Stone Of Severance

Angela Simon pressed her hood tighter around her face as she stepped out of St. Catherine's General Hospital. Her twelve-hour ER shift had stretched to fifteen after a three-car pileup on the bridge. Exhaustion clung to her bones, but the city never slept- and neither did the shadows.

She kept her head down, weaving through clusters of late-night revelers spilling out of the clubs along Willow Street. Music pulsed in the distance, bass thumping like a heartbeat. A sudden gust blew Angela's hair across her face, and she paused at the mouth of a narrow alley. A strange scent- a mix of earth, rain, and coppery blood- drifted past her. She turned her head, instincts prickling.

Then she heard it: a low, guttural growl that didn't sound human.

Angela froze, her pulse spiking. She fumbled for the pepper spray clipped to her bag. Another growl echoed, this one strained, almost pained. She crept forward, senses screaming at her to run, yet something deeper urged her to keep going.

Halfway down the alley, a man slumped against the brick wall. His shirt was shredded, blood soaking the dark fabric. His head lolled forward, hair matted to his forehead. But it wasn't his injuries that made her breath catch- it was his eyes when they flickered open. Even in the shadows, she saw the glow of gold, like molten fire, watching her with both fury and desperation.

"Don't-" he rasped, voice thick with pain. "Stay... away."

Angela knelt beside him before she could stop herself. "I'm a nurse. You need help."

He tried to push her back, but his arm collapsed beneath him. Blood soaked the sidewalk, seeping into the rain. His breathing was ragged, labored. She pulled out her phone, ready to call an ambulance, but his hand shot out, gripping her wrist with inhuman strength.

"No... no hospital," he gasped. His fingers trembled violently. "They can't... know."

Angela's mind whirled. This wasn't a normal mugging victim. There was something deeply wrong here, something primal. The man's eyes flashed gold again as thunder rumbled overhead. The clouds parted just enough for the Blood Moon to spill crimson light into the alley.

Suddenly, his entire body convulsed. Angela staggered back, horror and fascination warring inside her as his bones twisted beneath his skin. His teeth elongated, claws tore through his gloves. She gasped as his form expanded, fur sprouting across his arms. A massive wolf, larger than any natural predator, stood before her, swaying unsteadily.

He howled- a desperate, broken sound-and collapsed once more, shifting halfway back into human form. Angela's fear dissolved into fierce determination. Whatever he was, he was dying.

She unzipped her med kit, working quickly. Compress the bleeding. Elevate his legs. Keep him conscious. His breathing hitched with every touch, but his eyes never left her face. There was gratitude there-and something deeper she couldn't name.

"Angela," she whispered, realizing he might die without knowing who'd tried to help him. "My name is Angela."

His lips twitched. "Raymond... Anderson."

Lightning flashed, illuminating the alley like daylight. For a split second, Angela saw him fully: the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the corded muscles of his arms, the deep claw marks raking across his chest. Then darkness reclaimed the space, and Raymond slumped unconscious.

Across the street, a tall figure in a black coat watched from the shadows, eyes gleaming red. He lifted a phone to his ear.

"She's here," he said softly, voice smooth as silk. "The nurse. And he's weakened. We strike at dawn."

Angela strained to keep Raymond alive, checking his pulse every minute as minutes stretched into eternity. Sirens wailed somewhere far off, and she prayed they wouldn't come here. If paramedics found him like this-half man, half wolf-it would mean disaster. He needed a hospital, but he'd made it clear that was impossible.

She worked quickly, tearing open bandages, using her own scarf as a tourniquet. His wounds were deep, but oddly, the bleeding began to slow. Angela blinked, unsure if it was a trick of the moonlight-but it looked like his flesh was knitting back together, faint threads of silver crawling over the gashes.

"What... are you?" she breathed.

Raymond stirred, eyes fluttering open again. "Alpha... Pride Pack," he murmured, each word ragged. "They're... coming."

"Who's coming?" she asked urgently.

"Nightfangs," he rasped. His gaze locked onto hers, fierce even as his consciousness slipped again. "Run. They'll kill you."

Angela shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not leaving you."

Suddenly, a crash echoed at the mouth of the alley. Angela whipped her head around as three figures stepped into view-men dressed in dark tactical gear, moving with an unnatural grace. Their eyes glowed faintly red in the shadows.

"Well, well," the tallest one drawled, voice echoing like a blade scraping stone. "Looks like the great Alpha Raymond Anderson has fallen-and found himself a little human pet."

Angela rose, planting herself between the intruders and the wounded Raymond. "Stay back!" she shouted, gripping her pepper spray like a lifeline.

One of the men laughed. "She thinks she can stop us."

They lunged.

Angela sprayed wildly. A hiss of pain told her she hit one, but the others were on her instantly, grabbing her arms. She kicked and twisted, adrenaline surging, but their grip was impossibly strong.

A feral roar erupted behind her. Raymond exploded off the ground, shifting fully into his massive wolf form mid-leap. Fur black as midnight, eyes burning gold, he slammed into the nearest attacker, sending him crashing into the alley wall with bone-shattering force.

Angela dropped to her knees, heart pounding. Another Nightfang pulled a blade, slashing at Raymond's side. Blood splattered, but Raymond didn't stop. He bit down on the man's arm, tearing it away with a sickening crack. The last attacker tried to run, but Raymond was faster, pouncing and pinning him beneath his massive paws.

The fight lasted less than a minute. Silence fell, broken only by the ragged breathing of wolf and woman. Raymond shifted again, body twisting until he was human once more, crouched naked in the rain with blood dripping from his mouth.

Angela stood shakily, staring at the carnage. The men-Nightfangs, she realized-were either dead or unconscious. Raymond rose slowly, eyes still wild.

"You... should have run," he growled.

Angela took a step toward him, voice trembling. "And leave you to die? I don't think so."

Thunder cracked overhead. Raymond staggered, clutching his side where fresh blood seeped. Angela rushed to his side, looping his arm around her shoulders. He was heavy, impossibly heavy, but she braced herself.

"We need to get you somewhere safe," she said urgently.

He looked at her, eyes softening for just a moment. "You don't know what you're getting into."

"Maybe not," she shot back, helping him toward the mouth of the alley, "but you're not dying on my watch."

Angela half-dragged, half-supported Raymond along the deserted streets of Silverhaven. Rain fell harder, masking their escape. Neon signs flashed overhead-"Club Eden," "Silver Diner," "Morrigan's Pub"-casting everything in ghostly hues of blue and red. Every shadow felt alive, every gust of wind a whisper of danger.

They ducked into a quiet parking garage a few blocks away. Angela settled Raymond behind a concrete pillar. She peeled his torn shirt away, inspecting the new wound. Despite the fight, it was already closing, silver threads of magic stitching torn muscle and skin.

"Your body... it heals itself," she said, awe and horror mixing in her voice.

He managed a pained nod. "Werewolf."

She exhaled shakily. "Yeah, I figured."

He tried to smile but ended up coughing. "You're not... screaming. Or fainting."

"I'm too tired to scream," Angela admitted, shaking her head. "And I've seen worse things in the ER."

Raymond's gaze locked onto hers. Rain dripped from his hair, tracing rivulets of blood down his jaw. His eyes were haunted, but behind the pain, she saw something else-respect. Maybe even gratitude.

"I'm sorry you got dragged into this," he murmured.

Angela touched his cheek gently. "I'm not."

A moment passed, fragile and real, before Raymond's head snapped up. His nostrils flared. "More are coming," he said, voice tight. "We have to move."

Angela's mind raced. "Where? Where's safe?"

"My penthouse," he said. "Top floor of the Blackwood Tower."

She swallowed hard. The Blackwood Tower was one of the tallest buildings in Silverhaven, a gleaming monument of glass and steel. Of course the CEO of half the city would have a penthouse there. And of course he would also happen to be a cursed werewolf Alpha.

Angela helped him up again. Together, they stumbled into the night, the city of Silverhaven sprawling before them like a labyrinth of secrets.