The infirmary had grown quiet except for the rhythmic hum of medical machines and the low murmurs of pack doctors moving through their rounds. Jonah sat by the side of the hospital bed, his eyes locked on the bruised and broken form of his Alpha. Xavier lay unconscious, his wounds wrapped but far from healing. The Queen's magic had done something none of them had expected—it had halted a werewolf's natural regeneration. And not just any werewolf—Xavier, a pureblood Alpha, indestructible in most battles, was now barely clinging to life.
Outside, the entire pack had gathered, their murmurs buzzing with unease. The news had spread faster than wildfire: their Alpha had returned, bloodied and battered, after vanishing into the Queen's lair. No one had expected him to survive, let alone return. Yet here he was—silent, unmoving, and slipping further from the edge.
