Rise of the Banished She-Wolf (Evelyn) novel Chapter 2

**Where Falling Leaves Whisper Stories Written In Silence by Ryn Jace Reed**
**Chapter 2**

**Evelyn**

Just when I thought the overwhelming power within me would swallow my very essence, the wolf that resided inside me fell silent once more, retreating into the shadows of my consciousness.

“What the hell just happened?” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, directed more at the night around me than at the man slumped against the pavement.

He didn’t respond. His breath came in shallow gasps, a sign of the silver coursing through his veins. I could see the inky black veins creeping outward from the entry wounds, a grotesque map of his impending demise. No human hospital would dare to treat this affliction.

I cast a glance at the luminous full moon, its silvery glow illuminating the darkened alley, then returned my focus to the dying werewolf before me. Every instinct screamed at me to flee—especially tonight, of all nights. Yet, something inexplicable held me in place. Perhaps it was the bizarre nature of the encounter or a foolish sense of duty that tethered me to him.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, making a decision that felt both reckless and necessary. “You better be worth this.”

I quickly surveyed the two assailants I had left unconscious on the ground, ensuring they remained incapacitated. With a swift kick, I sent their discarded silver guns skidding away, then hoisted the man’s weight onto my motorcycle.

His body felt like dead weight, and I struggled to maintain my balance as we nearly toppled over more than once. I could feel him slumped against my back as I revved the engine, one arm securely wrapped around his waist to prevent him from slipping off.

“Portland University’s medical lab,” I decided aloud, the words spilling from my lips as I navigated the roads. As a medical student at the university, I had spent countless sleepless nights immersed in my research, yearning to unravel the mystery of why my wolf had been subdued for so long. It was the only place where I could access the vital equipment and resources I desperately needed.

Each jolt and bump in the road elicited pained groans from him. The campus lay shrouded in an eerie stillness as I used my key card to slip through the service entrance of the research building. I half-carried, half-dragged him through the deserted corridors, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead as if in a silent warning.

Once inside the lab, I locked the door behind us and flicked on the minimal lighting, casting a soft glow over the space. Against the far wall stood my hidden trove of werewolf medical research—journals filled with my findings, specimens preserved in jars, and the custom tools I had painstakingly crafted for treating silver-inflicted wounds. Being an outcast had its perks; no one questioned my unconventional hours or peculiar research interests.

With a grunt, I hoisted him onto the examination table, tearing open his blood-soaked shirt to reveal three bullet wounds. The flesh surrounding each entry point was a sickly black, dead veins radiating outward like grotesque spider webs. Silver poisoning, advanced stage. He had maybe an hour before it reached his heart.

Just as I began to prepare my tools, his eyes snapped open, filled with a feral intensity. Before I could react, his hand shot up, gripping my throat with surprising strength. This was no ordinary injured wolf.

“Who are you?” he growled, his voice low and menacing, eyes flashing an electric blue that sent a shiver down my spine. “Why did you bring me here?”

Despite the constriction around my windpipe, I managed to maintain a calm facade. “If you don’t want to die, you need to let go. Silver bullets are killing you, and I’m the only one who can remove them.”

He tightened his grip, his face a mask of suspicion. “Why should I trust you—a wolf with barely any scent?”

The insult cut deep, a reminder of my own suppressed wolf that had fallen silent yet again, just as it had for the past three years. But I refused to let my frustration show. “If I wanted you dead, I would have left you on that road. Now, either let go so I can save your life, or don’t—your choice.”

“You think I can’t smell the deception on you?” His voice was hoarse with pain, yet his grip remained unyielding. “What are you hiding?”

“Right now? My irritation.” I met his gaze, unwavering. “You’re bleeding all over my lab, and I’d rather not explain a dead werewolf to campus security tomorrow morning.”

“What? Who is this?” the voice demanded, confusion lacing his tone.

I hung up without answering, continuing to rummage through his pockets. As I slipped the phone back into its place, a wallet fell out, and with it, a gold-embossed business card caught my eye:

**DEVON HALL**
**CEO, HALL ENTERPRISES**
**ALPHA, BLOODFANG PACK**

I froze, the card suddenly feeling like a weight in my fingers. Devon Hall, the son of the Alpha King who ruled over all the western packs.

The memory of my exile crashed over me like a tidal wave—a vivid recollection of standing before the Pack Council, my sister Kate’s tearful accusations ringing in my ears, claiming I had lost control and attacked a human. My mother’s cold, disapproving gaze as she disowned me, and there was Devon Hall, standing impassively as they stripped me of my Pack protection and territorial rights.

I stared at his unconscious form, a tumult of fury and bitterness rising like bile in my throat. Of all the werewolves I could have saved tonight, it had to be him.

In the distance, I could hear the rumble of car engines approaching. His people were closing in. I quickly gathered my research and tools, erasing all traces of werewolf-related materials from sight.

Before I made my exit, I cast one last glance at him.

Why was it he who stirred my wolf from its slumber?