Chapter 8 (Seraphina's POV)

He said, "Thank you for saving me."

I blinked.

He didn't explain why he'd lost control. Didn't apologize for scaring me. No "you shouldn't have stayed" or "don't ever do that again."

Instead, he acknowledged that I'd done something no one else could.

My nose stung.

Damn it.

I fought it hard, biting the tip of my tongue, using the pain to push the sting back down.

"Mm." I nodded, keeping my voice as level as possible. "I know."

He watched me for a moment.

Gray-blue eyes looked softer than usual under the warm glow of the desk lamp. Then the corner of his mouth moved—the tiniest shift. If I hadn't been staring at his face, I never would have caught it.

But I caught it.

My heart skipped a beat.

He quickly returned to that calm expression and opened a file on the desk.

"You have Healer abilities," he said. "Last night your hand was glowing. That energy can soothe a wolf soul that's lost control. I need to confirm the extent. A Pack Doctor will come tomorrow to run tests."

"Healer abilities?" I frowned. "What's that? Is it different from a regular doctor?"

He looked up at me.

His brow shifted slightly—very faintly, like someone had just asked him "what's the sun?"

My face started burning.

In my past life, I'd been an idiot. Raised into a useless person by my stepmother and Grace.

They never let me learn anything related to wolves—I used to think it was because I was too stupid. Now I realized it had been deliberate.

Things I knew how to do: shopping, swiping credit cards, gambling, clapping while watching Damien play ball.

Things I didn't know: wolf history, rank systems, ability classifications, basic survival knowledge.

Damn it!

"Healers are born, not made," he said, his tone carrying no mockery—just stating facts. "A Pack usually only has one. Regular Pack Doctors rely on training and medicine. Healers use their own energy to directly affect the wolf soul and body. Your mother was the Wren Pack's Healer."

I knew my mother was a Healer. But I didn't know what that meant, much less that it could be inherited.

"Your ability hasn't fully awakened yet," he continued. "You need training. The tests will determine your current level and potential."

I nodded. "Okay. Than—"

"Also." He cut me off. "Your university."

I froze.

"You've missed two weeks of classes."

How did he even know that?!

"I've had someone communicate with the school." He turned a page in his file, eyes on the paper. "You can continue attending. If you want to."

He added a slight pause before that last sentence.

He was giving me a choice. Again.

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

Honestly—on the surface, I'd only missed two weeks. But adding in the nightmare of my entire past life, I probably... hadn't been a student in over a year.

I couldn't remember how to sit in a classroom and listen to lectures, couldn't remember how to take notes, couldn't even remember my exam dates.

Those memories had been buried under the silver chains and the smell of blood in that basement. I couldn't dig them out.

But he meant well.

He must have seen my struggle, because he didn't rush me.

"Think about it," he said. "No hurry."

I nodded and stood, glancing back at him when I reached the door.

He'd already lowered his head back to his files. Lamplight fell across his profile, his lashes casting a small shadow on his cheekbone.

I turned and left, pulling the door softly shut behind me.

The next morning, a black SUV took me to the Pack medical center.

The center was three kilometers east of the main residence—a four-story white building. From the outside it looked like a regular clinic; inside, the equipment was more advanced than any hospital I'd ever seen.

The Pack Doctor was a man in his forties, dark-skinned, wearing silver-framed glasses. Last name Calloway.

He had me sit in a testing chair, stuck a bunch of electrode patches on my arm, and placed my hand on a crystal slab.

"Try releasing your energy," he said. "Just like that night."

"I don't know how to control it."

"That's fine. Just try."

I closed my eyes and tried to recall the feeling from that full moon night. Tried to guide that cool, flowing force out from my chest—

Nothing.

I tried for ten minutes. My palms were dry. Not a flicker of light.

"Relax," Calloway said. "Don't be tense."

I took a deep breath, and Ember gave me a nudge from inside. The warmth finally trickled from my chest—faint, like a candle about to die—but the crystal slab lit up.

Golden. Pale.

Calloway's pen stopped.

He stared at the readings on the slab for a long time. Then had me repeat it three more times. Each time his expression shifted—from professional calm, to confusion, to something grave that I couldn't read.

"That's enough," he finally said, removing the electrodes. "We're done for today."

"What are the results?"

"I need to report to the Alpha first."

I frowned. "It's my body. You can't just tell me directly?"

He smiled at me—apologetic but leaving zero room for negotiation.

"Those are the rules, Miss Wren. Please understand."

I was left alone in the examination room. Sitting in that testing chair, staring at the fluorescent tubes on the ceiling.

Ember flicked her tail in my mind. "I don't like being treated like a child."

"Me neither."

"Then why didn't you push harder?"

"Because—" I bit my lip. "Because I've been here two weeks and I still have no status. We haven't even had the Mark ceremony. What right do I have to demand anything?"

Ember huffed irritably.

When I returned to the main residence, it was noon.

Ivy was standing at the foot of the stairs.

Short brown hair tucked behind her ears, apron tied loosely, holding a cup of hot chocolate. She smiled when she saw me come in.

"I heard you spent an entire night in the Alpha's study?"

My steps faltered for a moment.

She raised the cup to her lips and blew on the steam, eyes never leaving me.

"So bold, little girl."

I didn't look at her. I lifted my foot to head upstairs.

Her voice floated up from behind, light as air, like an afterthought.

"The first three died because they were too bold, you know."

My hand tightened on the railing.

But I didn't stop. Didn't look back. Went straight up to the second floor.

Not worth it. She wasn't worth my response.

But—

Everyone in this house had gone collectively silent about the full moon. Even the Beta only said "the Alpha needs to recover." Everyone was avoiding the subject.

How did she know?

Did Margaret tell her? Or—had she seen it herself that night?

Where had she been hiding and watching?

Ember growled low: "That woman needs to be dealt with. Sooner or later."

I returned to the second-floor corridor, about to turn toward my room—

The study door wasn't fully closed.

Caelan's voice came from inside—low, steady, saying something I couldn't make out. Then Kieran's voice, clearer because he was closer to the door.

"Alpha, the Cross family has formally submitted a trade alliance invitation."

My feet nailed themselves to the floor.

"Their condition is a marriage alliance to solidify the relationship—Damien Cross marries Grace Wren. Once Cross and Wren are joined by marriage, the three families form a strategic alliance."

Kieran turned a page, his voice continuing.

"Victor Cross's exact words in the letter were: let three families become one."

My blood went cold.

Cross and Wren. A marriage alliance.

Damien and Grace.

In my past life, these two had worked together. One hollowed me out from the inside. The other surrounded him from the outside.

A silver bullet through the heart. Dead on the spot.

I charged in.

The door slammed open, hitting the wall with a bang.

Three people were in the study—Caelan behind the desk, Kieran standing to the side, and an older man I didn't recognize sitting in the corner.

All three turned to look at me at once.

Kieran frowned. The older man's expression showed clear displeasure.

I stood in the doorway, chest heaving violently, my head full of noise.

Speak. Speak. Tell him.

"Don't trust the Crosses."

My voice cracked—sharper than I'd intended.

Kieran's frown deepened. The older man set down his documents and swept me with a look that said he was watching a farce.

Caelan looked at me.

Gray-blue eyes without a ripple of emotion. But I could feel his gaze dissecting me—my expression, my posture, my white-knuckled hands, my bloodless lips.

"Why?" he asked.

Why?

Because in my past life they killed you! Because Damien told me himself that a silver bullet went through your heart! Because—

Because I'm reborn.

...I couldn't say it.

I couldn't!

If I said it, I'd sound insane.

They'd send me for a psychiatric evaluation.

Or worse—they'd start questioning my motives.

My hands were shaking. Clenching them into fists didn't help.

Ember was screaming in my head for me to calm down, but her voice sounded muffled, like it was coming through water. All I could see was one image—

Damien's index finger tapping the left side of his own chest. "Dead on the spot. My dad said he was still calling your name before he died."

My eyes burned.

No. I couldn't cry.

I bit down on my tongue, hard enough to taste blood.

"I can't tell you why." My voice was trembling. Every word had to be forced out of my throat. "But I'm begging you—don't trust them!"

The study was so quiet you could hear the clock ticking.

Kieran watched me, his expression shifting from displeasure to something complicated.

The older man opened his mouth, probably about to say something—a girl who'd been here two weeks, unmarked, with no Luna title, daring to interfere with an Ashworth Pack Alpha's decisions?

But he didn't speak.

Because Caelan was still looking at me.

That gaze was heavy. Not anger. Not scrutiny. I couldn't name it—like he was measuring the weight of something.

Then he spoke.

"Leave."

Not to me.

Kieran blinked, then nodded. He gathered the documents and motioned for the older man to follow. As they passed me, Kieran's eyes lingered on my face for a moment.

The door closed behind me.

Only the two of us remained in the study.

He leaned back in his chair, one hand resting on the armrest, the ring on his thumb catching cold light.

"Sit down," he said.

My legs were shaking. I nearly hit the desk corner on my way to the chair.

I sat, hands clasped together on my knees, nails digging into my palms.

He looked at my hands for two seconds.

Then raised his eyes to meet mine.

"Let's talk."

I took a deep breath.

I had to convince him. I would never let him die for me again!