Chapter 13 – Edges and Promises
1322 Words
By morning, the pain had gone from white‑hot to a deep, ugly throb whenever she breathed too enthusiastically. Which, in Lupa’s personal scale, ranked as “annoying but survivable.”
The worst part wasn’t the wound.
It was the way everything felt… quieter.
Her strange inner senses had always been a background static of other people’s feelings — her pack’s moods washing through her, the faint pulse of her alpha at the edge of awareness, the old, broken line toward Everwood humming dully.
Now, everything was muffled. Like someone had thrown a blanket over her world.
Good, she tried to tell herself. Less noise. Less guilt.
So why did it feel like being half‑deaf?
The med bay door whispered open.
Alder slipped in, closing it softly behind him. Someone had made him go home long enough to change — jeans, dark sweater, damp hair pushed back like he’d run his hands through it one too many times. The day's stubble shadowed his jaw. There were faint bruises under his eyes she’d never seen before.
“You’re supposed to knock,” she said.
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
She snorted. “We’re both underperforming.”
He came to the side of the bed and just… stood there for a second, like he wasn’t sure which part of her he was allowed to look at. His gaze landed on the monitor, the IV, the bandage peeking above the blanket.
“You look better,” he said finally. “Color’s back.”
“You mean ‘less corpse chic’?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “That.”
He pulled the visitor’s chair closer and sat, forearms on his knees. For a moment they just listened to the soft beep of the heart monitor and the distant hum of air vents.
Lupa cleared her throat. “How bad’s the damage outside of my dramatic alley debut?”
“Warehouse manager’s thrilled his insurance will cover a ‘forklift malfunction,’” Alder said dryly. “Nyla’s got a sprained wrist and a new obsession with following orders. Kess is milking her singed hair for sympathy. Jorin’s already redesigning patrol patterns.”
“And the thing?” She hated how small her voice sounded. “Any sign?”
“Tracker teams followed blood to the tree line,” he said. “Lost it there. Everwood picked up the trail deeper in, then it… stopped. Like the last time.”
She swallowed. Relief and dread tangled. If it was gone, it was plotting. If it was plotting, it would come back.
“And the elders?” she asked. “They already measuring me for a nice containment collar?”
His jaw tightened. “Northbridge is talking ‘special observation.’ Everwood is talking ‘shared responsibility.’ Our elders are talking way too much and not enough about what you want.”
Her chest hurt for reasons that had nothing to do with claws.
“What if what I want is for them to all shut up and let me do my job?” she said.
“Then I tell them that,” he replied. “Loudly, if I have to.”
She studied him. “You’re already catching heat for me.”
He shrugged, but the motion was tight. “Occupational hazard.”
“Alder.”
His gaze lifted to hers. For once, he didn’t hide what was in it. Fear, banked fury, something deeper and warmer that made her want to look away and lean closer at the same time.
“When it hit you,” she said quietly, “you felt it.”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “Yes.”
“Like—?”
“Like someone drove a spike through my side and laughed about it,” he said. His fingers curled against his knees. “For a second I thought it was a panic echo. Pack bleed. But… it wasn’t. It was you. Direct. Too clear to be anything else.”
She licked her lips. “That shouldn’t happen.”
“No,” he agreed. “It shouldn’t.”
Silence stretched, thick and humming.
“You didn’t…” She hesitated. “You don’t resent it?”
The question slipped out before she could strangle it. Stupid. Vulnerable.
He blinked, as if she’d slapped him with a fish.
“Resent knowing when you’re being torn open in an alley?” he asked softly. “No, Lupa. I resent not being there fast enough.”
She looked away, throat tight.
“I’m serious,” he said. “If this—” He gestured vaguely between them. “If whatever the hell the Moon and your messed‑up rituals have done means I feel it when you’re hurt, that’s not a burden. It’s a warning system. I’ll take it.”
“You say that now,” she muttered. “Wait until I stub my toe at three a.m. and you bolt upright thinking I’ve been decapitated.”
He huffed a laugh. “I’ll risk it.”
Something in her loosened, just a little. Warmth crept into the cold coil under her ribs.
“Alder…” She forced herself to meet his eyes again. “I heard Caiden and Selis last night. About ‘special status.’ About boxes with nicer names.”
His expression shuttered, then smoothed. “You weren’t supposed to—”
“I’m not a plant,” she snapped. “I have ears.”
He winced. “Right. Sorry.”
She sighed, sinking back into the pillows. “They’re going to dress it up however they want, but it still adds up to the same thing: I’m an asset with conditions. A problem to be managed.”
“You’re not a problem,” he said. “You’re the one keeping us from drowning in someone else’s screwups.”
“Tell that to the elders.”
“I will.” There was steel in his voice now. “And if they don’t listen, we make sure they can’t move without tripping over everyone you’ve kept alive.“
Her mouth quirked. “That sounded almost like a threat, Alpha Vox.”
“It was a promise,” he corrected.
The door clicked again before she could answer.
Mirel slipped in, tablet under her arm, eyes flicking between them. “Sorry to interrupt the feelings circle,” she said, tone dry. “But our favorite Northbridge lawyer is requesting a private word with our ‘special asset.’”
Lupa groaned. “Tell Selis I’m heavily sedated and bitter.”
“Already did. She said that’s when you’re most honest.”
Alder rose. “I’ll stay.”
Mirel gave him a look. “She asked for Lupa alone.”
His hackles visibly rose. Lupa could almost hear his wolf growl.
“I’m not letting Northbridge corner her in a hospital bed,” he said.
“I’m pretty sure you just said I’m not a plant,” Lupa muttered. “Which means I can, in fact, say no.”
She met his gaze, steadying. “It’s fine. I’ll scream if she produces a contract with the word ‘disposal’ in it.”
The muscle in his jaw jumped again, but after a beat he nodded.
“Five minutes,” he said. “Then I’m coming back in whether you’re mid‑clause or not.”
When he left with Mirel, the room felt bigger. Colder.
A moment later, Selis Arden stepped through the door, immaculate as always. Not a strand of hair out of place, suit pressed, tablet hugged to her chest like a shield.
Her gaze swept Lupa from IV to bandage to rumpled hair. Something flickered in her eyes — not pity. Assessment. And, beneath it, a sliver of concern she probably thought she hid well.
“Lupa,” she said. “How are we feeling about being at the center of a constitutional crisis this morning?”
- Writer
