A Cruel Message
Days passed as Draven lingered in a coma, his body unresponsive despite Isla and the healer’s tireless efforts. The faint rhythm of his heartbeat was the only indication that he hadn’t completely slipped away. Isla moved through the packhouse like a ghost, a shadow of her former self, her mind clouded with despair and exhaustion.
One morning, as the sun cast weak rays over the horizon, a warrior approached her with a grim expression. In his grasp was a package wrapped in blood-stained cloth. A sense of foreboding clawed at Isla’s chest as she slowly took it from him. Her trembling hands hesitated, but the weight of responsibility forced her to open it.
Inside lay horror. Micah’s severed head stared back at her, eyes wide with terror, his expression frozen in pain. A strangled cry escaped her lips, but it was quickly swallowed by a scream so raw and filled with anguish that it reverberated through the entire packhouse. Wolves came rushing to their feet as Isla crumbled onto her knees, clutching the grotesque package to her chest as though trying to shield herself from the reality of it.
Beside the severed head, a letter rested, its edges curled with dried blood. Isla forced her watery gaze to focus on the elegant script she knew too well:
You took my strength. I’ve taken yours.
It was signed with Eira’s cruel handiwork.
The letter fell from her hands, drifting onto the blood-streaked floor. Isla’s vision blurred as her body trembled uncontrollably. All at once, her fury, sorrow, and power felt meaningless in the face of such calculated cruelty. She crumpled under the weight of it, clutching the letter with trembling hands as tears burned down her cheeks.
Jamie knelt beside her, gripping her shoulders with unwavering strength. Her amber eyes burned with determination despite her own grief twisting at the edges of her features.
“We’ll make her pay,” Jamie said fiercely, her voice low but brimming with menace. “She’ll regret ever touching this pack.”
But Isla could only shake her head, the emptiness threatening to consume her. How much more were they expected to lose? How many more would they have to bury before the nightmare would end?
The wolves around her bore witness to their Alpha’s silent suffering. One by one, their heads lowered in a gesture of solidarity and respect, but no one dared speak. The packhouse felt hollow, the air heavy with the scent of death and hopelessness.
Though Jamie’s words still hung in the room like a lifesaving vow, Isla felt her resolve breaking piece by piece, her will slipping through her fingers like sand. The price of her fight was becoming too much to bear.
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