Chapter 2

Grafton POV:

My hand was still tingling. Like I'd grabbed a live wire.

"Get her to the pack hospital!" I barked.

My wolf, Fenrir, was losing his mind. Mate. Hurt. Protect.

I shoved him down. Impossible, I thought. She's a human. A stray. Justen's pet project. She can't be.

But the spark...

At the hospital, the doctors swarmed her.

"Alpha," Dr. Evans said, frowning at the monitors. "Her healing factor is garbage. It's like her system is dormant. The silver is eating her alive."

"Fix her," I growled.

"Grafton?"

Cherrelle's voice grated on my ears. She was sitting in a wheelchair she didn't need, holding a wrist that wasn't broken.

"Baby, I'm traumatized," she sniffled. "That Rogue... he looked at me."

I looked at Cayla, bleeding out on the table. Then I looked at Cherrelle.

Logic said Cayla saved my life. Logic said that spark meant she was my other half.

But paranoia whispered louder. She hid her power. She used a Voice command on the Gamma. What else is she hiding? Is she a witch? A spy?

"Grafton," Cherrelle whined. "My wrist hurts."

I needed to think. I needed distance from the confusing scent of vanilla and rain coming from Cayla.

"Dr. Evans," I said, my voice cold. "Check Miss Hughes. She's... in shock."

"But Alpha," Evans protested. "Miss Bass is critical."

"She's tough. She'll live," I lied to myself. "That's an order."

I walked out, leaving my potential Mate to bleed alone.

Cayla POV:

I woke up to silence. No beeping machines. No nurses.

My leg throbbed with a dull, toxic ache. I looked down. Bandaged, but the blood was seeping through. The silver was still in there, fighting the suppressants.

Thirsty.

I dragged myself out of bed. I grabbed an IV pole and shuffled into the hallway.

Laughter drifted from the VIP suite.

I looked in. Grafton was sitting on the bed, holding an ice pack to Cherrelle's perfectly fine wrist. He was releasing calming pheromones-a luxury he'd never wasted on me.

Cherrelle spotted me. Her eyes narrowed, and she launched into a performance worthy of an Oscar.

"Ah!" she shrieked, flinching away. "She's doing it again! She's in my head!"

Grafton spun around.

"What are you doing?" he roared.

"Water," I rasped.

"Liar!" Cherrelle cried. "She's projecting pain! Make it stop!"

Grafton marched toward me. He didn't see the blood on my gown. He only saw the threat to his precious socialite.

He grabbed my arm. His grip bruised.

"I told you to stay away from her," he snarled.

He shoved me.

I hit the wall hard. My head cracked against the plaster.

I slid to the floor, seeing stars.

Grafton loomed over me, eyes glowing red. He wasn't thinking. He was reacting to Cherrelle's distress signals like a puppet.

"You are nothing," he spat. "You will never be Luna. You aren't even worthy to clean her shoes."

My heart didn't break. It just stopped beating for a second.

"I, Grafton Mcleod, Command you," he bellowed, the Alpha magic pinning me to the floor. "Do not come near us."

I lay in my own blood, watching the man I saved walk back to the woman who wanted me dead.