Chapter Ten
Grayson
Pain is a strange thing for wolves.
We’re taught early to ignore it, to push through it, to let adrenaline and instinct carry us until the fight is done and the damage can be dealt with later.Pain is information, nothing more.
This pain is different.It’s not the silver burn along my ribs, though that’s bad enough, a deep, aching throb that flares every time I breathe too deeply.It’s not the stiffness in my shoulder where I slammed into stone when the trap went off.
It’s the hollow space in my chest where certainty used to sit.
We don’t talk much on the way back to Katu.
The rescued shifters are bundled in borrowed jackets, supported on either side by pack members who don’t let go even when the terrain evens out.Peyton moves among them with quiet efficiency, murmuring reassurance, checking pulses, promising safety without overstatement.
Caine walks point, posture steady, every inch the Alpha who brought everyone home alive.
Trinity stays at my side.Not hovering.Not clinging.Just present.
I can feel her fear through the bond, tight, sharp, and laced with guilt, but I don’t reach for it.I don’t soothe it.Not yet.Because if I do, I won’t be honest.And honesty matters more than comfort right now.
By the time we reach the compound, dawn is bleeding into the sky, the dark retreating in slow, reluctant shades of gray.The pack moves automatically, muscle memory kicking in as the rescued are guided toward the infirmary.
Xavia is already awake, her calm presence cutting through the chaos like a blade through butter.She takes one look at me and snorts softly.
“You,” she says.“Sit.”
“I’m fine,” I reply reflexively.
She arches a brow.“You’re bleeding.”
I glance down.Right.That.Trinity’s hand twitches like she wants to reach for me, but she stops herself, lips pressing together in a thin line.That hurts more than the wound.The fact that she is unsure of where she stands.
I sit on the edge of a cot and let Xavia work, gritting my teeth as she cleans the burn and packs it with something that smells like crushed leaves and fire.Silver is a bitch—it doesn’t just tear flesh, it poisons it, slows healing, leaves behind an ache that sinks deep into the bone.It’s also the single thing that a shifter can’t heal from just by shifting.
She binds my side efficiently, then steps back.“You’ll heal,” she says.“But not if you’re stupid.”
