Lana's POV
"I just asked you a question," he said, his voice sharp and suspicious.
A sly smile crept across my lips. He didn't recognize me. Perfect. I masked my voice, mimicking the guy he'd spoken with earlier, making it deeper and more clipped.
"It was going smoothly. Why did you call back?" I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
A soft chuckle rumbled from the other end of the line.
"I called back because you guys need to move faster. You have to remove the healing agent immediately. If you don't, he'll start regenerating in the next two hours," he warned, his voice growing more urgent.
"Alright. I'll take care of it. We won't make any mistakes," I assured him before quickly ending the call.
The moment the line went dead, my pulse kicked up a notch. I shoved the phone into my pocket, turned back to the bed, and braced myself. Ken lay there unconscious, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. Time was running out.
Grunting with effort, I slid my arms beneath him and lifted him from the bed. He was heavier than I remembered. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, but I didn't stop. I couldn't afford to. Not now.
The hallway outside was dimly lit, the flickering overhead light casting long shadows on the cracked floor tiles. I moved quickly but cautiously, making my way out of the place. Every second counted.
I did everything I could to get him back to the pack. My arms ached, my lungs burned, and my clothes were soaked in blood and sweat—some his, some mine. The forest path seemed endless, each step heavier than the last, but I refused to give in to exhaustion. I had to save him.
By the time I reached the pack gates, my strength was nearly gone. I stumbled forward, half-carrying, half-dragging Ken's limp body. The guards on duty saw me and rushed to my side without hesitation.
"Help me!" I shouted, barely able to keep my voice steady. "He's badly hurt!"
They sprang into action, lifting Ken from my arms and carrying him swiftly into the pack house. I followed closely behind, heart pounding like a war drum. Once they laid him gently on the bed in the medical room, I finally allowed myself a breath. Relief washed over me, though it was brief and shallow.
The door burst open just moments later with a loud bang, slamming against the wall. His beta stormed inside, eyes wild, face tight with fury and panic.
"What happened to the Alpha?" he demanded, his voice rough, barely restrained.
"Human hunters," I replied, trying to keep my voice even. "They attacked us when we are going for the meeting. I only survived because I was lucky—otherwise, neither of us would be here."
He clenched his fists at his sides, then released them, only to clench them again. His entire body was taut with tension, as if barely holding himself back from tearing something—or someone—apart.
"Do you know who's behind this?" he asked, his tone low and dangerous.
I hesitated. My heart thudded in my chest like a warning bell. Should I tell him? Should I keep the truth to myself? He was going to find out eventually, and when he did, he'd know I'd kept it from him. Better to spare us both the aftermath of lies.
"Can the guards excuse us for a moment?" I asked quietly, glancing toward the two men lingering by the doorway.
He didn't question me. With a nod, he signaled them to leave, and they exited the room at once, closing the door behind them.
Now we were alone.
"So," he said, stepping closer, his eyes searching mine. "Can you tell me who's behind this? Now?"
I drew in a slow breath, steeling myself. "Yes. It was Ethan—the Alpha of Darkmoon Pack."
The room fell into a tense, suffocating silence.
"Ethan? How did you know it was him?" he asked, eyes narrowing in disbelief.
"I overheard him," I said quietly. "He was on the phone, talking with the men who carried out the attack. I recognized his voice."
He froze for a second, as if trying to process what I'd just said. Then his expression twisted with fury.
"Fuck!" he growled, slamming his fist against the nearby wall, the sound echoing through the room. "That son of a gun. He's going to pay for this. How dare he lay a hand on Ken?"
His voice thundered through the room, vibrating with pure rage. I could see it in his eyes—the kind of anger that could tear a man apart, limb by limb.
A soft clearing of the throat cut through the tension like a knife. Both of us turned toward the door, our attention snapping to the figure standing there.
It was the pack doctor, the one I'd told the maid to fetch earlier. He stepped inside, his face calm but serious, a medical bag slung over one shoulder.
Without a word, he moved quickly to Ken's side and began examining him. He checked Ken's pulse, examined his wounds, and then pulled out a small light to check his pupils. His hands were steady and methodical, the kind of movements that come with years of experience. But even so, I noticed the subtle tightness in his jaw.
Whatever he was seeing, it wasn't good.
We stood in tense silence, waiting—hoping—for the doctor to say something. Anything.
"The wounds are very deep," the doctor said after a moment of tense silence, gently lowering Ken's arm back onto the bed. "But the Alpha will be fine. His natural healing abilities are still functioning—he should recover fully within the next hour."
A breath of relief escaped me.
"Thank you, Doctor," I said, my voice soft but sincere.
He gave me a brief nod and turned to leave, but the Beta stepped forward and spoke before he could.
"You can go," he said to the doctor, then turned his eyes on me. "But Lana, I need you to stay with him. I'll be out for a while."
Without another word, the two men exited the room, leaving me alone with Ken, whose breathing had grown steadier. I sat down beside him, watching the faint rise and fall of his chest. The minutes passed slowly, heavy with thoughts I couldn't shake. A storm of guilt, fear, and determination swirled inside me.
After a while, I stood up and quietly slipped out of the room. My feet moved on instinct toward Ken's office. I didn't have a plan, just a desperate hope that I might find something—anything—that could help me stop Ethan.
Once inside, I closed the door behind me and walked over to his desk. I rifled through the drawers, searching for files, letters, maps, anything that could point me toward a strategy. But there was nothing—only pens, a few papers, and one small leather-bound book, buried beneath a stack of old documents.
An old diary.
Curious, I opened it—and my breath caught in my throat.
It belonged to Sienna.
Her handwriting flowed across the pages in delicate ink, each word soaked in emotion. I read in stunned silence as she recounted how she had fallen in love with Ethan—the Alpha of Darkmoon Pack. She described his charm, his whispered promises of a life together, of heaven and earth. She had wanted to believe him… until she heard he was married.
But Ethan, ever the manipulator, had returned with divorce papers—signed and sealed—convincing her that he had left his wife for good. Blinded by love and desperation, Sienna agreed to run away with him. What she didn't know was that Ethan had other plans.
Betrayal.
The final pages were filled with her doubts. She wrote of how she planned to tell Ken the truth, to warn him about what she had overheard. But fear held her back.
My fingers trembled as I turned to the last entry—unfinished, scrawled in haste.
Just then, a voice boomed from outside the office, dragging me out of the moment.
"Bastard! Where the hell are you?"
The words echoed through the hallway, sharp and furious. I froze, the diary still open in my hands, my heart thundering in my chest.
Someone was here.
And they were looking for Ken.