IVY
The car stopped in front of a tall building. Large, raised letters mounted on the wall read: Mancini Healing Hall—the pack hospital.
I stepped out of the car. Craig followed suit and led me inside. As we reached the reception, I noticed a few Mancini Pack members lingering there.
A small child walked up to me and said softly, "Miss, are you also here to get treated?"
I looked down at myself. My gown was dirty and partially burned, my hands bruised and scraped.
Yeah, I looked exactly like someone who needed treatment.
Suddenly, a woman rushed over and yanked the child away. She hissed, "Don’t go near her."
The other pack members at the reception stared at me with suspicion—some even with visible rage in their eyes. I didn’t carry their pack scent. I understood. If the situation w
