Ss’s POV


    My wolf snarled, protective fury uncontained. Whoever sent these Rogues would pay dearly.


    +8 Pearls


    Then I heard the footsteps–Whitmore security finally arrived. Only four of them, not the full detail. Wreny unconscious, carefully lifted by one of my lieutenants. I kept a sharp eye on every shadow, every movement, ensuring no other threat approached.


    I tore my tie off in frustration and haste, my fingers trembling as I pressed it tightly around Freya’s bleeding arm. The heat of her blood seeped through the fabric, crimson soaking my hands.


    My wolf roared inside me–possessive, protective, primal. Every instinct screamed at me to keep her safe, to shield her from the predators that dared to cross her path.,


    “We’ll get you to the healer, now!” I growled, lifting her into my arms. My strength was steady, but inside, my wolf pulsed with frantic energy.


    She was light, yet every movement threatened to betray the gravity of her injuries. Two of my lieutenants followed closely, settling into the front seats, the hum of the engine beneath us a weak buffer to the storm raging in my chest.


    “I’m fine, just a scratch,” Freya murmured, her voice calm but tinged with adrenaline. My wolf snarled softly at her casual dismissal. Scratch? The sleeve of her jacket was stained deep red, her blood painting a vivid banner of how close she hade to death.


    I tightened my grip instinctively, my ws flexing beneath my gloves. “No,” I muttered, voice low and harsh, “you’re not fine. Not when it’s your blood I’m holding.” The lieutenants in the front seats exchanged uneasy nces; they knew better than to speak unless spoken to..


    The


    memory of the


    garage attack burned hot in my mind.


    Rogues had descended like shadowed wolves, teeth bared,


    ready, and Freya–my Freya–had met them head–on, fierce, unflinching. She had taken hits, scraped and torn her arm, yet she had never hesitated to strike back, using everything she had learned with the Iron Fang Recon Unit.


    My wolf had howled in fury at their audacity, my human mind trapped in a cage of helplessness until she had finally thrown one of them down with a precision that had made my chest ache with pride and terror all at once.


    Now, in the enclosed vehicle, I felt every pulse of Freya’s blood through my arms, her scent thick with adrenaline and iron.


    I pressed harder with the tie, stopping the flow temporarily, my jaw tight, eyes narrow.


    “Ss…” she whispered again, the same calmness in her tone that made my wolf bristle. “It’s really just a small injury. I can heal myself.”


    I ground my teeth. Small injury? Small? My wolf growled, snuffling, tasting the warmth of her blood.


    The threads of instinctive anger surged through me.


    Back when she had first be my bodyguard, I had treated it as a convenience–a–way to keep her close, a delightful puzzle to amuse my senses. If she were hurt, it didn’t matter then; her life was expendable in the cruel calculus of my amusement. But now… now every droplet of her blood felt like a knife twisting in my chest. I had miscalcted. I had underestimated the cost of letting her fight.


    By the time we reached Ashbourne General’s VIP wing, my wolf had already scented every movement outside the vehicle.


    The moment the emergency doors opened, I carried her straight to a room lined with thetest equipment, hands still trembling


    Doctors and nurses flitted around us, but I could only see her, Freya, lying in my arms.


    “Alpha Whitmor,” one of my lieutenants reported, “Wren was shooted, two broken ribs, no life–threatening injuries. Shall we hand the Rogue over to the authorities?”


    “Hand her over,” I said, voice ice, eyes dark, ws flexing even beneath my gloves, “but not before she loses the use of that


    10:09 AM <b>P </b>


    hand permanently.” My wolf snarled, satisfied with the justice, primal andplete..


    D


    +8 Pearls


    The doctors moved quickly, stitching five deep points into Freya’s arm, washing away the blood but unable to erase the lingering crimson scent that still clung to her. Even though I know Freya can heal herself, I’m still worried about those Rogues having wolfsbane or something on their ws.


    Freya’s eyes met mine once, and I caught the faint smirk, wolfish and teasing, as if to say, I survived. My wolf growled low, warning the world: she was mine, and she always would be.


    When the medical staff began to leave the room, I remained close, watching every shift of her body. Freya sighed, slightly annoyed at the fuss I was making. “You can let them go. I don’t like being watched like a… exhibit,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.


    My wolf snorted softly, a rumbling vibration of possessive amusement. “And yet,” I murmured, “I cannot leave you unguarded. Not while your scent and blood remind me of what was almost lost.”


    Once alone, I asked, almost hesitantly, “Do you want something to eat?” My wolf rxed slightly at her faintly teasing look, her scent calming, though still tinged with danger.


    “An apple,” she replied simply, nodding toward the fruit basket already sent by the hospital:


    Car,


    I picked one, washing it with then sat beside her, peeling it slowly. The knife moved in my fingers with ease, controlled, precise. She watched, eyes curious, and I realized, with a strange, human pang, that she had never seen me perform such mundane, careful tasks. My wolf purred softly inside, attuned to her intrigue, protective and possessive.


    “Still like my hands?” I asked suddenly, voice low, teasing.


    She froze, looking up at me, and our eyes locked.


    “I’m d my hands please you,” I murmured, my wolf brushing her scent with a slow, possessive nuzzle. “But I hope you’ll like every part of me… just as fiercely.”