At the bed next to Dane’s, Nyxiana’s violet eyes narrow as she works on Nova. Her hands glow with soft white flame as she applies purification magic to the unconscious Alpha female.
“Same pattern here,” she confirms, her melodic voice tight with frustration. “This attack ... it’s responding to my attempts to heal it.”
“What do you mean, responding?” I ask, moving closer.
Elysia looks up from where she’s treating Gabriel and Amara. “It’s almost like it’s ... feeding on our healing attempts.”
Lyanna presses a palm to Dane’s forehead, her face pale with exhaustion. The Alpha’s skin burns beneath her touch, his breathing ragged. Sweat soaks his sheets despite the cool air. Occasionally he mumbles something unintelligible, his head tossing side to side.
Fuck. If we lose Dane—I shove the thought away violently. Not happening.
“Isla, what are you seeing with Cassie and Kieran?” Lyanna asks, her voice hoarse from hours of non-stop work.
Isla looks up, her green eyes troubled. “Same issue. The moment I apply healing energy, their readings spike. It’s like we’re making it stronger.”
I move to the supply cabinet, restocking bandages while keeping an eye on Lyanna. The shadows under her eyes have darkened, her movements are becoming less precise. I’ve never seen her this drained.
“Harper,” Lyanna says suddenly, her voice sharpening with realization. “Show me those readings again.”
Harper slides her notebook toward Lyanna, pointing to a column of numbers. “See the pattern? Every healing attemptcorresponds with a contamination spike exactly three minutes later.”
Lyanna grabs Harper’s notebook, face suddenly alert. She flips between pages, tracing corruption spikes against treatment times. I watch the realization hit her—that look of someone seeing a pattern emerge from chaos.
“It’s not just resisting our healing,” she says slowly. “It’s consuming it. Feeding on it.”
Harper pulls out another chart. “Strongest bonds show fastest consumption rates. The Alphas fell first because they’re bonded to everyone—they provided the most fuel.”
“Fuck,” I breathe, the implications hitting like a fist to the gut.
Nyxiana moves from Nova’s bedside, violet eyes haunted. “I’ve felt it. The energy being pulled away, like water down a drain. I thought I was failing. But it was drinking from me.”
I stare at the beds filled with unconscious pack members. The numbers blur in my vision.
“So, our bonds—the thing that makes us pack—“
“Are what’s killing them,” Lyanna finishes. Her face is drawn, exhausted, but her eyes are sharp. “Unless we starve it. Temporarily dampen the bonds, cut off its food source.”
“And if you go too far?”
She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to.
The remaining conscious pack members gather around Dane’s bed—Kari stands with arms crossed; jaw tight. Wyatt hoversnearby, his usual stoic presence strained. Reyna paces behind them, her sharp eyes darting between the unconscious bodies and the data displays. Mateo stands pressed against the far wall, wide-eyed and silent. Rafe maintains his position by the door, arms crossed, steel-blue eyes fixed on the unconscious Alphas.
“Explain it again,” Kari demands, eyes locked on Dane’s pale face. “Slower this time.”
Harper steps forward, bringing up a holographic display of magical readings. “Look at the pattern. Every time we apply healing energy, corruption levels spike exactly three minutes later. The energy travels through pack bonds, feeding the dark magic instead of healing it.”
Nyxiana’s violet eyes narrow as she examines the data. “He engineered it perfectly. The bonds deliver the corruption and feed it simultaneously.”
Wyatt’s face goes gray. “And to stop it, we have to...”
“Temporarily dampen the bonds,” Lyanna says, her voice steady. “Not sever them—just weaken them enough to starve the corruption.”
“That’s ...” Reyna shakes her head, “That’s like cutting off oxygen to kill a fire while hoping the person inside doesn’t suffocate.”
“Exactly.” Lyanna’s voice is grim. “I have to weaken the bonds enough to starve the dark magic without severing them permanently.”
My stomach twists at the thought. Pack bonds are everything—our strength, our connection, our very identity. To deliberately weaken them feels like sacrilege.
