Kira’s Perspective
Lucas’s voice was soft yet resolute as he leaned casually against the examination table, his eyes carefully scanning my face with the precision of a doctor and the tenderness of someone who deeply cared. “What happened?” he asked gently.
I shifted uneasily on the cold, unforgiving surface, my ribs throbbing painfully from the fall. The harsh fluorescent lights of the werewolf medical center’s exam room cast a sterile, almost brutal glow, reflecting the bleakness I felt inside.
“Nothing worth mentioning,” I muttered, deliberately avoiding his eyes. My fingers nervously played with the frayed edge of my shirt, tracing the worn fabric repeatedly as if seeking comfort.
Lucas pressed on, his tone dropping slightly, “Was it because of him?” The way he said ‘him’—as if Rocco were some kind of poison—made a flicker of defensiveness rise within me.
“No,” I answered firmly, perhaps too quickly. “This isn’t about Rocco. It’s my decision.”
He sighed and pulled up a chair, sitting directly across from me. His knee nearly brushed mine, and I instinctively recoiled. Even the slightest physical contact felt overwhelming these days.
“Kira, I get that you’re going through hell right now,” he said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “But giving up on treatment isn’t the solution. Maybe he loved you once, but this winter, he’s chosen someone else. That’s just the reality we have to face.”
“I know,” I whispered, pain flashing sharply through my side as I took a slow, steadying breath. Our eyes met, and in his unwavering gaze, I found a moment of hesitation. “Maybe you’re right. It’s just… everything feels like too much sometimes.” I rubbed my temple, suddenly drained. “I’ll think about continuing the treatments. I promise. I just need some time to sort through all of this.”
Lucas’s expression softened with relief. “That’s all I’m asking for, Kira. Just don’t give up yet.”
He hesitated for a moment, then added, “There’s something else you should know… about your father.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What about him?”
Lucas’s professional demeanor returned as he explained, “I’ve been consulting with colleagues about his condition. The wolfsbane poisoning is severe, but not necessarily permanent. If we can find Ian Frost—he’s the top neurological healer in werewolf medicine—there’s about a seventy percent chance we could reverse the toxin’s effects and wake him.”
A flicker of hope, fragile and unwelcome, stirred in my chest. “Seventy percent?”
Lucas nodded. “It’s not guaranteed, but it’s promising. Of course, finding Ian is a challenge. He’s notoriously reclusive and moves frequently between packs.”
I absorbed the news, careful not to let myself dream too much. “Thank you for telling me the truth,” I said softly, sliding off the examination table, my legs trembling beneath me.
“Kira—” Lucas began, but I shook my head.
“I need to go.”
At the hospital entrance, a familiar black car was parked right outside. Dominic stood beside it, his posture rigid and formal as usual.
“Luna,” he greeted me with a slight nod. “Alpha Blackwood requested I bring you back to the mansion.”
Too exhausted to argue, I nodded silently, fully aware that until the divorce was finalized, I was bound to follow his rules.
The Blackwood mansion was quiet when I returned, but the scent of something cooking drew me toward the kitchen. There, I found Rocco with his back turned, stirring a pot on the stove. He wore a deep gray cashmere sweater that hugged his broad shoulders, the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms.
My eyes caught the jagged scar running down his left arm—a permanent reminder of the time he’d shielded me during a brutal pack confrontation years ago. The injury, caused by silver, never fully healed, leaving a cruel line across his skin. I remembered how I had kissed that scar every night for weeks afterward, as if my lips could erase the pain he’d borne for me.
Now, seeing it made my chest tighten with memories I couldn’t afford to revisit.


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