Chapter 16

Shawn stood in the Yates Den's storeroom, his fingers brushing a dusty wooden chest. Since Quinn's pregnancy, the den's affairs had spiraled into chaos, and today he'd come to sort through old belongings himself.

"Shawn, this chest holds items from when you were attacked three years ago," the old steward said, lifting the lid. "The bloodied clothes were burned, but these remain…"

Shawn's gaze locked on a faded splash of red at the bottom. He pushed aside clutter and pulled out a tattered handkerchief. Its corner bore a clumsily embroidered jasmine, the petals stained brown with old blood, though a single gold thread in the stamen still glinted faintly.

"What's this?" His eyes widened.

Quinn's needlework was terrible—she'd never touch a thread. But jasmine… that was Leah's flower.

Memories flooded back, overwhelming. "Investigate," Shawn said, clutching the handkerchief tightly. "Where was Leah the night I was attacked three years ago?"

Ten days later, Shawn stood before a rundown farmhouse on the outskirts of Belmor Town.

"Shawn, we found her," a guard whispered. "Tessa, Leah's old maid. Quinn sold her off, but Madam Yates secretly bought her freedom and settled her here."

The creaky door swung open, and the she-wolf spinning thread dropped her shuttle, face paling as she saw Shawn. She fell to her knees. "Shawn, mercy! I know nothing!"

He tossed the bloodstained handkerchief to the ground. "Whose is this?"

Tessa stared at the jasmine, tears streaming down her face. "Leah's. That night, she carried you through the snow, her fingers bleeding from the cold, but she insisted on sucking out your poison and bandaging you herself…"

"Tell me everything!" Shawn yanked her up, eyes wild with fury.

"It was the eighth of the winter moon," Tessa said, trembling. "Leah was returning from outside the pack when she found you in a pool of blood. She tore her own handkerchief to stop the bleeding, used her mouth to draw out the arrow's venom, and stayed by your side three days until your fever broke. Then she collapsed…"

Shawn staggered as if struck by lightning. The jasmine scent he'd caught that night, the cold fingers he'd felt in his half-conscious haze—they weren't dreams.

"Quinn swapped into bloodied clothes and sat by your bed while Leah was out cold…" Tessa sobbed. "When you woke, you mistook her for your savior. Leah found out but said… said since your heart belonged to another, she wouldn't use her deed to trap you…"

Shawn stumbled back, knocking over the spinning wheel with a crash. He'd gotten it all wrong—loved the wrong she-wolf.

Blood surged to his throat, and he spat a mouthful, staining the floor. "Saddle the horses…" he rasped, wiping his mouth, eyes burning with a terrifying resolve. "To the frontier."

At the general's den, Shawn knelt before the gates for a full day and night, snow and wind howling around him. His knees had long gone numb.

"Leah!" His voice was hoarse, hands gripping the bloodied handkerchief. "I was wrong… I mistook her for you, hurt you… Come back with me. I'll make it right!"

The gates remained shut, silent as the storm.