Rise of the Banished She-Wolf (Evelyn) novel Chapter 94

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

Evelyn

The hurtful comments from Devon’s family had cut deeper than I anticipated, leaving me feeling vulnerable and exposed. Seeking solace, I instinctively turned to someone I knew would understand—Felix. I made my way to Fells, hoping for a moment of respite, a chance to gather my thoughts before confronting the chaos in my heart.

When Felix finally returned, he scrutinized my expression with a keen eye, as if he could peel back the layers of my facade. “You look completely drained,” he remarked, his tone shifting to a more serious note. “And something else is clearly weighing on your mind.”

I shrugged, attempting to project an air of indifference. “Just tired,” I replied, but the words felt hollow even to me.

“Bullshit,” Felix shot back, his bluntness cutting through my pretense. “We’ve known each other long enough for me to know when you’re hiding something. This is about Devon Hall, isn’t it?”

My heart raced, and I quickly lifted my gaze to meet his. “What makes you say that?” I asked, feigning surprise, though deep down, I knew he was right.

Felix settled into his chair, the weight of his concern palpable in the air between us. “If he tries to hurt you, I swear, our mentor and I will not let him get away with it.”

A rush of warmth filled me at his words, and I felt a genuine appreciation for his loyalty. “Thank you, Felix,” I said, my voice softening. “That truly means a lot to me.”

He nodded, his demeanor shifting back to his professional self. “Get some rest, Evelyn. Doctor’s orders,” he said with a hint of authority, as if I were a patient in need of care rather than a friend in distress.

Despite his advice, I found myself lingering outside Devon’s private room, my back pressed against the cool, sterile wall of the corridor. It was nearly 3 AM, and I knew he was likely asleep, but the urge to check on him was overpowering. I wrestled with my conscience, torn between the desire to see him and the fear of disturbing his much-needed rest.

Lost in my thoughts, I was jolted back to reality when the door swung open, and Devon’s voice sliced through the silence. “What are you doing out here alone?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

Before I could respond, his hand shot out, grasping my wrist and pulling me into his room with surprising strength. I stumbled forward, caught in the embrace of his powerful arms, which felt entirely out of place for someone who had just faced life-threatening injuries. The werewolf’s remarkable healing abilities were on full display, and it left me momentarily breathless.

“Devon! You shouldn’t be out of bed,” I scolded, instinctively trying to create some space between us, though the proximity sent my heart racing.

His scent—an intoxicating mix of pine and wild masculinity—enveloped me, clouding my thoughts. Even clad in a hospital gown, he exuded an undeniable aura of strength and authority.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, though I noticed the slight wince that betrayed his discomfort as he maneuvered back toward the bed. “You, on the other hand, look like you’ve been run over by a truck.”

“Mrs. Whitmore can help when you’re not there,” he countered, the conviction in his voice unwavering. “And Jason can bring whatever equipment we need.”

With a heavy sigh, I realized I was losing this battle. “Fine. But you have to promise to follow my instructions to the letter. No work, no pack business, nothing that could strain your recovery.”

His smile widened, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Yes, doctor.”

The following day, after navigating the discharge procedures, we set off for my apartment in Moonlight Bay. Devon, ever the drama king, exaggerated his injuries with every step he took, and I couldn’t help but catch the knowing smirk he exchanged with Jason when he thought I wasn’t watching.

As we arrived at Moonlight Bay, Devon leaned heavily against me, his arm draped across my shoulders as we exited the car. “You’re milking this, aren’t you?” I whispered, amusement creeping into my voice as I helped him into the elevator.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied, feigning innocence, but the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Once we entered my apartment, Mrs. Whitmore greeted us with a warm smile, already prepared for Devon’s arrival. She had transformed the guest room into a cozy recovery space, adorned with fresh flowers that brightened the room and filled the air with the calming scent of healing herbs. It was a sanctuary, a place where Devon could rest and recover, and I felt a flicker of hope that perhaps, together, we could navigate the challenges ahead.