“Ella, what the fuck is wrong with you?! You scared her! You can’t even keep a pup alive. You're useless, why don't you just fucking die already?!”
I felt his words had slashed deeper inside me than any claw.
Now, standing in that corridor, the smell of antiseptic and iron in the air, I nearly retched.
“Why are you here?”
That familiar growl snapped me back to reality.
Draven was there again—unannounced. Freya clung to his arm, her belly prominent.
I took a step back. “I’m just signing my discharge papers.”
“You look pale, Ella,” Freya said sweetly, her fingers toying with his ceremonial Alpha tie. “Draven, can’t we bring her home? She donated blood to me. She was so selfless.”
Alpha Draven pinched her cheek. “You’re always so compassionate.”
Then he turned to me, his voice cool. “Get in the car. Don’t make my Luna wait.”
I wanted to refuse.
But the marriage documents I needed were still in the packhouse's study, so I followed in silence.
The home that was once mine now stank of foreign magic and Freya’s cloying perfume—sickly sweet, like decayed lavender and lust spells.
In the study, I began to search the drawers. But beneath one set of scrolls, something caught my eye.