9 - Rogue Attack And Healers

ARIA POV

The shrill cry of the warning horn split the morning air, halting Aria mid-step as she crouched near a patch of goldenroot. Her fingers, still stained with crushed mint leaves, tightened around her gathering basket.

A rogue.

She didn’t need anyone to say it—every member of Moonfang knew the sound of that horn. It wasn’t for drills or border patrol rotations. It was danger. Real danger.

Aria dropped the basket and sprinted.

Branches clawed at her arms as she tore through the forest, leaping over roots and ducking under low-hanging limbs. She could already hear howls in the distance—fierce, frantic. They came from the northeast edge of the territory, the closest point to Nightclaw land. Her pulse pounded in her ears, a steady drumbeat of panic that matched the rhythm of her racing feet.

As she ran, her mind spiraled through worst-case scenarios. A scouting party gone wrong? A lone wolf driven mad with hunger? Or something worse—something planned. Organized. Deliberate. Her breath came fast and sharp, but she didn’t slow. She couldn’t.

By the time she broke through the tree line and into the border clearing, chaos had already taken shape.

Warriors stood in a loose ring, weapons drawn, eyes hard. The scent of blood hung thick in the air—metallic and hot, mingling with churned earth and sweat. It hit her like a punch, sending her stomach roiling.

At the center of the circle lay a massive wolf, fur dark and tangled, body broken and still. A rogue. Dead.

But her eyes were drawn instantly to the other figure on the ground—Beta Ryker.

He lay on his side, shirt torn and soaked in red, one hand clutching his ribs. His breathing was shallow, his tan skin shockingly pale beneath the blood. Pain etched deep lines into his face, and his eyes were glassy, unfocused.

“Move!” Alpha Theron’s voice cracked through the clearing like a whip.

The crowd parted instantly as Theron stepped forward, towering and furious. Even without shifting, the power radiated off him like heat, his presence commanding attention with sheer force. His gaze landed on Ryker, and for a moment, something flickered behind those hard eyes—fear.

Aria moved without thinking. Her feet carried her forward until—

“Aria!” Her father’s voice cut through the noise.

Dr. Aldric Thorne, her father, strode into the clearing, sleeves already rolled, med kit slung over one shoulder. Two warriors flanked him, hauling stretchers with grim determination.

“Come on,” he barked, not sparing her a glance.

Aria dropped beside him, breathless, the sharp copper scent of blood burning her nostrils.

Aldric crouched by Ryker’s side, already peeling back bloodied fabric. “Through the ribcage,” he muttered. “Possibly nicked a lung.”

“Will he make it?” Theron asked, his voice tight with barely restrained urgency.

“If I get him back now,” Aldric snapped. “We don’t have time to argue. Get the stretcher!”

Aria’s fingers were already moving. She dug through the kit, crushing comfrey and yarrow with quick, practiced motions. The paste smelled sharp and earthy. She spread it onto a wrap with swift precision and pressed it to Ryker’s wound, stabilizing the worst of the bleeding.

“You’ve done this before,” Theron said quietly, watching her work.

“She’s my apprentice,” Aldric replied without looking up. “Best I’ve had.”

It was the closest thing to praise she’d heard from him in weeks.

Together, they wrapped Ryker’s torso tightly, stabilizing the wound as much as possible. Aria stole a glance at Theron’s face. He was watching Ryker, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists. There was more than duty in his gaze—there was history. A bond.

“We’re ready,” Aldric said. “Lift him. Carefully.”

Aria helped grabbed one end of the stretcher. The weight of Ryker’s body settled into her bones as they lifted. He groaned, barely conscious.

The journey back was swift and tense, the trees closing around them like sentinels. Every sound in the forest felt louder—every twig snap a threat, every rustle of leaves a potential enemy.

When they reached the healer’s den, the cot was already prepared.

“On three,” Aldric instructed. “One, two—lift.”

Ryker’s body hit the cot with a jolt. Aria winced at his groan but didn’t pause. She set to work immediately, handing her father sterilized tools, soaking gauze, mixing pain-dulling tinctures. The room filled with the tang of alcohol, herbs, and blood.

An hour passed in silence but for Ryker’s ragged breaths and the soft clink of instruments. Finally, Aldric leaned back, exhaustion lining every movement.

“He’ll make it,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “But he’ll need time. We were close to losing him.”

Aria sank onto a stool across from him, her hands aching, her body taut with leftover adrenaline.

“Why today?” she asked after a long moment. “Why now?”

Aldric rubbed a hand over his face. “Territories are shifting. Packs are holding tighter to their borders. Rogues are caught in the cracks. And when they’re desperate... they lash out.”

She hesitated. “You think this was random?”

He met her eyes. “I hope it was. But I doubt it.”

“Nightclaw?” she asked softly.

“No.” He shook his head. “Nightclaw hates us, but they don’t break protocol. This wasn’t them.”

Before she could respond, a familiar shadow stepped into the room.

Alpha Theron.

His eyes swept over the room and landed on Ryker. The Alpha’s shoulders were stiff, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low. First to Aldric. Then to Aria. “You did well.”

Her heart jolted. Praise from Theron was rare.

“Thank you, Alpha,” she murmured, bowing her head slightly.

He didn’t linger. Just a quiet nod before he turned back to Beta Ryker. He stood beside the cot for a long moment, gaze softening just enough to reveal the depth beneath his hard exterior. Then he turned and left without another word.

Silence returned, broken only by Ryker’s slow breaths.

Aria leaned back, pressing her bloodstained hands against her knees. Her fingers trembled, and a chill settled into her bones.

The rogue was dead. Ryker was alive. But something still felt wrong.

She stared at the blood under her nails and thought of the horn’s cry, of the way the rogue had made it this far into their land.

Something was coming.

And she didn’t think any of them were ready.