Chapter Three
764 Words
Karma’s eyes blinked against the harsh yet soft hospital light, the sterile smell of antiseptic filling her nose. Her head throbbed with every heartbeat, body heavy, unfamiliar, as if she had slept through weeks instead of days.
Four days. The nurse had told her. Four days she’d been unconscious, and yet, the stretch of time felt like a lifetime compressed into a few long, terrifying hours.
She flexed her fingers on the sheets, each movement trembling. Weakness, yes—but also the lingering shadow of something else: fear. The kind that clung to your chest even after the danger has passed.
Her mind drifted to dreams that had refused to leave her, smoldering like smoke behind her eyelids.
She was a small pup again. Bare paws on cold stone, moonlight burning silver across the ground, her father towering over her, claws poised, eyes blazing. Her mother beside him, Luna-mark glowing faintly at her throat, radiating strength and ferocity even in terror.
And her uncle—Cassian Slivermoon.
He had killed her father with cold precision.
He had claimed her mother as his mate, forcing the widowed Luna to bend to his will, all while young Karma had been spared only because she was a pup—too small, too young to pose a threat to his power.
The memory was jagged, raw, yet suffused with the love her mother had shown. She had shielded her with every ounce of strength, whispering fiercely: I will protect you. You will survive.
The dream fractured, leaving her with nothing but the echo of blood, smoke, and silver light.
Karma pressed her hands to her face, trying to erase the memory, trying to ground herself in the present. Her breaths were shallow. Her pulse raced. And somewhere deep in her chest, a strange tug pulsed—a faint, insistent pull she didn’t understand, threading through the exhaustion and fear.
She wasn’t ready to name it. Perhaps she never would.
⸻
A soft knock on the door made her startle.
“Miss Slivermoon?” the nurse called gently. “You’ve been awake a while. Can you try sitting up?”
Karma hesitated. Weak. Dizzy. But the thought of staying flat in bed, alone with her memories, was worse. She nodded slowly, arms shaking as she lifted herself.
“You’ll need help at first,” the nurse said, stepping closer. “I’ll support you.”
Her body responded hesitantly, muscles complaining with every movement. But as her feet touched the floor, she realized she could do it. She could move. She could survive.
The door opened wider, and Xavier stepped in. Dark, tall, steady. His presence filled the room, sharp and impossible to ignore. He didn’t rush to her side, didn’t hover. He simply stood and watched, assessing, as though he could see the battle raging inside her mind.
“You’re awake,” he said, low, almost a growl, rough edges in his voice that made her chest ache in ways she couldn’t explain.
Karma’s throat tightened. “I… I think so,” she whispered. “Where… am I?”
“Black Hollow Pack Medical,” he replied. His gaze softened slightly, but only slightly. “You collapsed in town. I brought you here myself.”
Her stomach twisted. Memories of the collapse—the pull she had felt, the heat of arms holding her, the whisper of easy—returned with a shiver. She blinked, confused.
“I… I don’t understand,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
“You will,” Xavier replied. His tone carried certainty. Comfort. Authority. All at once. “For now… rest. That’s all you need.”
⸻
Karma sank back against the pillows, trying to process.
Four days. Her past, the trauma, the uncle, her mother… all of it surged back in fragments. And yet, here she was, alive. Protected. And drawn inexplicably to a man she barely knew, whose presence seemed to anchor the strange tug she felt in her chest.
Lyra lingered at the edge of the doorway, a tight smile on her lips, watching Xavier’s attention as though she could bend it to her will. But she couldn’t. Not tonight. Not when Karma lay fragile and raw, unaware of the power stirring inside her.
The pull was patient. Waiting. Insistent. And Karma, for the first time in a long time, felt a tiny thread of hope that maybe—just maybe—she could survive the world that had tried to crush her.
And that someone—dangerous, protective, impossible—would be at her side when she did.
- Writer
