Chapter 48

Harper’s POV

Why can’t I pull myself out of the dark hole I’ve fallen in?

I pick up the flower Lucas gave me, the wilted and brown petals flopping limply as I take one last look at it. Logically, I should’ve gotten rid of the flower right after Lucas gave it to me, but I couldn’t.

My arm shakes slightly as I lift the flower and hold it over the trash bin. Even though the flower is rotting and dead, I kept it. Why?

It reminded me that he came to make sure I was okay.

“Stop it, Harper,” I mutter, shaking my head. “He’s not yours.”

I let the flower slip from my fingers and quickly walk away. I try to think about anything other than Lucas, but the same thoughts that have been swirling in my mind all week return. He and Sierra are getting married soon, and I can’t do anything about it.

In fact, I shouldn’t want to do anything about it. They’re mates, and they should be together just like Logan and I are meant to be together.

There’s nothing I can do about it.

But, even as I walk into the medical wing and rush to the nearest patient, I can’t take my mind off of Lucas. Every time we’ve been near each other, the way he makes my heart race, the feeling I get when he touches me… it all surfaces.

Everything about him sucks me in, and guilt rolls in my stomach.

How am I supposed to be happy if I can’t stop thinking of someone else’s mate? If I didn’t know any better, I would say he put some kind of spell on me, but Lucas isn’t’ like that.

The woman in front of me cries out when I turn her arm over to examine it, and another memory of Lucas hits. I shake it off while looking at the woman with a soft, hopefully comforting smile.

“You’re alright,” I tell the crying woman as I try to focus on healing her broken arm. I gently take her forearm and wrap my hands around it, letting my magic flow into the injury.

It doesn’t take much of my magic to mend her injury, and once I’m done, I send her on her way.

Just in time, too, because a flood of warriors comes in, all with minor injuries and dazed expressions.

“He’s in a bad mood today,” one of the mutters.

Another scoffs and grumbles, “He’s been in a mood all week.”

“What happened to you guys? Another rogue attack?” I ask, pulling one of the warrior’s heads down to examine a large knot above his eyebrow.

“No, but this is probably worse,” the man mutters. I release his head and shine my light from eye to eye as he continues, “Alpha is in a bad mood.”

“A mood?” I raise a brow at him. When he nods, I glance at the other warriors who all agree with my patient. You’d think that someone getting married soon would be happy. The thought burrows under my skin, and I know that no amount of distraction or talking to the warriors will get rid of it.

“Why is he in a mood?” I ask curiously.

The warrior off to my left raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck, “Honestly, we’re not really sure, Healer Harper, but I think he’s having second thoughts about—”

The man behind him slaps a hand over the warrior’s mouth and chuckles uncomfortably.

“We think he's just stressed about the rogue situation, so he's taking out his frustrations during training,” the man says before pulling my patient away. I don't comment on what the warrior was probably going to say; instead, I file the thought away for later and continue working.

I move from one warrior to another, healing their concussions, fractures, and cuts. To me, these injuries seem more serious than regular training injuries, but I remember Logan mentioning that training was being amplified so that they could better protect themselves against rogues when they do attack again.

Because it’s not a matter of ‘if’ they attack but ‘when’. From what I’ve seen, the attacks are getting worse and happening more often. I’d like to ask if we’re going to have a war, but I don’t want to bring it up if no one else is.

Each warrior thanks when I’m done healing them before they leave to fulfill their daily duties.

As the flow of patients slows, I make my way to my office to jot down a few tasks I need to complete.

“Harper, there’s someone here to see you,” Jenna says just as I sit down.

“Who is it?”

“Your…” She glances over her shoulder, cringing, “Your father.”

Immediately, I shake my head, “I don’t want to see him. In fact, tell him that I’m not available to see him ever. If he needs healing, he’ll have to get it from someone else.”

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t argue.

I’m not sure what he’s doing here, but it can’t be anything good. I won’t let him force his way back into my life because all he brings is misery and pain.

Sighing, I stretch and roll my neck as I head toward the dining hall. After not working for a week, coming back to the medical wing was tiring. Not in a bad way, though. I feel accomplished and like I had a good day.

No one died, which is always a good day in a hospital.

As I raise my arms above me, my back becomes tight, reminding me of the new scars I bare all thanks to Sierra.

I’ve debated with myself all week on what to do, but she’s about to be the Luna. If I tell anyone what happened, would she be punished?

Would Lucas punish his own mate?

I want to think that he would, but I also know that her punishment would reflect badly on Lucas. Other packs would criticize him for what his mate did, which could bring more enemies to our doorstep.

“Where are you off to?”

A chill skitters down my spine, and the scars along my back begin to ache at the sound of her voice.

Before I can react, a hand grabs me by the shoulder and yanks me back into the cramped walkway between the medical building and the pack house. My back collides with the brick wall, making me groan.

“I thought I smelled a rat skulking around,” Sierra hisses, wrapping a hand around my neck and squeezing.

Instantly, my airway closes, and I can’t breathe.

“Now, I’m only going to say this once, so I want you to listen, Harper,” she growls, staring straight into my eyes. “If you tell anyone what happened the other night, even your mate, I won’t forgive you.”

She flicks a stray piece of my hair out of my eyes.

“I’ll make those little marks on your back look like kitten scratches,” she growls and tightens her hold. Stars dance in my vision, and I grab her wrist to pull her off. She merely chuckles. “You won’t be around long enough to worry about finding the man who marked you.”

She releases me, and I drop to the ground as she grins, “Do you understand what I’m saying?”