "She can't leave the Pack. Pay special attention to any Blackthorn Pack activity."
At Silver Creek, we approached Grace's car cautiously. I detected unfamiliar werewolf scents but couldn't identify which Pack they belonged to.
"Scan it," I ordered. Due to our frequent Pack Wars involvement, anything entering our territory had to be checked for tracking devices. I found the keys where Grace said they would be, then went to check for her clothes in the forest.
Her scent still lingered, but her clothes were gone. I returned to the car, increasingly worried.
My warriors were holding five different tracking devices, some looking military-grade, not the kind ordinary werewolves would use.
"Fuck," I cursed. "Disable all of these," I ordered, my voice tight. "Then do another sweep."
As they worked, I paced alongside the treeline, Hunter growling anxiously inside me. Grace's medical skill had been impressive—possibly life-saving. Yet her presence was clearly drawing dangerous attention to our Pack.
My duty as Beta was clear: protect the Pack at all costs. I stared at the disabled tracking devices scattered on the hood of Grace's car, each one representing a different threat converging on our territory.
I looked back toward the forest, Hunter's instincts screaming warnings inside me. Someone had taken Grace's clothes. Someone with military-grade tracking technology was hunting her. And somehow, our Pack's warriors were suffering from suspiciously mismanaged wounds that only she seemed able to properly treat.
All paths led back to the mysterious doctor who'd just walked into our lives and straight into our Alpha's heart.
If Blake Blackthorn wanted her this badly, what chaos would erupt when he discovered she was with us?
And if Dr. Richards had indeed been sabotaging our warriors' recovery as her examination suggested, how many other threats lurked undetected within our ranks?
I glanced at my phone, Ethan's contact information on the screen. With our Alpha temporarily incapacitated, the Pack's safety rested in my hands.
Is keeping Grace with us worth the risk of drawing all our enemies to our doorstep? Would Grace's presence heal our Pack or expose us to even greater danger?