"Move. Move now."
The infirmary doors slammed open.
Two warriors rushed in carrying a third between them.
Blood soaked through the injured man's chest. It dripped onto the stone floor in thick, dark streaks.
"He is not breathing," one warrior shouted. "The rogues pierced his lung."
"Get him on the table," the head doctor snapped.
Zoraide stood frozen for half a second.
The scent hit her first.
Blood. Torn flesh. Fading life.
Her wolf surged forward.
Alaric stepped in behind them, presence filling the room instantly.
"What happened?" he demanded.
"Ambush near the east ridge," a guard answered. "He shielded the others."
The doctors cut open the warrior's shirt.
One shook his head.
"It is too deep."
Another pressed cloth to the wound.
"He has already lost too much blood."
The warrior on the table convulsed weakly.
His breath rattled.
"Save him," one of the younger wolves pleaded.
The head doctor stepped back.
"We cannot."
Silence.
Zoraide's fingers curled at her sides.
Alaric's gaze shifted to her.
"Do not," he said quietly.
She ignored him.
"Roll him to his side," she ordered.
The room went still.
The head doctor stared at her. "You are not qualified."
"I said roll him."
Her voice was calm.
Controlled.
But something in it made the nearest warrior obey.
Alaric's eyes flashed gold.
"You will stand down," he warned.
She stepped to the table anyway.
"If you let him die, that is on you," she said without looking at him. "If you let me try, you lose nothing."
The doctor hesitated.
"He is already dying," she continued. "Give me space."
Alaric watched her carefully.
"Two minutes," he said finally.
The room shifted.
Zoraide moved fast.
"Boiling water. Clean cloth. Needle and thread," she snapped.
The doctors scrambled despite themselves.
"You," she said to a guard, "hold his shoulders."
The injured warrior gasped weakly.
"Stay with me," she murmured.
She pressed her hand over the wound.
Her herbal mask burned at her throat.
Medicinal rot filled the air.
Alaric inhaled sharply.
Something else threaded beneath it.
Faint.
Bright.
"What are you doing?" the head doctor demanded.
"Clearing the airway."
She leaned close to the injured man's mouth.
"Breathe," she commanded softly.
His chest barely moved.
Her palm pressed harder against his ribs.
She closed her eyes.
Her pulse slowed deliberately.
Then shifted.
The air changed.
The torches flickered.
Alaric stiffened.
"What is that?" one warrior whispered.
"Quiet," she snapped.
She leaned closer to the wound.
Her hand trembled once.
Then steadied.
A subtle wave rolled outward from her.
Not visible.
But felt.
The injured warrior's back arched suddenly.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
The room gasped.
"That is impossible," the doctor breathed.
"Not yet," Zoraide muttered.
"Thread," she demanded.
Someone placed it in her hand.
Her movements were precise.
Confident.
She stitched quickly, efficiently, sealing torn flesh with steady fingers.
Blood slowed.
Then stopped flowing as violently.
Alaric stepped closer.
He could feel it now.
The pressure.
The aura.
It brushed against his skin like heat.
"You are pushing power into him," he said quietly.
She did not answer.
Her jaw clenched.
Sweat beaded along her temples.
The bond flared violently.
He moved without thinking.
He stepped directly behind her.
"What are you doing?" the head doctor asked nervously.
Alaric placed one hand on Zoraide's shoulder.
The contact sent a shock through both of them.
Her breath hitched.
The aura intensified instantly.
The torches flared brighter.
The injured warrior gasped again.
His pulse strengthened under her hand.
Alaric's eyes widened slightly.
He could feel his own Alpha energy feeding into the space around her.
Amplifying.
"What are you?" he whispered.
"Focus," she hissed.
The warrior on the table coughed violently.
Blood splattered.
Then his breathing evened.
Slow.
Shallow.
But steady.
The room went silent.
Zoraide pulled her hand back carefully.
"Keep pressure there," she told the nearest doctor. "Do not let the lung collapse again."
The doctor blinked at her. "He… he has a pulse."
"Yes."
"It was gone."
"Not anymore."
She stepped back finally.
The room stared at her.
At the warrior.
At the Alpha still touching her shoulder.
Alaric slowly removed his hand.
The air shifted again.
Less electric now.
But charged.
"How?" one of the younger wolves whispered.
Zoraide wiped her hands clean.
"Luck," she said flatly.
The head doctor shook his head.
"That was not luck."
Alaric's gaze burned into her.
"You used an aura technique," he said quietly.
She met his eyes.
"I am a healer."
"No," he replied. "You are something else."
The injured warrior's eyes fluttered open.
He looked straight at Zoraide.
Then at Alaric.
And suddenly he tried to sit up.
"You," he rasped at Zoraide. "You are…"
"Rest," she ordered quickly.
He grabbed her wrist weakly.
"I saw it," he whispered. "Silver light."
The room froze.
Zoraide pulled her hand back carefully.
"You lost blood," she said calmly. "Hallucinations are common."
The warrior's eyes shifted to Alaric.
"Alpha," he croaked. "She carries the High Blood."
Silence crashed down.
Every wolf in the room stiffened.
The phrase hung heavy.
High Blood.
Alaric's eyes flared bright gold.
"Explain," he commanded.
The injured warrior swallowed painfully.
"When she touched me… I felt the old power. The ancient line."
Zoraide's pulse thundered.
The herbal mask could not hide the sudden spike.
Alaric inhaled sharply.
There it was again.
Medicinal rot.
And beneath it.
Starlight.
The doctor stepped back slowly.
"That bloodline was wiped out," he whispered.
"Not wiped out," the injured warrior said weakly. "Hidden."
Alaric stepped closer to Zoraide.
Too close.
"You will answer me now," he said softly.
Her chin lifted.
"I saved your warrior."
"You revealed yourself."
"I revealed nothing."
The injured warrior coughed again.
"Silver aura," he insisted. "Only High Alpha blood can channel life like that."
Murmurs broke out across the room.
Zoraide felt the walls closing in.
Alaric's presence expanded.
Dominant.
Claiming.
Protective.
"Everyone out," he ordered sharply.
No one argued.
Within seconds, only the two of them remained.
And the unconscious warrior.
Alaric turned to her slowly.
"You cannot deny it anymore."
"I can."
"You fed on my aura."
"I did not."
His hand shot out.
He grabbed the edge of the metal tray beside them.
It bent under his grip.
"You drew my power without permission."
"You stepped closer."
"You pulled it from me."
Silence.
The bond pulsed violently between them.
"You amplified me," he said quietly.
"You are strong," she replied evenly.
His eyes burned.
"Only a High Alpha bloodline can merge aura like that."
She said nothing.
He stepped closer.
Her back nearly touched the wall.
"Tell me who you are," he demanded.
Her pulse raced.
Outside, thunder cracked over the Citadel.
The injured warrior suddenly gasped again.
Both of them turned sharply.
His eyes snapped open.
Brighter now.
Clear.
He stared at Zoraide with recognition.
"Not just High Blood," he whispered.
Alaric's jaw tightened.
"What then?" he asked.
The warrior's gaze locked onto hers.
"She is the last Starborn."
The word echoed like a curse.
Or a prophecy.
Alaric slowly turned back to Zoraide.
Gold blazing.
"Starborn," he repeated.
The bond roared between them.
And this time.
It did not feel like confusion.
It felt like destiny.