Thunder's True Mate

Chapter 4: Fever, Tears, and Chains

Daisy had barely rinsed the blood from her hands when a warrior knocked on her door.

“The Alpha wants you in his study."

Her ribs ached with every breath. The torn blue dress clung to her skin. She tied it tighter and followed him past wilting garlands and half‑emptied trays. The music had faded; only the echo of her own footsteps remained.

Alpha Green's study was bright with lamplight and smoke.

Rosalie sat on the sofa in her pale pink gown. Amanda knelt beside her, silk skirts spread on the carpet, tears streaking her carefully painted face.

“Alpha, I'm so sorry," Amanda sobbed. “I'm the one who sent Daisy out. If I hadn't asked her to buy wine, none of this would have happened. I ruined Rosalie's birthday. I ruined everything."

Rosalie sniffed softly. “Mother, please don't blame yourself," she whispered. “You only wanted the party to be perfect. No one could have expected Daisy to come back like that."

Both of them looked up as Daisy stepped inside.

Bruises mottled her arms and face. Her hair hung loose, dull with dust.

“Shut the door," Alpha Green said.

The warrior obeyed and withdrew. The click of the latch sounded final.

For a heartbeat her father simply stared at her, his expression carved from stone.

“Do you know what you've done?" he demanded. “Do you understand how much shame you brought on this pack tonight?"

“I told you," Daisy said. Her voice felt scraped raw. “I was attacked."

Amanda flinched. “Attacked?" she echoed. “Daisy, you must have been terrified. But you shouldn't say such things. The guests are already whispering. They think you ran off and came back… like this. I never meant for you to be in danger. I only wanted more wine."

“You sent me alone after dark," Daisy replied. “You insisted I use the back street. The men were waiting there. That wasn't an accident."

“Men?" Rosalie's eyes widened. “Daisy, are you sure? There was so much blood. Maybe you're confused—"

“I'm not confused." Daisy's fingers dug into her skirt. “Six men in black. They dragged me into a warehouse and tied my hands. They said someone hired them to ruin me so I couldn't marry Charles."

Silence thickened the air.

Alpha Green's jaw tightened. “Enough," he snapped. “You will not repeat that story again."

“It isn't a story," Daisy said. “Someone sent them. Someone who knew exactly when I'd be in that alley. Someone who benefits if our engagement fails."

She held Amanda's gaze.

Amanda's lashes trembled. “How can you say that?" she whispered. “I treated you like my own. Now you come back and blame me? Green, she must have a fever. She doesn't know what she's saying."

Rosalie slipped an arm around Amanda's shoulders. “Daddy, please don't be too harsh," she said softly. “Daisy has clearly been through something awful. She's frightened. She doesn't mean to hurt us."

Daisy almost laughed.

“I mean every word," she said. “I nearly died tonight while you were worried about Rosalie's cake."

Alpha Green's hand slammed down on the desk.

“Enough," he roared. “You walk into the hall on your birthday looking like a street girl dragged from the gutter, you accuse your stepmother in front of our guests, and now you stand here slandering your family again?"

“I didn't choose to look like this," Daisy shot back. “I didn't choose to be thrown onto a warehouse floor. I didn't choose to be sent out when my mate was arriving."

“You ruined your sister's celebration," he said coldly. “You ruined the alliance ceremony. Thunder Storm will think we cannot even control our own daughter."

“They should think someone is trying to destroy their future Luna," Daisy replied. “And they should ask who let it happen."

“Appearances matter," Alpha Green snapped. “Rosalie was humiliated tonight and still speaks for you. That is kindness. That is what a Luna should be. You"—his gaze raked over her torn dress—“only bring trouble."

The words landed heavier than any blow.

“I am the one who was beaten," Daisy whispered. “And you care more about how it looked."

He drew in a slow breath.

“From this moment you are confined to your room," Alpha Green said. “You will not leave without my permission. You will not speak of alleys, attackers, or plots again. You will rest and reflect until you remember how to behave as my daughter."

“Father—"

“Guards," he barked.

Two warriors appeared in the doorway.

“Escort her to her room. You will guard the door. No one goes in or out."

“Yes, Alpha."

Rosalie took a hesitant step forward. “Daddy, perhaps—"

“Enough, Rosalie," he told her, voice softening. “You've done more than enough for her tonight."

Daisy met Rosalie's gaze. For a heartbeat she thought Rosalie might reach out.

She didn't.

The warriors led Daisy back through the sleeping corridors. The house that had been full of music hours ago felt hollow now.

She had always known, somewhere deep down, that her father preferred Rosalie. His smiles were warmer when Rosalie entered a room, his hand rested on Rosalie's shoulder in front of guests, his praise always seemed to find her first. Even so, Daisy had clung to the quiet belief that beneath the distance he still cared for her—because she was his blood, his only daughter by birth.

Now, escorted like a criminal on the night she had nearly been destroyed, that belief felt painfully naive. He had not asked whether she was hurt or afraid. He had only spoken of shame and appearances, of Rosalie's humiliation and Thunder Storm's opinion. With every step, a numb coldness spread through her chest.

Maybe, she thought, he truly didn't care whether she lived or died, so long as the pack's reputation stayed clean.

At her door, one guard unlocked it. She stepped inside on her own.

The lock slid home behind her with a clean, final click.

The corridor outside her room fell silent.

Inside, Daisy sat on the edge of her bed. No healer had been summoned. Dried blood flaked from her knuckles. Her ribs throbbed with every shallow breath.

On the bedside table stood a single glass of water. She drank half of it at once and left the rest, afraid it might be the last.

Her wolf paced inside her, restless and furious.

No one believes us, it said.

“I know," she whispered.

Food arrived once the next day, a cooling bowl of soup shoved through the gap as the guard slammed the door again. Daisy forced down a few spoonfuls and drank the last of the water.

On the day after that, no one came at all.

Her bruises turned from purple to sickly yellow. The ache in her ribs deepened. The empty glass on her table watched her like an unblinking eye.

By the third day, the fever came.

It began with a chill that shook her so hard her teeth knocked. She curled on the bed, arms wrapped around herself. Then heat followed, rising until the air seemed to burn.

Sleep came in thin, broken scraps. In one moment she lay on the warehouse floor while men in black walked slow circles around her. In the next she stood in the glittering ballroom in her torn dress, the guests staring, Charles beside Rosalie with his hand on her waist.

“Do you believe me?" Daisy asked.

He opened his mouth and nothing came out at all.

She woke with a strangled gasp, heart racing, throat dry as sand.

Her skin burned. Sweat drenched the sheets. Her tongue felt heavy, too big for her mouth.

“Water," she croaked.

The empty glass said nothing.

She swung her legs off the bed and tried to stand. Her knees buckled. The room tilted and swam. She caught the mattress and dragged herself back, vision going gray around the edges.

“Anyone," she called hoarsely. “Is anyone there?"

Only silence answered.

“I'm going to die in my own room," Daisy thought, light‑headed, “while my father's guards stand outside."

Her eyes slid shut.

The fever carried her until she no longer knew if she was burning or freezing.

Somewhere in the haze, cool fingers touched her forehead.

“She's burning up," a voice murmured.

The mattress dipped beside her. An arm slid under her shoulders and lifted her gently.

Something pressed against her lips.

“Drink," the voice said. “Slowly."

Water touched her tongue, blessedly cool. She coughed, then swallowed greedily.

“Easy," the voice warned. “You'll choke."

She forced her eyes open.

A familiar face swam into focus above her: dark hair, golden eyes, a mouth she knew too well.

“Charles," Daisy whispered.

He looked down at her, brows drawn in a worried line.

“I'm here," he said quietly. “It's me."

Something inside her cracked.

All the pain from the alley, the ballroom, the study, the locked door, surged up at once.

Her fingers caught clumsily in the front of his shirt.

Then, without holding back anymore, Daisy clung to him and broke apart, sobbing into his chest.