Chapter 3

Weston

The moment Alexandra Delacroix went limp in my arms, every civilized instinct I possessed vanished.

Until then, I had been controlling myself. Barely.

She had been bruised, bleeding, her pale hair hacked apart, defiance still burning in her eyes after a room full of wolves watched her mate reject and exile her.

Then she had collapsed against me.

Nox had recognized her before I had fully processed her scent.

Mate. Mine.

The words had nearly torn through my control.

I had told him it was impossible. She had just lost a mate bond.

He had responded by pushing against my skin hard enough to make my bones ache.

Now Alexandra felt frighteningly light in my arms. Even through the thin fabric of her dress, I could feel how little flesh covered her ribs. Bruises marked every patch of exposed skin in different stages of healing. Some yellow. Others purple. Several fresh.

Seven years.

She had lived beneath Darius Thorne’s roof for seven years, and every wolf in Blackridge claimed not to know what had been happening to her.

Liars.

My Beta, Dominic, fell into step beside me. “How is she?”

I looked down at Alexandra. A small line had formed between her brows even in unconsciousness, as if some part of her expected the next blow to reach her in her sleep.

“I don’t know.”

Nox growled.

“I want every servant questioned,” I said. “And keep an eye on the Thornes.”

Dominic nodded. “Done.”

Then he glanced around before lowering his voice. “Do you think she’s still affected by Callahan’s bond?”

“His rejection hurt her.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

I knew.

A rejected wolf did not usually send royal guards to their knees and leave seasoned Alphas struggling to stand. A wolf awakened only two days earlier did not overwhelm the aura of a newly crowned Alpha. And the Delacroix bloodline, while old and respected, had never been known for silver power capable of cracking marble.

Alexandra was more than a lost heiress. Something else surged in her blood. Something powerful enough to frighten even her wolf.

But those questions could wait.

“We’ll find out later,” I said, adjusting her carefully in my arms. “Right now, she needs a doctor.”

“Arranged already.”

We reached the staircase.

The Blackridge clinic stood at the far end of the packhouse, away from the noise of the ruined grand hall.

The doctor opened the door before we reached it. His face went pale when he saw the unconscious woman in my arms.

“Your Highness.” He stepped aside quickly. “Place her here.”

The room was small and painfully clean, sharp with the scent of antiseptic herbs, alcohol, and dried lavender. Cabinets lined the stone walls. A single narrow window overlooked the dark training grounds below.

I lowered Alexandra onto the examination bed as gently as I could. She did not wake.

Her head rolled toward me, revealing the darkening bruise along her cheekbone. Blood had dried at the corner of her mouth. The uneven remains of her pale hair brushed her jaw, some strands nearly twice the length of others.

Nox paced restlessly beneath my skin. Mate is hurt.

I know.

The doctor glanced nervously at me.

“Examine her,” I ordered.

He nodded quickly and began his work with practiced care.

Two royal guards took position outside while Dominic closed the clinic door behind us.

The doctor checked Alexandra’s pulse, pupils, and the swelling along her cheekbone. Then he carefully lifted the edge of her dress to examine her ribs. Heavy bruising covered her side.

A growl tore from my throat before I could stop it. The instruments on the nearby tray rattled.

The doctor froze.

“Continue.”

He swallowed. His fingers moved carefully along her ribs. “She has at least one fractured rib. Possibly two.”

“From tonight?”

He hesitated. “No, Your Highness. The darkest bruising is recent, but not that recent. Within the last few days.”

His expression tightened as he examined her shoulder. “There are older injuries as well.”

Several faded marks circled the joint.

“These healed poorly. She may have suffered a previous dislocation without proper treatment.”

Dominic’s voice sharpened. “May have?”

“I can’t confirm it without further examination. I’ll need scans to rule out internal bleeding and confirm the fracture.”

“Do it.”

The doctor called two assistants, and they wheeled Alexandra into the adjoining examination room.

The door closed.

Dominic folded his arms. “You really believe Darius didn’t know?”

“No.”

A missing child might have been overlooked in the chaos. But the daughter of a murdered Alpha living for seven years beneath the roof of the pack that destroyed hers?

That was not an accident.

The only question was whether Darius had known exactly who she was.

The doctor returned nearly half an hour later.

“One rib is fractured,” he said. “She has a mild concussion, significant bruising to her abdomen and shoulder, and severe exhaustion. Fortunately, there is no internal bleeding.”

Some of the pressure in my chest loosened. “Why did she lose consciousness?”

“The rejection alone could have caused it, especially so soon after her wolf awakened. Add the power surge, fractured rib, prolonged stress, and poor nutrition…” He looked toward the bed as the assistants wheeled her back inside. “Her body reached its limit.”

“Poor nutrition?” Dominic repeated.

The doctor hesitated. “She is significantly underweight for her age and height.”

My hands curled into fists.

“She also shows signs of long-term nutritional deficiency. It would explain the fatigue and why several older injuries appear to have healed poorly.”

“Was she ever treated here?”

“I’ll check.”

The silence stretched while he searched a narrow cabinet filled with handwritten files.

Finally, he looked back at us.

“There is nothing under Alexandra Delacroix.”

“What about Alex Lee?” Dominic suggested.

The doctor searched again. His expression changed. “There is no medical record for Alex Lee either.”

Seven years inside Blackridge. Not one formal examination. Not one injury documented. Not one physician called while a child was being starved and beaten beneath the Alpha’s roof.

The clinic door opened, and my father entered with two royal guards behind him.

His gaze immediately found Alexandra. For several seconds, he said nothing. Then his eyes moved over the bruises, her split lip, and the ruined remains of her hair.

“How is the girl?”

The doctor repeated everything. My father’s expression remained controlled, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop with every detail.

When the doctor finished, he hesitated. “There is something else, Your Majesty.”

My father looked at him.

“I drew blood to run a few tests. The complete results will take time, but…” He picked up a narrow metal tray. “The sample reacted strangely.”

“How?”

The doctor lifted a silver testing strip with metal forceps. It remained bright white.

“When werewolf blood touches the silver testing strip, it should darken.”

Dominic stepped closer. “Always?”

“For ordinary werewolves, yes. Even Alpha blood reacts to silver.” The doctor paused. “Hers didn’t.”

My father’s gaze sharpened. “Run it again.”

“I already did.” The doctor produced another strip.

Also white.

Silence settled over the room.

I looked at Alexandra. She lay motionless beneath the blanket, looking nothing like the woman whose power had shattered half the grand hall.

“What does that mean?”

The doctor did not answer.

I looked toward the Alpha King. “Father?”

His attention remained on Alexandra. “Lucien Delacroix’s mate wasn’t born in Lunar Crest.”

“I know. She came from the northern territories.”

“There were always rumors surrounding Elara.”

“What kind of rumors?”

He was quiet for a moment. “That she descended from one of the old lunar bloodlines.”

Every wolf knew the legends of the moon-blessed wolves who could resist Alpha commands, whose blood did not burn against silver, whose power existed before the laws governing the modern packs.

Primordials.

They were supposed to have disappeared generations ago.

I looked back at Alexandra. “Are you saying she’s Primordial?”

The doctor shook his head quickly. “No. The lineage screen isn’t complete. All I can tell you is that her blood does not behave like ordinary werewolf blood.”

Dominic’s expression hardened. “If she is Primordial, Blackridge may be the smallest problem we have.”

I turned toward him. “She isn’t a problem.”

“I didn’t say she was.” His eyes moved toward Alexandra. “But if those stories are even half true, everyone who learns what she is will make her one.”

“Then no one outside this room hears about the test.”

The doctor nodded. “Of course, Your Highness.”

My father moved closer to me. “A royal mate mark would settle the question of jurisdiction before the Council even convenes.”

I understood what he meant.

Alexandra was under temporary Crown protection now. But if I marked her, Blackridge could no longer argue that she belonged under its authority while her identity was being verified.

For one dangerous second, I understood exactly how tempting that solution was.

Mark her.

Claim her.

Take her away from Blackridge before anyone could challenge me.

Nox pushed eagerly against my skin. Do it.

No.

She is ours. Mark her. Protect her.

Alexandra had spent seven years being denied every choice. Only minutes ago, she had escaped one man who treated their mate bond as ownership. I would not become another.

I looked at my father. “She is unconscious.”

His expression remained unreadable. “I stated the legal reality. I did not order you to act on it.”

“You were considering it.”

“So were you.”

I hated that he was right.

“No one marks her without her consent.”

Silence followed.

My father studied me for a moment. Then he nodded once.

“Good.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “She doesn’t need to remain in the clinic overnight. I would prefer somewhere quiet where she can rest. Food when she wakes, plenty of fluids, and as little stress as possible.”

I nodded. “She’ll stay in the royal suite.”

I slid one arm behind Alexandra’s back and the other beneath her knees. She barely stirred as I lifted her.

***

The royal suite at Blackridge was everything Darius probably imagined would impress the heir to the Alpha King.

Dark wood polished to a mirror sheen. Crisp linens. A balcony overlooking the forest. A silver tray brimming with untouched food.

I carried Alexandra into the bedroom and lowered her carefully onto the mattress.

Two royal maids were already waiting inside. Both had served my family for years.

One of the women immediately drew back the blankets while the other prepared warm water, clean cloths, and a soft sleeping gown.

“You stay with her,” I ordered. “No Blackridge servant enters this suite.”

“Yes, Your Highness. We’ll take care of her.”

I hesitated.

I looked at Alexandra’s bruised face.

Nox prowled beneath my skin.

Take her.

We can’t.

Leave this place.

Not until the Council rules.

Destroy this place.

That option had considerably more appeal.

We are not starting a pack war because you’re angry.

You are angry too.

I sympathized more than I cared to admit.

“I’ll be in the sitting room.”

The maid inclined her head.

I crossed into the adjoining room and pulled the doors mostly closed behind me.

Dominic was waiting near the fireplace. “You look miserable,” he observed.

I ignored him and walked farther into the sitting room.

He watched me for several seconds. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

I already knew from his expression.

He folded his arms. “What are you going to do about Camilla?”

I gave him a warning look. “Don’t start.”

“Your families have been planning that match for years.”

“I said not now.”

The bedroom door opened, and one of the maids stepped out. “We’re done, Your Highness.”

I returned immediately.

Alexandra lay beneath the blankets in a clean sleeping gown, her skin carefully washed where the maids had been able to reach without disturbing her injuries. The dried blood was gone from her mouth. Her ruined hair had been gently combed away from her face.

I pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat. For several minutes, I simply watched her breathe.

Without the blood and dirt on her face, I could still see traces of the girl I remembered.

My father had taken me to Lunar Crest on one of his endless diplomatic visits. I had been old enough to understand that someday those alliances would become my responsibility and young enough to resent every minute spent listening to our fathers discuss territory and trade.

A little girl with pale hair had appeared halfway through a painfully boring conversation between our fathers and demanded to know why I looked so bored.

“I’m a prince. We don’t get bored,” I had told her.

She had laughed directly in my face and announced that I looked like Prince Charming.

I had pretended to hate it.

She had spent most of the visit escaping the adults, asking too many questions, and laughing whenever I tried to act older than I was.

Years later, my father called me into his study.

The television was already playing.

“Alpha Lucien Delacroix of Lunar Crest is confirmed dead after losing a formal challenge to Alpha Darius Thorne of Blackridge. Blackridge forces have since seized Lunar Crest territory, and authorities report no known survivors among the Delacroix family.”

No survivors.

For seven years, I had believed she died with her family.

She hadn’t.

She had been here.

In Blackridge.

All this time.

A knock struck the door.

One of my guards appeared in the doorway. “My Prince, the Council has assembled.”

I looked back at Alexandra. Every instinct in me resisted leaving.

Nox pushed hard against my chest.

Stay.

I wanted to.

But if I remained beside her while the Council decided whether Blackridge could still claim authority over her, I would protect her for an hour and fail her for the rest of her life.

“Double the guard outside this room. No Blackridge wolf enters without royal permission.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

I stood.

Alexandra shifted faintly beneath the blankets. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the sheet.

“Weston…”

I froze.

Her eyes remained closed.

The word had barely been more than a breath.

I moved back to the bed and covered her hand with mine. Her fingers relaxed beneath my palm.

“I’m here.”

I gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll come back.”