Against Devil

18 - Forgive

The snow was starting to let up when the pack house finally came into view—its dark silhouette rising from the frost like a memory we hadn't earned the right to return to.

Lizzy was slumped against me, her weight dragging heavier with every step. She hadn't said a word since she blacked out in the woods—just shallow breaths and occasional twitches like her body was still fighting something I couldn't see.

We stumbled through the main gate, both of us half-shifted, half-frozen, and more than halfway dead on our feet. My boots hit the stone with a dull thud that felt louder than it should have. A few heads turned. Gasps followed. Someone called Rosa's name. I couldn't hear much after that.

I kept walking.

Straight past the gawkers. Straight into the house.

"Out of the way," I growled, voice hoarse and cracking, "she needs help. Now."

Hands finally rushed forward—healers, betas, someone's mate with blankets. I let them take Lizzy from me, gently, like she was sacred. Because she was. Whatever happened in that chamber had changed her. She was still my sister, but now... more.

They disappeared with her down the hallway.

And I was left standing there. Drenched. Bloodied. Burning.

Behind me, I heard footsteps crunch on snow.

I didn't have to look.

Alex.

He didn't say anything.

Neither did I.

I walked faster.

The corridor leading to the infirmary smelled like sage and burnt eucalyptus — Rosa's go-to when the energy in the house was off. It didn't mask the tension.

I followed the trail of hushed voices and heavy footsteps until I reached the open door.

There she was.

Lizzy, still unconscious, laid out on a cushioned cot wrapped in linen soaked with some kind of herbal concoction. Her dark lashes fluttered slightly against pale skin — paler than usual. Almost unnaturally so. And her hair... I blinked.

Lizzy had always worn it in a messy blonde bob that framed her face like rebellion with scissors. But now?

It was shifting.

Still short, still hers, but the tone had changed — a shade lighter, like the gold had been washed out and replaced with moonlight. Almost silver at the roots, like something ancient was threading itself through every strand. I didn't know if it was beautiful or terrifying.

Maybe it was both.

Rosa hovered on one side, sleeves rolled, forehead lined with quiet panic even if she'd never admit it. And beside her was someone I hadn't seen in years:

Othelia.

She was older now, silver hair twisted in a long braid down her back, eyes the same intense gray I remembered as a kid—eyes that saw too much and said too little. She was holding Lizzy's hand, murmuring something under her breath in Old Tongue. I didn't need a translation to know it was a protection rite.

And then... I saw him.

Nathaniel.

Sitting silently at the foot of Lizzy's cot, hands clasped together like he was holding himself still by sheer will. His shoulders were squared, jaw tight. But it was the look in his eyes that caught me—fury and fear braided so tightly I couldn't tell which was stronger.