The silence of the infirmary was deceptive, a thin veil stretched over the chaos writhing beneath Alpha Ryker’s skin. His breath hitched violently, blood bubbling up his throat and spilling past cracked lips. Every vein in his body pulsed like it was being torn open from the inside. The healers had done all they could, bound his ribs, drained the clots, fed him roots that tasted like iron and rot but nothing could stop the pain unraveling his insides.
He was dying. Alone.
A rasping choke tore from his chest as he clutched at the blood-soaked sheets. The moon was high outside, but its light mocked him now. He had been the Alpha of the Silvercrest pack—the unshakable, invincible Ryker, feared and revered. Now he was reduced to this: a trembling wreck of a man, coughing up his own life into
