The wolf stays away all evening. 

It’s what I wanted. I told him to leave.

But as the sun sets and darkness invades the cabin, I resent him for leaving me alone.

Sleep doesn’t come easily. I’m restless. I don’t know how long I’ve laid here in this bed, and I kick myself for not asking him when he was here. My body aches. I touch the bandages on my neck, feel the rough stitches beneath. 

The wound was bad. I’m lucky to be alive. A shiver runs through me as I remember lying in the grass, staring up at the moon, bleeding out. 

Who fixed me up?

Was it him?

By the time Kalen returns in the morning with a basket of eggs and fresh bread, I’m ready with my questions.

“Good morning,” he says. He puts the basket by my bed and moves to the hearth. He adds wood to the flickering embers, stoking the fire back to life. “Nice to see you awake.”

His deep blue eyes draw me in, but I refuse to be distracted. I push myself into a sitting position, wincing at the pain in my side. My head spins, but I ignore it, focusing on the man in front of me. "How did you find me?"

He hesitates, his eyes darting away from mine. 

Frustration boils inside of me, and I grip the edge of the bed, my knuckles turning white. "Who did this to me? Was it your pack? Is that how you found me?"

He sighs and rubs a hand across his jaw. "No. It wasn't my pack."

"Then who?"

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

I wilt under his question. It’s what he asked me before.

His eyes are steady on me. “You really don’t remember?”

I look away from him. My mind whirls with questions. I don't know what happened to me. I don't know who he is. 

I don't know anything. 

The fire crackles too loudly, the shadows on the walls dancing like demons. The air feels oppressive, like it's pressing down on me, suffocating me. 

“Are you the one who bandaged me?” I whisper. My voice sounds weak, even to my own ears. 

He doesn't answer. He pushes away from the hearth and begins to pace the room.

But I already know the answer.

"Why did you save me?" I try again. "What do you want from me?"

His steps falter, and he turns to face me. His eyes are dark, his expression unreadable. "I don't know," he says. "I don't know why I saved you. I don't know what I want from you. I don't know anything."

"What happened to me?" I ask. 

He hesitates, his eyes flickering to the door as if he's considering leaving. But then he sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. "I don't know who attacked you. I found you in the forest, and I brought you here to heal."

I can smell his honesty, the way his scent carries the truth. He doesn't know why he saved me. He only knows that he had to.

And for now, maybe that's enough. I lean forward to grab a piece of bread from the basket, and my shoulder brushes his arm. I don't know what it is about this man that makes me want to forget about our packs, our borders, our history. It's like none of it matters. None except...

A wolf. A shifter. My mind races, trying to piece together the fragments of my memory. I remember the forest. I remember the pain. I remember the wolf. 

My heart starts to race, my breathing becoming erratic. I look at him, my eyes wide with fear. "A wolf," I whisper. "A shifter. It was a wolf."

He reaches out to touch me, his hand gentle on my arm. "It's okay," he says. "You're safe now. I won't let anyone hurt you."

I pull away from him, my body trembling. "No," I say. "No, I don't trust you. I don't know you. I don't know anything."

He looks at me, his eyes flashing and his jaw tightening. "I know," he says. "I know you don't trust me. But I promise you, I won't hurt you. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"Does your pack know I’m here?" I hiss at him. I lean close, my nose almost touching his, my fingers closing around his arm like I'm an alpha and he's one of my pack members. He holds himself still, but his eyes widen slightly and his nostrils flare as he breathes in my scent. 

"No," he says. "I've sent no word to anyone outside this cabin that you're here."

I barely hear him. My mind flashes to Ethan, my own blood. My blood who betrayed me. And now I'm in the home of someone who should have chained me and handed me over to his elders. But he didn't. And I owe him my life.

But not my heart. Never my heart. 

I won't trust anyone ever again. 

His fingers close over mine, and somehow the touch calms me. I close my eyes and inhale, breathing deep. Slowly. Then I open my eyes to find him gazing intently at me.

He cracks a wan smile. “I don’t even know your name.”

I focus on his face and slide my hand down his arm, enjoying how the muscles contract beneath my touch. "Thank you," I say, my voice soft now, my anger gone. "I'm sorry I accused you."

He inhales slowly, like he's savoring the feel of my skin against his, but he doesn't say anything. His body is warm, and my wolf stirs within me, humming with interest. But I don't know if I want that. I pull my hand away. 

“Lyla,” I say. “My name is Lyla.” 

“Lyla.” He stands up, his shoulders slumping. "I'll let you rest. But if you need anything, just call for me. I'll be right outside."

He opens the door, and the cool morning air rushes in, making the fire flicker. He steps outside, and the door closes behind him with a soft thud. 

And a piece of me walks out the door with him, mourning at his sudden absence.

I pull my head back in alarm.

He’s a Nightshade. Not just any Nightshade, but the alpha.

And I’m the daughter of Alaric Blackwood.

He will kill me if he finds out.

I have to get out of here. 

Before it's too late.

***

I would have left right then, but when I try to put my feet down to stand, my body fails me.

As much as I hate to admit it, I need more time to heal.

Days blur together, a monotonous cycle of light and dark, of Kalen coming and going, bringing me food and medicine. I spend a lot of the hours sleeping. Sometimes I hear his voice outside the cabin, talking to his pack members, giving excuses for why they can't come in. I stay in bed, half listening in my dream state, observing, feeling a mixture of isolation and curiosity. 

The light changes, the shadows shifting on the walls, marking the passage of time. Kalen brings me food, simple fare like bread and cheese, sometimes a piece of fruit, sometimes raw meat. He brings me herbal remedies, poultices and salves that he applies to my wounds with gentle hands. 

My strength returns as my body heals. The pain lessens, the wounds closing, the shifter magic working its wonders. I can feel it, the energy coursing through me, knitting my flesh back together. 

But I also feel a restlessness, a need to move, to do something other than lie in bed and wait. I feel trapped, confined, like a caged animal. 

Every morning when Kalen leaves the cabin, I try to stand. And every time I fall back with a wave of dizziness, nausea churning through my stomach.

Until one day it doesn’t. I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My head spins, my vision blurring, but I don’t black out. I take a deep breath and steady myself. 

I need to pee. There’s no bathroom in the cabin. For days my body hasn’t consumed enough food to generate waste, but it’s caught up to me now.

I stand. My legs tremble, but they hold me. I take a step, then another, moving to the small table where Kalen has left a basin of water and a cloth. I wash my face, the cool water refreshing, and then I look around the cabin. I find a mirror, a small, cracked piece of glass propped up on a shelf. I pick it up, holding it up to my face, and I examine my wounds. 

The cuts on my arms and legs are healing nicely, the skin pink and new. The bruises are fading, the purple and blue turning to yellow and green. But it's the wound on my throat that catches my attention. 

I touch the edges of the bandage, then remove it. My fingers trace the jagged line. It's still raw, still tender, but it's healing beneath the stitches. I can feel the shifter magic working, the energy pulsing beneath my skin. 

I should be dead. The wound was deep, the blood loss significant. But I'm alive, and I owe it to Kalen. 

I put the mirror down and look around the cabin again. I find a chest of clothes against the bed, and I pull out a shirt and pants. They're too big for me, the fabric hanging loose on my frame, but they're clean and comfortable. 

I take a deep breath and step outside the cabin. The sunlight is bright, the air crisp and cool. I blink, my eyes adjusting, and then I see him. 

Kalen. 

He's chopping wood, his shirt off, his muscles rippling with each swing of the ax. His skin glistens with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead. 

I can't look away. 

He's beautiful, in a rugged, primal way. His body is a work of art, each muscle defined, each movement graceful and powerful. 

My heart races, my breath catching in my throat. I feel a pull, a connection, something deep and primal that I can't explain. 

I take a step forward, and the ground crunches beneath my feet. He looks up, his eyes locking onto mine, and I see the surprise, the concern, the desire. 

And I know why he saved me.