He tried to move. His body protested instantly, muscles screaming, ribs aching. His wrists were wrapped in clean bandages, his chest covered in a soft linen shirt that wasn't his. Someone had tended to him. Someone had… saved him?
But why?
Devon frowned, his dry lips parting. The last thing he remembered was crawling toward a child, a small boy with golden hair, as assassins surrounded them. He'd thrown himself between the blades and the boy, then nothing but darkness.
Now, he was lying on a wide bed, covered in soft blankets, the air heavy with the faint fragrance of medicine and wolf scent, strong, unfamiliar, dominant.
His chest tightened.
He wasn't in Redstone territory anymore. He could feel it in the air, the weight of power pressing around him, the steady thrum of an Alpha's aura somewhere nearby. This pack was far larger… far stronger.
Devon's pulse quickened.
"Where am I?" he whispered hoarsely, though no one was there to answer. His voice cracked from thirst.
The door creaked open.
Instinctively, he tensed, forcing himself upright, though pain flashed white behind his eyes. His wolf stirred weakly inside him, ready to flee even if his body couldn't.
Light spilled in, and a healer stepped through, carrying a small tray. Her eyes widened in surprise to see him awake.
"You shouldn't move," she said softly, setting the tray down and hurrying to his side. "You're still recovering. You were barely breathing when they brought you here."
Devon's brow furrowed.
They?
"Where… is this?" he rasped.
The woman hesitated, then offered a gentle smile. "You're in Ravenmoon Pack, stranger. You were found in the forest two nights ago… beside our Alpha's son."
Devon froze.
The boy?
Images flickered in his mind, small hands trembling, frightened blue eyes, the scent of innocence amidst chaos.
"I see," he whispered, lowering his gaze, unsure whether he should be grateful or terrified.
The healer adjusted his pillow, her tone warm but cautious. "Rest. The Alpha will want to speak with you when you're strong enough to stand."
Devon's fingers tightened in the blanket. The Alpha.
He turned his face toward the window, heart thudding quietly. He had escaped one pack, only to wake in the territory of another. But this time, he was no longer a rogue crawling to survive. He had saved someone important. And that, he feared, would change everything.
The morning crept by slowly.
Devon had managed to sip some water and eat a small piece of bread, though every movement sent pain rippling through his body. His wolf instincts begged him to run, to disappear before anyone realized who or what he was, but his body betrayed him. Every muscle ached. His ribs felt cracked, and even breathing too deeply hurt.
So he stayed still, eyes half-lidded, listening.
Outside the slightly open door, two guards were stationed. Their scents were strong, not ordinary wolves, but elite warriors. Their voices drifted through the quiet hall, low and easy, though Devon's sharp hearing caught every word.
"I heard the Alpha barely slept last night," one murmured. "He stayed up watching the boy."
"The heir?" the other replied. "Who wouldn't? The child was almost killed. If it weren't for that stranger..."
Devon's chest tightened.
"...we'd be preparing for a funeral instead of a report."
The first guard gave a low whistle. "Still hard to believe. A rogue saving the Alpha's son? Sounds like something from an old story."
"Yeah, but you know how the Alpha is. Doesn't trust anyone, especially outsiders. I heard he ordered background checks, scent tracking, everything. If that man so much as twitches wrong, he'll be executed before sundown."
Devon closed his eyes. A part of him had expected that. Alphas never trusted rogues. And after what he'd been through, he wasn't sure he could blame them.
A short silence followed before one of the guards spoke again, quieter now. "I saw the Alpha earlier. He looked… different. He carried the kid in his arms, and wouldn't let anyone else touch him. But when he looked at that stranger, the rogue, it was like something stopped him. Can't explain it. Just… weird."
The conversation faded as footsteps echoed from farther down the hall. The tone of the guards shifted instantly, sharp, alert, respectful.
"Alpha on approach."
Devon's eyes flew open. His heart began to pound despite his exhaustion. He tried to sit up, but the moment he pushed against the bed, pain tore through his side. He gasped and sank back, the edges of his vision dimming.
The door opened with a soft click.
The air changed, heavier, colder, commanding. Even without seeing him, Devon could feel the Alpha's presence fill the room like a silent storm.
Lucien Hale stepped inside. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in dark layers that carried the scent of pine and power. His golden hair, streaked lightly at the temples despite his youth, caught the sunlight seeping through the curtains. His gaze found Devon instantly, sharp and assessing, the kind of look that stripped away lies and pretense.
Devon froze.
The Alpha's aura pressed against him, not violent, but suffocatingly dominant, like the weight of a mountain resting on his chest. His wolf cowered inside him instinctively, trembling at the strength that filled the space.
Lucien stopped beside the bed. For a long moment, he said nothing, simply studying the bruised, battered man before him. The silence stretched, thick enough to choke on.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was deep, quiet, and far too calm.
"You're awake."
Devon swallowed, forcing his voice through his dry throat. "Yes, Alpha."
"You saved my son," Lucien continued, eyes narrowing slightly. "You nearly died doing it."
Devon's fingers tightened in the sheets. "I… just did what I could."
Lucien's gaze lingered, unreadable, assessing. "You're not from around here. Your scent… It's not of this land."
Devon didn't answer. His heart pounded faster.
Lucien took another step closer, his tone low, almost curious. "You have no pack bond. No territory claim. A rogue, then."
Devon's lips pressed together. "Yes, Alpha."
For a moment, silence hung again, until Lucien's expression softened by a fraction, the faintest crack in the mask of command.
"Regardless," he said at last, "my son would not be alive without you. For that, you have my gratitude."
Devon blinked, startled. He hadn't expected kindness, not from a man who radiated such authority.
But before he could speak, Lucien turned to leave. At the door, he paused.
"Rest. We'll speak again when you have the strength to stand. And until then," he added, glancing over his shoulder, "you will not be harmed. That is my word."
Then he was gone, leaving only the lingering scent of power and cold pine behind.
Devon exhaled shakily, the tension melting from his limbs. He stared up at the ceiling, his heart still racing. He didn't know what fate awaited him in this pack, whether it would bring salvation or another cage.
But one thing was certain. The Alpha of Ravenmoon had looked at him, really looked at him. And something deep within Devon's chest had stirred in response.
He is kind.