Chapter 2
Evelyn
My bones were screaming, my skin felt like it was being ripped apart. Just when I thought this power would consume me completely, his grip loosened, and then the wolf inside me went silent again.
"What the hell just happened?" I whispered, more to myself than to him.
He didn't answer. His eyes had closed again, his breathing shallow. The silver was already working its way through his system—I could see the black veins spreading from the entry wounds. No human hospital could treat this. They wouldn't understand why silver was killing him or why his natural healing abilities weren't working.
I glanced at the full moon and then back at the dying werewolf. Every instinct told me to leave him—especially tonight of all nights. But something kept me rooted to the spot. Maybe it was the strangeness of what had just happened, or perhaps some foolish sense of responsibility.
"Damn it," I muttered, making my decision. "You better be worth this."
I glanced at the two attackers I'd left unconscious on the pavement, ensuring they were out cold. Then, kicking aside their fallen silver guns, I dragged him to my motorcycle.
His dead weight nearly sent us sprawling several times. His unconscious body slumped against my back as I started the engine, one arm wrapped around his waist to keep him from falling.
"Portland University's medical lab," I decided. As a medical student there, I'd spent countless late nights conducting my own research, desperate to understand why my wolf had been suppressed. It was the only place where I had access to the equipment and resources I needed.
Every bump in the road made him groan. The campus was quiet as I used my key card to access the research building's service entrance, then half-carried, half-dragged him through the empty corridors to the lab.
Once inside, I locked the door and flipped on minimal lighting. Against the far wall was my secret stash of werewolf medical research—journals, specimens, and custom tools I'd created specifically for treating silver wounds. Being an outcast had its advantages—no one questioned my odd hours or research interests.
I heaved him onto the examination table, tearing open his blood-soaked shirt to reveal three bullet wounds. The flesh around each entry point was blackened, dead veins spreading outward like spider webs. Silver poisoning, advanced stage. He had maybe an hour before it reached his heart.
Just as I got my tools ready, his eyes flew open. Before I knew it, his hand was around my throat, squeezing hard. This guy was nothing like some hurt wolf.
"Who are you?" he growled, eyes flashing an electric blue. "Why did you bring me here?"
Despite the pressure on my windpipe, I maintained my cool expression. "Not interested in dying? Then let go. Silver bullets are killing you, and I'm the only one who can get them out."
His grip tightened. "Why should I trust you, a wolf with barely any scent?"
The insult stung, and it hit me that my wolf had gone dead silent again, same as always these past three years. But I didn't let it show. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have left you on that road. Now let go so I can save your life, or don't—your choice."
"You think I can't smell the deception on you?" His voice was raspy with pain, but his grip remained strong. "What are you hiding?"
"Right now? My irritation." I met his gaze without flinching. "You're bleeding all over my lab, and I'd rather not explain a dead werewolf to campus security in the morning."
Something in my tone must have convinced him. He released my throat, collapsing back on the table with a pained grunt.
"This will hurt," I warned, picking up my specialized forceps. "A lot."
For the next hour, I worked in focused silence, drawing on memories of watching my grandmother's medical work as a child—back when I was still part of the Moonheal Pack, learning everything by her side.
I carefully extracted three deeply embedded silver bullets. The man didn't make a sound, though sweat beaded on his forehead and his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth. I had to admire his control—most werewolves would be howling in agony.
The silver had penetrated deep into muscle tissue, perilously close to vital organs. My hands moved with practiced precision, separating poisoned tissue from healthy, extracting each deadly fragment.
"Last one," I murmured, digging deeper for the third bullet that had lodged dangerously close to his heart. When I finally extracted it, he passed out from the pain.
I cleaned and dressed his wounds, then checked his vitals. His pulse was stronger now, the black veins already beginning to recede. He'd live, though he'd be weak for days.
With him unconscious, I decided to find his phone and call someone to pick him up. Searching his jacket pockets, I found an expensive smartphone and scrolled to recent calls.
I dialed the most frequent number. A man answered immediately.
"Boss, where are you? We've been searching for hours!"
"Your boss was shot in Portland," I said calmly. "He's stable now, but unconscious. He's at Portland University's medical research lab."
"What? Who is this?" the voice demanded.
I hung up without answering and continued searching his pockets. As I slipped the phone back, a wallet fell out, and with it, a gold-embossed business card:
DEVON HALL
CEO, HALL ENTERPRISES
ALPHA, BLOODFANG PACK
I froze, the card suddenly heavy in my fingers. Devon Hall. Not just any Alpha, but the son of the Alpha King who ruled over all western packs. The man who had stood by three years ago when my family cast me out, branded me unstable and dangerous.
The memory hit me like a physical blow—standing before the Pack Council, my sister Kate's tearful accusations that I'd lost control and attacked a human, my mother's cold eyes as she disowned me, and Devon Hall, watching impassively as they stripped me of Pack protection and territory rights.
I stared at his unconscious form, fury and bitterness rising like bile in my throat. Of all the werewolves I could have saved tonight, it had to be him.
In the distance, I heard car engines approaching. His people were coming. I quickly gathered my research and tools, erasing all evidence of werewolf-related materials.
Before leaving, I looked at him one last time.
"This doesn't change anything, Mr. Hall," I whispered. "Three years ago, you watched me lose everything. Tonight, you owe another life to that debt."
I slipped out the back exit as headlights swept across the front of the building, disappearing into the night like the ghost I'd become.