Chosen by the Alpha Who Destroyed My Pack

Chapter 4 – Terms and Leashes

The healer’s wing smelled like alcohol, herbs, and fear.

Not sharp panic—the quieter, heavier kind that sank into the bones. Sylvi walked between rows of cots, boots whispering on worn stone, trying not to look like she was counting heartbeats and exits at the same time.

Jorek lay on the nearest bed, half-curled, monitors humming softly at his side. His color was better than in the clinic, but his skin still shone with a sickly sheen of sweat. The dark bruising around the wound had stopped spreading… for now.

Across the room, an older woman in a stained apron directed two assistants with the imperious authority of someone who had probably delivered half this pack’s pups.

“Ilyss,” Corren said, low. “This is Sylvi Arkett.”

The healer turned. Her hair was more gray than black, braided back. Her eyes flicked over Sylvi in a fast, practised sweep—hands, posture, the way she held her shoulders as if braced for a blow.

“Mm.” Ilyss wiped her palms on her apron and stepped closer. “So you’re the little storm from the city.”

Sylvi arched a brow. “That’s one I haven’t heard before.”

“Oh, you will. Packs talk.” Ilyss’s mouth tipped wryly. “You rattled that boy’s pain like a rug. He’s breathing instead of tearing at his own side. I’m inclined to like you for that, even if you walk like a cornered cat.”

“Occupational hazard,” Sylvi said, because anything else would be too close to truth. “How’s his vitals?”

They spoke for a few minutes in the shorthand of healers—numbers, reflexes, signs of infection. Ilyss’s skepticism never left completely, but there was professional respect in the way she listened, the sharp questions she asked.

Only when they’d finished did Ilyss glance at Corren. “You wanted words with her. Use the office. I don’t need you hovering and making my wolves try to sit up and salute.”

Corren’s lips twitched. “Noted.”

He gestured toward a side door. Sylvi followed, pulse ticking faster as they stepped into a smaller room lined with shelves and an old, scarred desk. A single lamp cast warm light over piles of folders and jars.

When the door clicked shut, the sounds of the infirmary dulled to a murmur.

“Sit,” Corren said.

She stayed standing.

He leaned back against the desk instead, crossing his arms. “You said you wanted terms. We set them now.”

“Good.” Sylvi mirrored his posture, folding her arms over her chest. “Let’s start with the obvious: I am not part of your pack. I don’t take orders like a wolf under your command. I consult.”

“You’re a guest,” he said. “A healer under temporary contract.”

“Guest implies you can kick me out if I don’t smile enough.”

“I can.” His gaze didn’t waver. “Just like you can walk out if you decide this isn’t worth your skin. No oaths, no marks, no binding. You have that in writing before dawn if you want it.”

That… was more generous than she’d expected.

“Freedom of movement,” she said. “I go back to the city when I need to. I go where I need to inside your territory to do my work. No escort breathing down my neck unless I ask for one.”

His jaw tightened. “You don’t know these woods. Or who might be hunting in them.”

“I know how to stay alive,” she shot back. “And I won’t work in chains.”

A muscle flicked in his cheek. For a second, something like regret crossed his face, gone almost before she saw it.

“Fine,” he said. “Within reason. Riven will set patrol routes. You stay inside them. You take a radio. If there’s trouble, you call. I won’t have a healer—any healer—vanish in my woods.”

She could live with that.

“Next,” Sylvi said. “You keep your people out of my head. No one touches my gift without my say-so. No ‘just a little look’ from curious elders or bored pups. I decide when and how deep I go.”

“Agreed,” Corren said. “Ilyss vouches for her staff. Anyone else tries to manhandle your magic, they answer to me.”

“Even you?”

A beat of silence.

“Especially me,” he said finally.

Her wolf shifted at that. It sounded… less like an alpha claiming rights, more like a man putting a leash on himself.

“And in return?” she asked. “What do you expect from me, besides not dropping dead on your nice clean floor?”

“Three things,” Corren said. He unfolded his arms, bracing his hands on the desk behind him. “One: you examine any case we bring you that shows signs of this… infection. You tell us what you see, no matter how ugly.”

“Two,” he continued, eyes intent. “You keep what you find between us and the packs involved until we decide how to share it. Rumors will fly anyway. I don’t need half the region starting a panic on guesswork.”

Reasonable. Dangerous. Necessary.

“And three?” Sylvi asked.

For the first time since she’d met him, something uncertain flickered at the edges of his scent.

“Three,” Corren said slowly, “if this thing is tied to you in any way—if it reacts to your gift, your presence—I expect you to tell me. Even if you don’t like what that means.”

Her pulse stumbled.

“That sounds like digging in my past,” she said quietly.

“It’s about our future,” he returned. “Yours. Mine. My pack’s.”

Their eyes held. The room felt too small.

Sylvi blew out a slow breath. “Forty-eight hours,” she reminded him. “We start with that. Your three points. My terms. After that, we revisit.”

“After that,” Corren said, “we’ll know whether forty-eight hours is enough.”

He held out his hand.

For a moment she just looked at it. Rough, scarred knuckles, strength in every tendon. An alpha’s hand, offering a deal instead of a command.

Her wolf growled softly, not in warning this time, but in wary curiosity.

Sylvi slid her palm into his.

Heat jumped at the contact. Not the wild snap from the clinic, but a low, steady thrum she felt down her bones.

Corren’s eyes darkened for a fraction of a heartbeat. “Deal,” he said.

She squeezed once, hard, and let go.

“Fine,” Sylvi said. “Then let’s go see how much of your world is already burning.”