The Alpha Under The Mistletoe

3

Aaron's POV.

I woke to fire in my lungs. Each breath burned, muscles screamed, and my shoulder screamed louder than anything I’d ever felt. My chest felt like it was being twisted from the inside, ribs grinding together every time I dared to inhale. I tried to move, tried to sit up, but my arm, the right one, felt like it had been ripped from my body and hastily stitched back on. Pain shot down it in waves that made me gasp and grind my teeth. My stomach roiled with nausea, and for a second, I wasn’t even sure I was alive.

Then I felt her.

Hands on me. Firm, steady, unhesitant. Not rough. Not gentle. Just… controlled. Calculated. Everything about her screamed that she knew exactly what she was doing, and that she wasn’t going to let me die.

“Finally awake,” she muttered, voice low and sharp. “Don’t think this means you get to move yet.”

Her eyes caught mine. Dark, alert, unflinching. I wanted to ask where I was, who she was, why the hell I wasn’t dead yet, but my throat only croaked a rasp.

“Where… am I?”

“Somewhere you’re still alive. Lucky you,” she said, voice firm. She leaned over me, inspecting my wounds, no hesitation in her movements. “And don’t move. Not until I say so.”

I tried anyway. Pain exploded through my shoulder and chest. My teeth clenched. My fingers dug into the rough wood beneath me. I wanted to fight, to push, to stand. But the second I moved, my arm shifted wrong and sent a shock of pain from my shoulder to my spine. I gasped, head rolling to the side.

She slapped my shoulder, just enough to keep me still.

“Stop. Stay down. I said stay down!”

I wanted to argue, wanted to curse, wanted to scream, but all that came out was a groan. Pain was taking over every thought, every sense. Memories of the ambush flashed in jagged shards...claws tearing at me, the dart sinking into my back, poison spreading through my veins. My muscles had seized. I had fought, tried to survive, but whoever did this… they weren’t just trying to hurt me. They wanted me dead.

I tasted blood in my mouth and coughed. My vision blurred. My hands felt heavy, foreign. My body was a map of pain...shoulder shredded, ribs cracked, lungs screaming, muscles twitching uncontrollably. I could feel the poison still lingering, slowing everything that was supposed to heal, holding my body hostage.

Her hand pressed to my chest. Firm. Controlled. “You’re going to live. That’s the plan. Don’t fight me yet.”

I blinked at her. Her face was close, tense, eyes focused. Blood smudged along her hands and forearms, but she wasn’t flinching. She was… commanding. I’d faced men who struck fear into entire packs, but I had never seen a woman like this. Not anyone who moved like she did, who handled raw life and death like it was a simple task.

And now she had my life in her hands.

A jolt of panic hit me. Who was she? Why was she keeping me alive? My body twitched violently as the poison began to leave, my muscles spasming, bones aching, and nerves firing off too fast. Pain became fire, fire became ice, ice became muscle spasms. And still, she didn’t flinch.

“Who the hell are you?” I rasped. Voice cracking, raw from disuse.

“I asked myself that about you too,” she muttered, eyes scanning my chest, shoulder, and ribs again. “But for now, just shut up and let me work.”

I groaned. My shoulder arched painfully, ribs rattling under my fingers. I felt the threads of her stitching tug gently at the muscle. Somehow, miraculously, my arm was still attached. I couldn’t understand it. Not after what it had been through. I blinked, chest heaving, muscles spasming, jaw clenched.

“You’re alive,” I whispered, almost to myself, disbelief creeping in. “How the hell…?”

Her fingers brushed along my ribs as she compressed the worst cracks, pressing, wrapping, steady. “Because I’m not letting you die here,” she said simply. No apology, no sympathy, just… fact.

I tried to move again. Pain exploded in every direction. I hissed, jaw grinding. “I can...”

“Stop,” she snapped, pressing down gently but firmly on my chest. “You are not moving until I say. Got it?”

I tried to glare at her, to say something, anything, but my body didn’t obey. Every muscle screamed, every joint burned, and I felt… weak. Helpless. Not the kind of helpless I was used to. Not even close.

And then my mind caught up. The dart. The poison. Ambush. My own household. Someone I trusted… trying to kill me. The thought hit like a punch to the stomach. Who wanted me dead? And why hadn’t I seen it coming?

I glanced at her again. Hands busy, eyes sharp, movements precise. She wasn’t just saving me; she was controlling my survival. And I couldn’t even fight back. My body hated her for it, but my mind… part of me respected it.

Who the hell was she? And why did I care?

I felt my muscles start to knit themselves together slowly as the poison wore off. Pain shot in waves through every broken rib, every torn muscle, but my body… was trying. Tremors shook my limbs. Sweat ran down my temple. My teeth ground together until my jaw hurt. My chest rose and fell rapidly. My shoulder twitched. My fingers flexed, then spasmed. My hand brushed against the edge of the table she’d used to help me.

She noticed immediately, pressing down on my chest again. “I said stay still,” she snapped, eyes flashing with something I couldn’t read. Concern? Anger? Both?

I groaned, chest rising, muscles shaking. My jaw loosened, teeth grinding against each other. “I...can’t...move,” I rasped, but my body betrayed me, twitching with the effort to repair itself.

“You don’t get to argue,” she said, voice low, calm, but sharp enough to cut through the room. “You are alive because of me. You move, you die. Understood?”

I blinked at her. The fire in my chest, the ache in my shoulder, the spasms in my muscles...it all demanded action, but I couldn’t. I was trapped between my body and her authority. And somehow… I was grateful.

I looked at her. Really looked. She was small but fierce. Hands bloody but controlled. Eyes that didn’t waver. She moved with precision, purpose. I couldn’t place her in my life, my world, anywhere. I had never seen a woman like her. Not smart, not fierce, not fearless. Not someone who could save a life without needing me to beg or plead. And yet… she did it anyway.

I tried to speak, but my throat was raw. “Why… help me?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just leaned closer, eyes scanning me like she was measuring every inch of my broken body. “Because you’re dying on my floor,” she said finally. “And that’s not my style.”

I blinked. And despite the pain, despite the poison, despite the half-broken body and shredded shoulder, something stirred. Curiosity. Respect. Unease. I didn’t know if I should be grateful or wary. Probably both.

The muscles in my back twitched, ribs shifting slightly as the healing kicked in more aggressively. I groaned low, claws digging into the mattress reflexively, teeth showing. The body I had known, the body I had trained, the body I had counted on for every fight, every battle, every challenge… it was rebelling. Trying to fix itself too fast, too violently.

She grabbed my shoulder, pinning me down. Eyes sharp. “Not yet,” she said. And I realized something: she wasn’t just saving me. She was controlling the chaos.

I blinked up at her, chest heaving, sweat running down my face. Pain screaming through every limb. And I understood that my life, my survival, depended on her. Not my pack. Not my skill. Not my strength. Her.

I wanted to move, to ask her name, to curse, to groan, to fight. But before I could, a sound stopped everything.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

The cabin door shook violently under the force of someone’s fists. Urgent. Loud. Deliberate. Dangerous.

I froze, muscles twitching. Ribs burning. Shoulder screaming. I tried to lift my head, but she caught my chin gently, holding my gaze.

We stared at each other. Her dark eyes wide, alert. My own still blurred with pain and shock, but finally focused.

Someone was at the door. And we both knew it wasn’t a friendly visit.