SYLRA’S POV
“Don’t you dare,” I growled, both aloud and through our bond, my voice breaking. “Don’t you dare do this.”
I shifted back, skin steaming in the cool forest air, hair clinging to my damp shoulders as I dropped beside him. The world narrowed to just Caelan—his ashen face, the crimson bloom spreading across his shirt, the shaft of the arrow protruding at that sickening angle. His breathing came in shallow, stuttering gasps, each one weaker than the last.
“Stay with me,” I whispered, cradling his face between my trembling hands. His skin felt too cool against my burning palms. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare go anywhere.”
He coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, a stark red line against his paling skin. His eyes, though clouded with pain, found mine. “You shifted again… in mid-air…”
“Shut up,” I said, blinking back tears that threatened to fall. “You’re not allowed to be impressed right now.”
His lips twitched in what might have been a smile before another spasm of pain contorted his features. The arrow shaft quivered with each labored breath. Silver liquid seeped from where the arrowhead disappeared into his flesh, not just any arrow, but one tipped with wolfsbane. My stomach twisted at the sight.
More wolves began pouring into the clearing, Alphas, guards, my father’s sentries. The entire Summit was converging, drawn by the scent of blood and the echo of my roar. Their footsteps thundered through the undergrowth, branches snapping under urgent feet.
“Blood Princess!” one of them shouted, voice thick with awe and fear.
Gasps erupted as they took in the scene before them—three bodies sprawled across the forest floor, me half-shifted and barely clothed, Caelan bleeding at my feet.
The air filled with their murmurs, their stunned silence as they stared at the golden fur still rippling across patches of my skin.
Someone stepped forward, a tall wolf from the Northern pack. “We’ll carry him—”
“No.” I stood up, my legs steadier than they had any right to be. Scratches criss-crossed my arms and torso, blood drying in rivulets down my skin—some mine, most not. The wolves around us shifted nervously, eyes averted from my near-nakedness, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
I shifted again, welcoming the fire that crackled down my spine, the familiar agony of bones breaking and reforming.
My golden wolf emerged, larger than those surrounding us, my fur catching the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees. I lowered to my front legs as carefully as I could, positioning myself beside Caelan’s unconscious form.
“Help me get him up,” I commanded through the bond, directing my thoughts to two nearby guards.
They hesitated only for a heartbeat before moving to obey, gently lifting Caelan and placing him across my back. His weight pressed against my spine, warm and heavy, but I welcomed it—proof he was still alive, still fighting. Blood seeped into my fur, hot and sticky against my flank.
I turned toward the road, ignoring the stunned faces of the Summit’s leaders. “We’re going home,” I said through the pack bond, my mental voice steady despite the fear clawing at my chest.
No one dared challenge me as I moved through their ranks, my steps measured and deliberate to avoid jostling Caelan. Two guards flanked me, hands hovering near Caelan to steady him, while others fanned out ahead, clearing a path.
The journey back passed in a blur of green shadows and urgent voices. I focused only on Caelan’s heartbeat against my back, the rhythm growing fainter with each passing minute. By the time the stone walls of our compound came into view, his breathing had grown so shallow I could barely detect it.
I burst through the gates, guards scrambling to clear my path as I made for the clinic. “Get the doctor,” I commanded to anyone who would listen. “Now!”
The clinic doors flew open before I reached them. Inside, I lowered myself carefully to the ground, allowing two healers to slide Caelan from my back onto a waiting table. The doctor, a grizzled old wolf with hands steadier than mountains, was already rolling up his sleeves.
“Out,” he ordered, not even looking up as he assessed the wound. “Everyone out except my assistants.”
I shifted back to human form, someone draping a cloak over my shoulders. “I’m staying,” I said, my voice leaving no room for argument.
The doctor’s eyes flickered to mine, then to the golden light still pulsing beneath my skin. He nodded once before turning back to Caelan.
“Then make yourself useful. Hold him down. This won’t be pleasant.”
I positioned myself at Caelan’s head, hands on his shoulders, as the doctor gripped the arrow shaft. A wordless howl tore from Caelan’s throat as the doctor pulled, the arrowhead emerging in a spray of silver-laced blood. The scent of wolfsbane filled the room, acrid and poisonous.
“Out of my way,” the doctor barked, pressing herbs against the wound. “He needs—”
The clinic door burst open. I turned to see my father striding in, his face carved from stone, flanked by one of his council members, Alrik.
“What happened?” Father demanded, his gaze sweeping over Caelan’s prone form before settling on me.
Before I could answer, Alrik stepped forward, his eyes glittering with something that sent ice through my veins.
“The Blood Princess caused the attack,” he said, voice carrying through the suddenly silent room.
I jerked back as if struck. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Alrik gestured to a wolf I didn’t recognize, who shifted immediately to human form and dropped to one knee before my father.
“We saw the arrows, Your Highness,” the wolf said, not meeting my eyes. “The Blood Princess asked everyone to move to the other side of the mountain, leaving her and Caelan alone. We caught one of the attacking wolves on our way here, and he mentioned the Blood Princess by name before he was killed by an arrow from behind the mountain—the same kind that struck Lord Caelan.”
The accusation hung in the air like poison. I felt the stares of everyone in the room, the weight of their doubt pressing against me.
“Alrik.” My father’s voice was dangerously quiet.
“The Blood Princess needs to be punished.” Alrik muttered confidently.
“Father,” I whispered, disbelief choking me. “You can’t possibly believe—I would never—” My hands trembled at my sides, rage and hurt building beneath my skin. The golden light flickered across my knuckles, responding to my distress.
Someone seized my wrists from behind. I instinctively reached for that well of power deep within me, the one I’d discovered in secret, preparing to unleash it when a commanding voice cut through the tension.
“I know who orchestrated the attack. It’s not Sylra, so let her go!”
The voice was familiar. I turned sharply to see Rovan standing in the doorway, his massive frame filling the space.
