Marked By The Enemy Pack

CHAPTER 4

The guards outside my door change shifts twice before anyone officially comes to see me, and I learn the rhythm of it by sound alone, boots stopping, murmured exchanges, the soft scrape of metal against stone as positions are adjusted with care that feels more deliberate than reassuring. No one comes in, but no one pretends I’m alone either, and that awareness settles into my bones until it feels like part of the furniture.

I sit on the bed and stretch carefully, rolling my shoulders, rotating my wrists the way training drilled into me years ago, because routine is a language my body understands even when everything else feels unstable. The bond hums quietly the entire time, not reacting sharply but tracking my movements in a way that feels faintly intrusive, as if someone is paying attention from just beyond my skin.

He does not come back in, and I tell myself that’s intentional restraint rather than avoidance, because the alternative feels too loaded to sit with. Instead, a woman I don’t know appears at the door with a tray and a clipboard tucked under her arm, her posture straight and her expression neutral in the way of someone who has decided not to have an opinion about me yet.

“I’m Mara,” she says, stepping just far enough into the room to set the tray down. “Medical oversight. I’ll be checking your vitals and rewrapping the bandage.”

“Lucky me. I’m Sasha,” I reply, because sarcasm is easier than gratitude.

She gives me a look that suggests she’s heard worse and then gestures for me to sit still, her hands efficient and impersonal as she works. The contact is professional enough not to trigger the bond, which is a relief I hadn’t realised I was hoping for until it happens, and I focus on breathing steadily while she checks the wound and notes something on her clipboard.

“You heal fast,” she says after a moment. “The mark helped.”

I don’t answer, because acknowledging that feels too much like conceding ground, and she doesn’t push, finishing up with brisk competence before stepping back.

“You’ll be allowed limited movement today,” she continues. “Within the medical wing only. No shifting. No training.”

“I wouldn’t make it through warm-ups,” I admit, and that honesty costs me more than I expect.

Her mouth twitches slightly, then she straightens. “Council will want to see you tomorrow. Until then, you rest.”

She leaves without ceremony, and the door remains open just enough to remind me I’m being watched, and I lie back against the pillows and stare at the ceiling, counting breaths until my thoughts slow into something manageable.

It’s almost midday when he finally appears again, his presence registering through the bond a second before he steps into view, and the awareness of that unsettles me more than his actual arrival does. He looks the same as before, composed and controlled, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that wasn’t there earlier, and I know enough about pack leadership to recognise the signs of someone who’s been fielding questions he doesn’t like.

“They’re restless,” he says without preamble, leaning lightly against the wall rather than approaching the bed. “Your presence is disruptive.”

“Glad to be of service,” I reply.

“That wasn’t sarcasm,” he says quietly. “It’s an observation.”

I sit up, wincing only slightly, and meet his gaze. “You could still send me back,” I say. “Escort me to the border and let my pack deal with the fallout.”

“No,” he replies immediately. “Not like this.”

“Because it would look like weakness,” I guess.

“Because it would look like negligence,” he corrects. “You’re injured, bonded, and politically volatile.”

I snort despite myself. “I love that for me.”

He watches me for a moment, then exhales slowly. “I want you to walk,” he says. “Just the corridor. With me.”

That request lands heavier than an order would have, because it’s framed as choice even though we both know the limits of it. Still, I nod, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and standing carefully, testing my weight until the room steadies.

He falls into step beside me without touching, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him but not close enough to crowd, and we move slowly down the corridor, past doors I assume lead to other treatment rooms, past windows cut high into the stone that let in slivers of pale light.

The guards straighten as we pass, their gazes flicking to me and then away again, curiosity tightly leashed, and I lift my chin a fraction, because posture is its own form of defiance. I can feel my wolf pressing close, not aggressive but alert, cataloguing scents and sounds, mapping this unfamiliar territory with quiet focus.

“This wing is separate for a reason,” he says as we walk. “It keeps volatile situations contained.”

“Am I the situation,” I ask.

“You’re part of it,” he answers, and the honesty in that is almost refreshing.

We reach a small alcove where a bench is built into the wall, and he gestures for me to sit, positioning himself opposite instead of beside me, creating space that feels intentional. The bond hums softly, settling into something steadier, and I let myself breathe a little deeper.

“My council is divided,” he says after a moment. “Some see this as an opportunity. Others see it as a threat.”

“And you,” I prompt.

“I see it as a responsibility,” he replies, and the weight of that word hangs between us.

“Your pack hates mine,” I say, stating the obvious because it feels safer than circling it.

“Yes,” he agrees. “And yours hates mine.”

“So this ends badly,” I conclude.

“It ends honestly,” he says instead. “Badly is still an option.”

I laugh quietly, because that feels fair, and the sound seems to surprise him just a little.

We sit there longer than strictly necessary, the corridor slowly filling with the muted sounds of pack life beyond the wing, and for a moment it almost feels normal in a way that scares me. I’m sitting on a bench, talking, breathing, existing, and the bond hums along like it belongs there, like this is a situation it understands.

That illusion shatters when a sharp scent hits my senses, unfamiliar and edged with agitation, and my wolf stiffens instantly, her calm snapping into alert focus. Footsteps approach fast, purposeful, and I don’t need the bond to tell me who it is before a tall man steps into view, his posture rigid and his gaze locked squarely on me.

“Alpha,” he says beside me, acknowledging him with a nod before turning fully toward me. “So this is her.”

“This is not a conversation you start in a hallway,” Adam replies evenly.

“It’s one I won’t delay,” the other man says, his eyes flicking briefly to the mark at my collarbone before hardening. “Her scent is already causing unrest.”

“I’m aware,” Adam says. “Which is why she’s here and not on display.”

The other man’s jaw tightens, and he looks at me again, openly assessing now. “You should not be here,” he says flatly.

“I’ve noticed,” I reply, meeting his gaze without flinching.

A flicker of something like reluctant respect crosses his face before it’s smoothed away. “Council meets tomorrow,” he says to the Alpha. “They’ll expect answers.”

“They’ll get them,” Adam replies. “Not today.”

The man hesitates, then nods once and turns away, his departure leaving a heavy silence in his wake.

“That was your Beta,” I say.

“Yes,” he confirms.

“He doesn’t like me.”

“He doesn’t trust variables,” he corrects. “You qualify.”

I lean back against the stone wall, fatigue settling into me now that the adrenaline has faded, and let my head tip back slightly. “My Alpha won’t wait for tomorrow,” I say quietly. “He’ll come himself if he thinks you’re stalling.”

“I know,” he replies, and there’s no fear in his voice, only preparation.

We walk back toward my room at a slower pace, and when we reach the door he pauses, turning to face me fully.

“Rest,” he says. “Eat when they bring food. Stay visible.”

“And you,” I ask.

“I’ll be doing damage control,” he answers.

As the door closes behind me and the guards resume their posts, the bond hums softly, steady and inescapable, and I sink back onto the bed with a tired exhale.

I didn’t mean to become a problem both packs have to solve, but intention doesn’t weigh much against consequence, and as the sounds of the pack settle into evening rhythms outside my door, I understand with uncomfortable clarity that tomorrow will force choices no one is ready to make yet.

Crossing the boundary didn’t just put me in enemy territory, it made me central, and in a world governed by hierarchy and watchful eyes, being central is rarely survivable without sacrifice.