Back inside the Pack House, the silence in the medical wing was louder than any roar.

Alpha Alejandro sat on a small wooden stool right next to Roxanne's bed. The room was clean and warm, smelling of medicine and clean linen, but he felt like he was still suffocating in the dungeon.

He hadn't slept, he hadn't changed his clothes, and he hadn't washed the dried blood from his hands.

He just couldn't leave the broken woman on the bed.

His heart was bleeding with a pain he couldn't describe. He looked at his hands; the hands of a leader, the hands that were supposed to protect his people and...