Claimed by the Alpha’s Fortune

Chapter Ten: Trust

The car arrived at dawn, just as Dominic had promised.

Ella was waiting outside the Under-City entrance, her backpack stuffed with medical supplies—antibiotics, bandages, antiseptics, her textbooks, and the few instruments she'd managed to acquire. The morning air was cold and damp, mist rising from the rain-soaked streets.

The car was black, sleek, and utterly out of place in this part of the city. It hummed quietly, its engine barely audible. A wolf in a dark suit stepped out and opened the back door for her.

"Miss Morris," he said. "Mr. Blackwood sends his regards."

Ella hesitated. The Under-City entrance gaped behind her, dark and familiar. Mira was watching from the shadows—Ella could feel her eyes. Dent was somewhere nearby, probably with his hand on his knife.

She could still say no. She could turn around, go back to the clinic, treat her patients, and forget Dominic Blackwood ever existed.

But five thousand dollars. Isobel's life. The chance to prove herself.

Ella got in the car.

---

The drive took two hours.

Ella watched the city change through the tinted windows—poor neighborhoods giving way to rich ones, crowded streets giving way to manicured lawns, chain-link fences giving way to iron gates. The Wolf Alliance headquarters was located in the wealthiest part of the city, a sprawling estate that had belonged to the Blackwood family for generations.

The car passed through two security checkpoints before pulling up to the main building—a stone mansion that looked more like a castle than a home. Guards patrolled the grounds, their eyes sharp, their movements efficient.

Ella stepped out of the car and felt the weight of the place pressing down on her. This was power. Real power. The kind that could crush someone like her without a second thought.

"Miss Morris."

Dominic Blackwood stood in the doorway, dressed in dark jeans and a simple sweater. He looked less intimidating than he had in the clinic—but only slightly.

"Follow me."

---

The hospital wing was at the back of the mansion, a modern addition that clashed with the old stone architecture. Dominic led Ella through a series of corridors, past nurses and doctors who nodded respectfully as he passed.

They stopped in front of a closed door.

"She's in there," Dominic said. "I should warn you—she's not herself. The poison has been affecting her mind. She may not recognize you. She may say things that don't make sense."

Ella nodded. "I've treated patients like that before."

"Not like this."

He opened the door.

---

Isobel Blackwood was a ghost.

She lay in the hospital bed, pale and thin, her dark hair spread across the pillow like seaweed. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. Machines beeped softly, monitoring her heart, her blood pressure, her oxygen levels.

Ella approached slowly, her eyes scanning the room. The system activated:

**Patient scan in progress...**

**Name: Isobel Blackwood**

**Species: Wolf (Alpha)**

**Condition: Critical**

**Primary diagnosis: Silver toxin poisoning (variant unknown)**

**Secondary diagnoses: Organ failure (early stage), neurological deterioration, severe dehydration**

**Estimated time until death: 14 days (without treatment)**

Ella's heart sank. Fourteen days. That was nothing.

"What do you see?" Dominic asked.

"Nothing good." Ella pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down. She took Isobel's hand—cold, limp, the fingers curled inward. "The poison is attacking her nervous system. That's why her mind is affected. It's also damaging her organs, but slowly. The neurological damage will kill her first."

"Can you stop it?"

"I don't know." Ella closed her eyes, focusing on the system's analysis. "I need to run some tests. Blood work, tissue samples, maybe a spinal tap. And I need to see the original poison—whatever was used to infect her."

Dominic nodded. "I'll have my people get you whatever you need."

Ella opened her eyes. "There's something else."

"What?"

"If I do this—if I save her—I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it because she deserves to live."

Dominic's expression didn't change. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

---

The next twelve hours were a blur.

Ella drew blood, collected tissue samples, and performed a spinal tap—the first one she'd ever done on a living patient. Her hands were steady, but her heart pounded the entire time.

The system analyzed everything, cross-referencing the results with its database of silver toxin variants.

**Analysis in progress...**

**Variant identified: Silver toxin Type-7 (mutated)**

**Characteristics: Neurological tropism, rapid adaptation, resistance to standard chelation therapy**

**Potential treatment pathways: 3 identified. Further testing required.**

Ella read the results three times. Type-7. She'd never heard of it. Neither had the pack doctors, apparently—they gathered around her as she explained her findings, their faces a mixture of skepticism and grudging respect.

"You're saying this variant attacks the nervous system specifically?" one of them asked—an older wolf with gray hair and tired eyes.

"Yes," Ella said. "That's why standard treatments aren't working. They're targeting the blood, not the nerves. We need a different approach."

"What approach?"

Ella pulled up the system's recommendations. "There are three potential pathways. The first is a targeted chelator—something that binds to the silver in the nervous system specifically. The second is an immunotherapy—training Isobel's own immune system to attack the poison. The third is... experimental."

"Experimental how?"

Ella hesitated. "There's a plant—nightshade. It's toxic to wolves in large doses, but in small doses, it can bind to silver and help flush it out of the nervous system. The problem is the margin between effective and lethal is very narrow."

The room was silent.

"You want to poison my sister to save her," Dominic said. He'd been standing in the corner, listening.

"I want to give her a chance," Ella said. "That's all I can offer."

---

Dominic dismissed the other doctors.

They filed out, shooting glances at Ella—curious, suspicious, maybe a little afraid. When the door closed, Dominic turned to her.

"How sure are you?"

"About which part?"

"About the nightshade."

Ella thought about it. The system had given her a success rate—62% for the nightshade treatment, compared to 45% for the targeted chelator and 38% for the immunotherapy. None of them were good odds.

"Sixty-two percent," she said. "If we're careful. If we monitor her constantly. If we're ready to reverse course at the first sign of trouble."

Dominic was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "My sister is all I have left. Our parents died when we were young. I raised her. I protected her. And now she's dying because I couldn't keep her safe."

Ella didn't know what to say. She'd never had a family—not really. She didn't know what it felt like to love someone that much.

"I'll do everything I can," she said finally. "That's all I can promise."

Dominic nodded slowly. "Then do it."

---

The treatment took three days.

Ella barely slept. She monitored Isobel's vitals, adjusted the nightshade dosage, ran test after test. The system guided her, flagging potential problems before they became crises.

**Day 1: Silver levels reduced by 12%. No adverse reactions.**

**Day 2: Silver levels reduced by 28%. Minor neurological improvement—Isobel opened her eyes.**

**Day 3: Silver levels reduced by 45%. Isobel spoke for the first time—"Where am I?"**

When Isobel said those words, Ella almost cried.

She was sitting by the bedside, checking the IV drip, when the young woman's eyes fluttered open. They were gray—like Dominic's, but softer, less stormy.

"Where am I?" Isobel whispered.

"You're home," Ella said. "You're safe."

Isobel's gaze focused on her face. "Who are you?"

"My name is Ella. I'm your doctor."

"You're not a wolf."

"No," Ella said. "I'm not."

Isobel stared at her for a long moment. Then she smiled—a weak, fragile thing, but real. "Thank you."

Ella squeezed her hand. "You're welcome."

---

Dominic came when he heard the news.

He stood in the doorway, frozen, his eyes fixed on his sister's face. Isobel saw him and reached out.

"Dom," she said. "You look terrible."

He laughed—a broken, relieved sound—and crossed the room in three strides. He took her hand, pressed it to his forehead, and stayed there, silent.

Ella slipped out of the room, leaving them alone.

The system pinged:

**Task complete: The Alpha's Sister**

**Reward: $5,000 credited to account**

**Skill Unlocked: Advanced Silver Toxin Management (Level 1)**

**Reputation increased: Wolf Alliance (+50)**

**Current funds: $6,973.50 ($1,973.50 + $5,000)**

Ella stared at the numbers. Six thousand, nine hundred and seventy-three dollars. More than enough for the clinic. More than she'd ever dreamed of.

But that wasn't what made her smile.

She'd saved a life. Not with stolen drugs and desperate prayers, but with skill and knowledge and a system that believed in her.

She was a real healer now.

---

Dominic found her in the garden an hour later.

Ella was sitting on a stone bench, watching the sunset. The sky was orange and pink, streaked with clouds. It was beautiful—the kind of beauty she'd never had time to notice before.

"You did it," Dominic said, sitting down beside her.

"We did it."

"I don't have words." He stared at the horizon. "I've spent months watching her die. Months of hope and disappointment and rage. And you—a stranger—walked in and fixed her in three days."

"I had help."

"The system?"

Ella tensed. "You know about that?"

"I know you have something that helps you see things others can't. I don't know what it is, and I don't need to know." He turned to look at her. "What I need to know is—what do you want? As payment. As thanks. Name it."

Ella thought about the clinic. The dirt floor. The crumbling walls. The patients who paid in nickels and dimes.

"Five thousand dollars was already more than fair," she said. "But if you really want to thank me... help me build something."

"Build what?"

"A real clinic. In the Under-City. For everyone—wolves, humans, rogues, anyone who needs help."

Dominic was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "You're asking the most powerful Alpha in North America to fund a clinic in rogue territory."

"Yes."

"That's insane."

"Probably."

He laughed—a real laugh, deep and warm. "I like you, Ella Morris. You're not afraid of anything."

"I'm afraid of plenty." She smiled. "I'm just not afraid of you."

Dominic stood up. "I'll have my people contact yours. Consider it done."

He walked away, his shadow long in the setting sun.

Ella sat on the bench and watched the stars come out.

---

She returned to the Under-City the next morning.

Mira was waiting at the entrance, her arms crossed, her scarred face unreadable.

"You're alive," Mira said.

"Barely."

"He didn't kill you?"

"He paid me." Ella held up her phone, showing the balance. "Five thousand dollars. Plus a promise to fund the clinic."

Mira's eyes widened. "You're serious."

"I'm always serious."

Mira stared at her for a long moment. Then she shook her head. "You're insane."

"So I've been told."

Ella walked past her, into the tunnels, toward the clinic.

The dirt floor was still dirt. The walls were still crumbling. The supplies were still mostly expired.

But for the first time, it felt like home.

The system pinged:

**Clinic Upgrade - Phase 2 progress: 80%**

**Remaining tasks: Secure refrigeration unit, finalize supply chain, hire additional staff**

**Estimated completion: 5 days**

Ella set down her backpack and looked around.

She had money. She had skills. She had a reputation.

And she had a future.

For the first time in twenty-two years, Ella Morris had a future.