Half out of my mind with panic, I ran toward Myrielle’s recovery chamber, only to have two pack sentinels block my way.
From inside, I heard her fragile, airy voice.
“Draven… is that Lunessa outside?”
The door slid open.
Alpha Draven stood framed in the light—tall, composed, his aura cold enough to frost the stone floors. His dark eyes swept over my disheveled face and for a heartbeat, his brows drew together.
Then his voice struck like a blade.
“Lunessa, how could you be so heartless? Myrielle hasn’t eaten because she feels guilty about you. Now she’s hurt herself and you dare question me for calling healers? You’re behaving like a pup.”
Something inside me cracked. “He’s tended our pack’s far fields since before I took my first breath! If that leg gives out—his whole world crumbles! You know what this means for him!”
He exhaled sharply, dismissive. “It’s only a few days’ delay. He’s not dying. Stop causing a scene.”
My blood turned to ice.
Inside, Myrielle sat on her bed, wrapped in pale furs, her figure trembling just enough to seem delicate. She lifted her shimmering eyes toward him.