Chapter 22

Esther’s POV

The morning began like any other, but I senseed a tremor in the air long before the screams reached me.

Carl was supposed to be at school. I had walked him there myself, holding his hand while he dragged his feet, grumbling about lessons. He had looked so much like Nicholas in that moment, stubborn chin raised, defiance hiding the fear I knew lay beneath. I kissed his head before sending him in. I told myself he would be fine. I lied.

The message came less than an hour later. A young student bursting into the hospital, wild-eyed and sobbing.

“Dr. Esther! It’s Carl! He’s—he’s not right!”

My heart plummeted. I didn’t wait for details. My legs carried me faster than I thought possible. I flew through the corridors, across the courtyard, down the lane toward the school.

When I burst into the classroom, chaos ruled. Desks were overturned. Children pressed against the far wall, weeping in terror. A teacher crouched in the corner, trembling. And there, in the center, was my son.

Carl’s eyes were no longer the soft gray of innocence but a glowing amber, feral and wild. His small body shook, his claws—claws, though he was still too young for a full shift—extended, tearing through wood and cloth. He snarled like a beast cornered, his breath ragged and his gaze unseeing.

“Carl,” I whispered, though every instinct screamed at me to run.

He whipped his head toward me, teeth bared, a low growl ripping from his chest. My heart clenched so violently it hurt. This was my boy, my baby, and yet here he was, consumed by Nicholas’s cursed bloodline. The curse that had haunted Nicholas now lived in my child.

“Don’t come closer!” the teacher shrieked. “He’ll hurt you!”

But I couldn’t stop. I approached slowly, my hands raised.

“Carl, sweetheart, it’s Mama. Look at me. It’s me.”

He trembled, caught between fight and recognition. For one terrifying moment, he lunged, and then something flickered across his face. A flash of confusion. A spark of memory.

“...Mama?”

“Yes, baby. I’m here.” My knees hit the floor. “Come back to me.”

The fight bled from him, leaving only exhaustion. His claws retracted, his eyes dimmed back to gray, and with a sob, he collapsed into my arms. I held him, rocking him, even as whispers filled the room.

“... dangerous…”

“He’ll kill someone one day.”

The whispers carved into me like knives. I gathered Carl and carried him from the school, ignoring the stares that followed.

He clung to me, shaking, his small body fragile against mine. My heart screamed that I was losing him unless I found a way to save him.

I would.

Back at the hospital, Kevin waited for me, summoned by frantic word of Carl’s outbreak. His expression was grim but calm, the way it always was when my world threatened to shatter.

“Esther,” he said gently. “Let me take him.”

I couldn’t let go, but Carl stirred weakly in my arms, whimpering. Kevin reached out, and for once, I allowed it. He lifted Carl easily, carrying him to an empty ward bed.

“He’s too young,” I whispered. My hands shook as I pressed them to my lips. “Too young to be showing this. Nicholas didn’t—he was older when it started.”

Kevin’s eyes softened. “Bloodlines can shift early. We knew it was a risk.”

“He’s not a risk. He’s my son.”

“I didn’t say otherwise.” Kevin placed a steadying hand on my shoulder. “And he’s part of my pack. He’s safe here.”

But I saw the flicker of calculation in his gaze. He was worried.

No pack would tolerate a feral wolf, not even the son of their healer. If Carl couldn’t control it, if he lost himself entirely, they would kill him.

That was the law.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood. “I won’t let them.”

Kevin’s voice was low. “Then we find a way.”

That night, when the hospital quieted and Carl finally slept, I sat at my desk, scrolls and medical texts spread around me. My hands moved mechanically, scribbling notes, flipping pages, but my heart thundered with desperation.

I was no longer just a healer. I was a mother racing against time. The pseudonym I used in research circles—Dr. Arden, faceless and nameless—had shielded me from notice. Now I needed to extend my reach as far as possible.

I needed answers.

I joined calls with other doctors in the pack, presenting ideas, suggesting combinations of herbs, potions, and tranquilizers.

“What if we dampen the surge of wolf energy during the feral outbreak?” I asked. “If we calm the body’s response—”

“It could backfire,” one warned. “Suppressing wolf energy risks the collapse of the bond entirely. You could kill the wolf spirit.”

Better dead wolf than dead child, I thought savagely, but bit my tongue. I didn’t want Carl to lose his wolf like I lost mine.

It was an emptiness that would never go away.

“Then what about strengthening the human side? A counterbalance?”

Another doctor leaned forward on the screen. “Too unstable. But perhaps—if we infused the serum with healing essence?”

I made notes, hope flickering. Sharon, my wolf, silent but not gone. She was a healer to her bones. Was there a way to channel her dormant strength? Could my bond to her bleed into the cure?

Hours passed. Pages filled. My hands cramped. Still, I worked.

When I closed my eyes, I saw Carl’s face, eyes glowing, teeth bared, but fear and desperation in his crazed eyes.

That night, I tucked him into bed. His face was pale,and his lips were trembling.

“Mama,” he whispered, “am I... bad? Am I a monster?”

“No, Carl. You’re my brave boy.”

“But they said—”

“They’re wrong.” I forced a smile, stroking his hair. “You are strong. And strong things scare people sometimes. But strength can be a gift.”

His small fingers clutched mine. “Will it hurt you?”

The question broke me. He was afraid of himself, afraid of hurting me. I gathered him close, burying my tears in his hair.

“Never,” I lied, because I couldn’t let him see me falter.

Afterward, as I sat at my desk with moonlight spilling over papers, I whispered to the silent presence of my wolf: “Sharon... if you’re in there, if you can hear me, help me save him.”

No answer came. Only silence.

I would not stop. I would fight the whispers. I would fight Nicholas’s bloodline. I would fight the curse itself.

Carl was mine. Sofia was mine. And no law, no prophecy, no Alpha King, would take them from me.

The following days blurred into one relentless rhythm: tending to patients, sitting at Carl’s side, then vanishing into research until dawn. My body ached, my hands blistered from grinding herbs, but exhaustion was a luxury I could no longer afford.

Kevin visited often, bringing food I barely touched. “You’ll kill yourself,” he warned.

“Then at least I’ll die trying,” I snapped, though my throat burned with guilt.

His eyes softened, though his voice stayed firm. “Carl doesn’t need a martyr. He needs a mother.”

I turned away, unable to argue, because both were true. But every night, when Carl whimpered in his sleep, when Sofia curled against him protectively, tiny arms wrapped around her brother, I knew I couldn’t stop. If I failed, they’d lose me anyway.

And so I worked. Because I had no choice.