“He defended himself from what his body interpreted as an attack.”
“That’s semantics.”
“That’s trauma.”
We stare at each other. Outside, someone laughs—a child, young enough that today’s violence hasn’t touched them yet. The sound is bright and brief, then gone.
Brenna’s shoulders drop slightly. When she speaks again, her voice has lost some of its edge.
“I understand what you were trying to do, Sable. I do. What he went through in that facility—” She stops, jaw working. “No one should have to endure that. And if there was a way to fix him overnight, to undo what they did and give him back whatever he was before, I would do it in a heartbeat.”
“I know.”
“But we don’t have that luxury. We have a compound full of people I’m responsible for, and a male we know nothing about except that he’s dangerous when he’s conscious.” She holds my gaze. “I can’t afford to have my healer making choices that put them at risk.”
“What do you want me to do?” I’m dreading her answer. If she takes me off his case, it’ll be my own damn fault. And I don’t know why the thought bothers me, but it does.
“Full protocol. Tonight. Now.” Her tone leaves no room for negotiation. “And I want your word—no more dose adjustments without my approval. We discuss any changes together, and I make the final call. Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Say it.”
“Full protocol. No changes without your approval.”
She nods, some of the tension leaving her frame. “You’re still his primary healer. Pulling you now would only make things worse; he’s used to you, and that matters. But Sable, if I find out you’ve made another decision without consulting me, you’re done with him. I’ll put someone else in that room, and you won’t argue.”
“Yes, alpha.”
She’s leaving me on the case. The relief is surprising.
She studies my face for a moment, then reaches out and squeezes my shoulder briefly. It’s not quite forgiveness, but it’s acknowledgment.
“I know your intentions were good, Sable. I saw how they were keeping him in that place. Drugged. Chained like an animal. If there were some way I could give him his life back, I’d be doing it. But for now, we have to be cautious. Not just for the pack, but for him too.”
“You’re right. I know,” I admit. “I suppose that I just…” I trail off, exhaling a deep breath.
“You just want what’s best for your patient. I get it.” Brenna nods. “But right now, what’s best for him and all of us is to keep him contained until we can find a solution.”
I nod because she’s being a voice of reason, while I was just… naive. I’ve been a healer for over a decade. I should have known better.
Brenna smiles. “Now go. Get him settled. I’ll send someone to repair the room.”
She walks away, her footsteps fading down the corridor toward the alpha’s quarters.
I stand there breathing in the antiseptic smell of the healers’ wing, listening to Dane shift in his chair across the hall, watching the last light seep out of the sky beyond the window.
Then I turn and walk back to my patient’s room.
The door is still closed and locked. I left it that way after the others dragged him back inside, after I’d administered the emergency sedative that finally put him down. The wood is scratched near the handle where his claws raked across it.
I push it open.
The room is wrecked. The cot is in two pieces, the frame bent at an unnatural angle. The small table that held my supplies is overturned, gauze and antiseptic scattered across the floor. Three long gouges tear through the floorboards where he tried to get traction. The wall where Dane hit has a crater the size of a human torso.
He lies in the center of it all, unconscious on a blanket someone pulled from storage. His chest rises and falls with mechanical regularity. His hands are loose at his sides, fingers half-curled, knuckles split and bloody.
I crouch beside him and check his pulse. Steady. Slower than it should be, but that’s the drugs. I lift one eyelid—pupil response is sluggish but present. No fever. No signs of shock.
