Neyza stared at the silent, injured throng, her mind reeling. Dozens of them. All waiting for *her*. Her shop was barely standing, her supplies were low, and her hands still trembled from stitching the biggest, angriest wolf of all. A low growl rumbled from her chest, a sound of sheer, unadulterated frustration.
“This is preposterous!” she snapped, pushing away from the counter and glaring at Bozan. “You can’t just declare my sanctuary a military outpost! And I certainly can’t treat that many creatures with what little I have left!”
Bozan took a step towards her, his expression a strange mix of deep concern and rigid authority. “My Vanguard requires immediate care, doctor. And you are the only one who can provide it.” His gaze swept over the still-shaking storefront, then back to the anxious eyes of his pack outside. “My soldiers will procure any supplies you need. And they will guard this establishment with their lives.”
Before Neyza could retort, a new, deeper growl reverberated through the broken window, one that made the already tense air vibrate. It wasn't from the street. It was from a figure now silhouetted against the morning light, framed by the shattered panes. This wolf was larger than any she’d seen, even Bozan in his animal form. His fur was the color of a moonless night, streaked with frost, and his eyes burned with an icy, predatory gleare that made Bozan’s earlier snarl seem like a kitten’s purr.
Two hulking sentries, their faces impassive, flanked the newcomer. Behind them, an entire entourage of elite soldiers, cloaked in dark, heavy hides, followed in perfect, silent procession. The leader’s gaze, sharp and assessing, swept over the damaged room, lingered on Bozan, then finally settled on Neyza. A cold, thin smile touched his lips.
“Son,” the new arrival rumbled, his voice like stones grinding together, “I heard you caused quite the ruckus in the human quarter.” He stepped over the threshold, his heavy boots crunching on broken glass, oblivious to the destruction. “And that you’ve adopted a… human pet.”
Bozan’s jaw tightened. “Father,” he replied, his voice strained, a raw edge of resentment underlying the formality. “This is Neyza Varteni. She saved my life.”
“Indeed?” Dabrak Karsal’s gaze sharpened on Neyza, dissecting her with a single look. “A human doctor. How… quaint. I am Dabrak Karsal, Alpha of the pack. And I believe you’ve done a grave disservice to my son by bringing him to this… squalid den.” He gestured with a dismissive hand, not quite looking at the building, but indicating it entirely. His eyes, however, never left Neyza’s face.
Neyza’s anger simmered. Squalid den? This was her home, her mentor’s legacy. “My shop is not a den, Alpha Karsal,” she stated, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts. “It is a place of healing.”
Dabrak hummed, a low, unsettling sound. “Healing, you say? Perhaps you can heal the damage my son has caused to our image, then.” He turned slightly, addressing Bozan. “I came to bring you back to the Encampment. This… arrangement… is unacceptable.”
As Dabrak spoke, his two escorts began to move with unnerving casualness. One sauntered past the small shelf holding Neyza’s most precious, carefully prepared herbal poultices. His elbow ‘slipped’, sending the fragile clay jars crashing to the floor. The pungent aroma of crushed medicinal leaves filled the air, mingling with the sharp tang of antiseptic.
Neyza’s gaze darted to the shattered pottery. Her stomach lurched. Those herbs had taken weeks to harvest and prepare. Before she could voice her protest, the second guard, pretending to admire the salvaged surgical tools on another counter, let his hand ‘accidentally’ sweep across a small wooden box. It clattered to the floor, spilling a precious handful of newly sharpened sutures, their fine threads meant for delicate internal repairs, into the debris of glass and dried mud.
“Hey!” Neyza exclaimed, her voice tight with fury, taking a step forward. “Be careful! Those are irreplaceable!”
Dabrak’s smile widened, a cold, humorless gesture. “Careful? My men are assessing the quality of this establishment. We cannot have our Alpha recuperating in a place unsuitable for our blood.”
Another sentry, a hulking brute with a scarred face, stepped towards the medicine cabinet, his large hand reaching for the delicate glass vials of anesthetic. Chulpan, who had been observing from his perch beneath the counter, let out a low, guttural growl. The three-legged lynx’s ears flattened, his hackles rising. He sprang with surprising agility, a flash of tawny fur, and sank his teeth into the guard’s calf with a snarl.
The guard roared, stumbling back, clutching his bleeding leg. “The beast bit me!” he bellowed, his face contorted in pain and outrage. “It bit me!”
Dabrak’s eyes narrowed, his cold amusement vanishing instantly. “An attack on a Vanguard soldier,” he stated, his voice devoid of all warmth. “A direct threat to our pack. That creature must be put down.” His gaze fixed on the injured lynx, a silent command in his eyes.
Neyza flung herself forward, placing herself between Chulpan and the encroaching soldiers. “No! Chulpan was protecting his home! He did nothing wrong!”
Bozan’s eyes, which had been fixed on Neyza’s distressed face, suddenly went blank, then flared with a terrifying, primal rage. A low, vibrating growl ripped from his throat, deeper and more menacing than anything Neyza had heard from him before. His muscles bunched, his frame seeming to swell. His fingers, still clenching and unclenching, elongated, his nails sharpening into claws. The air around him shimmered, crackled with barely contained power. Neyza instinctively took a step back, pressed against the cracked pine counter.
With a roar that shook the timber beams, Bozan lunged. He moved with impossible speed, a blur of raw power, seizing his own father by the front of his elaborate tunic. He slammed Dabrak Karsal against the stone wall with a sickening thud, holding him suspended, his feet dangling an inch above the ground. Bozan’s face was contorted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury, his eyes blazing with an emerald light that seemed to burn with ancient magic. His teeth were bared, sharp and elongated, glinting in the morning light. A low, guttural snarl vibrated through his chest, a clear threat that dared anyone to interfere.
The elite escorts froze, utterly stunned. No one, not even the strongest of the Vanguard, had ever dared to lay a hand on the Alpha of Alphas, Dabrak Karsal, much less pin him to a wall like a common criminal.
Dabrak, however, remained eerily calm, his feet twitching in the air, his thin smile returning to his lips. He stared at his enraged son, then shifted his gaze to Neyza, who stood frozen, pinned beneath the display of savage power. “Look closely, human,” Dabrak rasped, his voice surprisingly steady, despite being held aloft by a raging werewolf. “Look at what you’ve done.”
He leaned his head in closer to Neyza, his eyes gleaming with a malicious triumph, whispering just loud enough for her to hear over Bozan’s snarl. “The bond will burn you from the inside out. A human soul cannot contain the magic of a Tarnok Alpha. It is a slow, agonizing death. Ninety days, human. That is all you have. Ninety days before the ancient magic consumes you and leaves nothing but ash.”
Bozan’s snarl intensified, a sound of pure, helpless rage. Dabrak chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. “Release me, boy,” he commanded, his eyes still fixed on Neyza. “Or you will regret it.”
With a final, frustrated roar, Bozan hurled his father away from the wall. Dabrak landed gracefully on his feet, brushing imaginary dust from his tunic, his cold gaze never leaving Neyza. He turned, his entourage parting for him, and strode out into the alley without another word, his retinue following in his wake. The menacing silence he left behind felt heavier than any shouted threat.
Neyza stood rooted to the spot, the words echoing in her ears: *Ninety days. Burn you from the inside out.* The mating sickness. It was real. A sharp, searing pain tore through her chest, a sudden, violent cough racking her body. She clutched her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle it, but the spasm was too strong. When she finally lowered her hand, her palm was slick and warm. She stared at the glistening liquid there, her blood, no longer red, but shining with an ethereal, silver light.