Zane's POV
It has been three days since Freya was discharged from the hospital, and a full week since I operated on the girl with the brutal injuries. I haven't checked on her since then. Not in person, at least. But I know everything I need to from Carlos. I've been with Freya nonstop since she got home—she needs me more than ever right now, and I couldn't leave her alone.
I took three days off work. I'm supposed to resume tomorrow. But the mystery girl—she hasn't left my mind, no matter how hard I try. Her face, her wounds, the haunting scars. That's all I see when I close my eyes. Not Freya. Not the hospital. Just her. Her agony. Her silence. Her story, untold.
Carlos came by yesterday. I asked him to bring the girl's report. We sat in my home office, where I sometimes offer therapy to patients—Not because I'm a psychiatrist—I'm a neurologist, my work revolves around neurons, the nervous system, the brain, and the spinal cord. But being a wolf gifted me something rare—an ability to read minds. That ability became the foundation of my success with trauma patients. I can hear the chaos they don't speak. Sometimes, I feel it too deeply.
"Has she woken up?" I asked, taking the file from Carlos. I leaned back in the leather chair, flipping through the pages.
"Not yet," he replied, settling into the seat across from mine.
"What about her family? Any pack members? Someone must be looking for her."
Carlos shook his head. "No one's come. No calls. No claims."
I paused, letting the weight of that truth settle in. A lone wolf? No. She had power—I could feel it even when she was unconscious. It wasn't just wolf blood that ran through her. She wasn't from a minor pack. And yet… no one wanted her. Wolves like her don't just exist unclaimed. And if no one's looking for her, it might mean something worse.
I was so absorbed in the file, I didn't even notice Carlos had moved. My eyes only lifted when I heard the fridge click open across the room. I blinked.
Carlos stood by the open fridge, pulling out a can of soda. I hadn't even noticed him stand up.
"You think her pack abandoned her?" Carlos asked, watching me too closely.
"It's possible. Maybe they wanted her gone. Maybe she's a threat to them. Maybe... they're the ones who did this to her."
"You care about her," Carlos stated, matter-of-fact.
I didn't answer immediately. I stared at the file, reading over the medical notes again. Stable, but unresponsive. Not comatose. Nothing neurological explaining the silence. It was like she chose not to wake up. Like she was trapped inside herself.
"I don't want trouble. We don't know who she is, and she's not from our pack. For all we know, she could be from the south."
"But you care," he pressed again.
I sighed, looking back down at the file. "I pity her. The injuries. The scars. They're brutal. And the worst part? No one's claiming her. It's like she's unwanted."
"What if she's not who you think? What if she did something terrible? What if you're saving a monster?" Carlos pressed.
I met his gaze. "You ran to me to save her, remember?"
"Yeah. Because life is life. And it's my job to save it. But that doesn't mean I trust all of them."
"Exactly. And it's mine, too. Just like every other patient I treat."
Carlos chuckled. "Not like every other patient. I've known you for fifteen years, Zane. I know when someone's gotten under your skin."
He wasn't wrong. He knew me too well—we'd been friends since high school, fifteen years now. I hated that he could read me just as well as I read others.
"Whatever," I muttered.
He changed the subject. "How's Freya?"
"You know where she is."
Carlos scoffed.
The tension between Freya and Carlos was exhausting. She never liked him, and he never tried to hide his dislike for her. After we got married two years ago, she even asked me to cut ties with him. That request led to our first serious fight. I couldn't throw away a thirteen-year friendship for something so baseless.
"Yeah, I know," he replied with a sarcastic hiss. "Did you find a solution to the problem?"
"Still the same."I hissed.
He leaned forward. "Any word from Old Marrek?"
I nodded. I told him everything—the Moon Vessel, the surrogacy solution. It still felt like betrayal to even consider another woman carrying our child, even if the egg was Freya's.
"And you think Freya will agree to that?" Carlos asked.
"I don't know. But I have to tell her. She deserves to know."
"I've told you many times, Freya isn't meant to be your mate," Carlos said, casually leaning back in the chair across from my desk. "I don't even know what you see in her. To like her is one thing, but to actually mark and mate with her?"
He shrugged like it was just another fact of life, something as simple as the weather. My fingers curled into fists on the desk.
"That's exactly why she hates you," I muttered, my eyes narrowing.
Carlos had made his opinion known from the very beginning. The first time I mentioned Freya—when I merely said I found her intriguing—he shot it down immediately. "She's not your fated," he said back then. "She's not the one."
But I ignored him.
Because I saw the mark. I felt it. The bond wasn't as powerful as the legends described for fated mates, but it was real. It was steady. That was enough for me.
I was never the romantic type. Love, dating, all that emotional stuff—none of it mattered to me. What mattered was the legacy. The pride of the Darkmoon Pack. I needed a Luna who could stand beside me, someone the people respected, someone who could help carry on the bloodline. Our bloodline.
And the Moon had chosen Freya. That should've been enough.
I proposed not long after that, and her family—especially her father, Kaithen, Beta of Moonlight Pack—agreed immediately. There were no objections. No delays. Everything was arranged swiftly and formally.
We were married within a few months.
I met Freya during a Luna Gala I organized three years ago. It was the first time I noticed her. I hadn't seen her in the previous Galas or any other gathering. But that night… something about her scent and aura called out to me. Even in a room filled with Alphas, Betas, warriors, and Luna candidates from all over San Diego, she stood out.
Not all packs had attended that event. The Aurora Pack and their subordinate clans, for example—they never came to our gatherings, just like we didn't attend theirs. We respected the unspoken agreement. They ruled the South, we controlled the North, and the border between us remained untouched.
We hadn't gone to war in decades, but that didn't make us friends. Our peace was quiet, cold, and absolute.
"You okay?" Carlos's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. He slapped his palm against the desk, making a loud thump.
"Yeah," I said, blinking and rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Just thinking."
Carlos took a sip from the drink he brought earlier, watching me closely. "Like I said, I don't care what she thinks about me. That woman hates my guts. Fine. But I still believe she wasn't meant to be your mate. And just like Old Marrek told you… what if her eggs were never meant to carry your heir?"
His words hit deeper than I wanted to admit.
"You know what that means, right?" he added, more serious now.
Yes. I knew exactly what it meant.
It meant she wasn't my fated mate. And only fated mates could give birth to a true Alpha heir.
That's how it worked.
But I refused to believe it. I chose Freya. That had to mean something. Fate wasn't always loud. Sometimes, it whispered. And I followed that whisper.
"I don't care, Carlos," I said, my tone flat and unwavering.
Carlos raised an eyebrow. "You know the consequences, don't you?"
"I do. But they won't happen. Believe me," I added, locking eyes with him. "If Freya weren't my true mate, those consequences would've shown up a long time ago."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It doesn't work like that. It happens when the fated bond finally appears—when she appears. And the moment you recognize her and mark her, it'll start. The pull. The clash of bonds. And it'll tear everything down if you're not prepared."
His words made my chest feel tight, like someone had wrapped steel wires around my ribs.
"It's better to find a solution now," Carlos continued. "Before it happens. You're the Alpha. It's your responsibility. Whether you like it or not, you'll have to own up to whatever comes next."
He stood up and walked to the door.
"I'll see you at work tomorrow," he said without looking back, then left—leaving me alone with a thousand thoughts clawing through my head.
What if he was right?
What if everything I believed was just me convincing myself?
I sat in silence for a long while, staring at the empty glass on my table. The room around me felt colder, like the walls themselves were questioning my choices.
What if my decision really does bring about consequences for our pack?
No one seems to see what I see. They all question my bond with Freya. But the truth is—I never wanted to choose a mate. Never wanted to tie myself down with the rituals and responsibilities that came with it.
But the moment the crown was passed to me, everything changed.
I became Alpha at eighteen. A boy thrust into leadership far too young.
My father—our previous Alpha—was killed when I was just thirteen. His death shook the entire North. For five years, our Beta ruled in his place until I was old enough to take the throne.
That was fifteen years ago.
Since then, everything I've done has been for this pack. Every decision, every sacrifice.
I carry the pride of the Darkmoon bloodline in my veins. But that bloodline doesn't end with me. I need an heir. A child who will inherit not just the title, but the legacy. A future Alpha, born of my blood.
And Freya… I thought she would give me that.
But after three miscarriages, three devastating losses, I can't keep watching her suffer. The pain in her eyes. The way she hides her tears at night when she thinks I'm asleep. It's breaking her. And it's breaking me too.
Old Marrek's words have been echoing in my mind ever since I saw him: Only a moon vessel—chosen by the goddess—can carry the heir when the fated bond is absent.
He told me that Freya's womb may be healthy, but her soul may not have the divine match to mine. That's why her body rejects the life we try to create.
A moon vessel. That might be our only hope now.
I didn't want to consider it. Didn't want to look Freya in the eye and tell her she may never bear our child. But time is running out. The pack deserves a future. And Freya deserves peace.
I have to tell her today. I need to bring it up gently—no pressure, no expectations. Just... the truth. And maybe, just maybe, she'll understand.
Hopefully, she agrees.
Now, I find myself standing outside her bedroom, my hand resting on the polished silver door handle, hesitant. The hallway is quiet, lit only by the soft golden wall sconces. The silence feels heavy, as though it's waiting to witness the outcome of a conversation I've been dreading.
I gently push open the door.
She's lying there on the bed, pale but peaceful, her gaze lost in the glimmering crystal chandelier that hangs above her like a frozen constellation. She doesn't look at me right away. Just stares into that delicate sparkle, her face unreadable.
"Zane," she murmurs, her voice as soft as silk, as if she sensed me before she saw me.
"Hey," I answer, stepping inside and quietly closing the door behind me. I walk over and sit at the edge of the bed. The sheets shift slightly under my weight.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, my voice low, careful.
"Tired... but better." Her eyes finally drift from the chandelier to meet mine.
I reach for her hand. She doesn't resist. Her fingers are cold in mine, and that alone tugs something painful in my chest.
"There's something we need to talk about," I begin, gently, but firm. "It's important."
She shifts, sitting up slowly. Her brows knit together as she watches me. "It's about... the baby?"
I nod.
"I went to see Old Marrek," I continue. "He mentioned something. Something that could help us."
Her brows furrow tighter. "Help us how?"
"He talked about a vessel. A Moon Vessel," I say carefully. "Someone chosen to carry a child—not just anyone. Someone born for it. She wouldn't be connected to the baby genetically. The egg would be yours. The child would still be ours."
She is quiet. Too quiet.
Then—
"You believe him?" Her voice trembles. "You believe that I can't carry our child?"
I shake my head. "I believe in you. I believe in us. But I also believe that something is wrong, and we haven't found it yet. And I... I can't stand watching you suffer through this again. Freya, the child would still come from your egg. It would still be ours."
She stares at me for what feels like an eternity. Then she looks away.
"What if…" she begins, her voice cracking. "What if the surrogate mother tries to claim the child? What if she refuses to give the baby up? What if she... runs away? What if she tries to take you away from me, Zane? What if she uses the baby to get close to you?"
She's spiraling. I can see it—the fear in her eyes, the tremble in her lips. Her hands are shaking slightly.
I place both my hands gently on her shoulders and shake her lightly, forcing her to look at me.
"That won't happen," I say firmly. "Believe me, whoever she might be, she knows better than to mess with me. Or with what's mine."
Tears pool in her eyes, and her lips tremble before she speaks again.
"It will hurt, Zane," she whispers. "It will hurt so much... to see someone else carrying our child. To see a part of you in another woman's belly, not mine. To watch her grow with what was supposed to be mine… it will kill me slowly. Seeing someone get that close to you... it will hurt."
Her voice cracks. Then she begins to cry. Soft sobs that wring my heart raw.
"I know, Freya. I know," I whisper, pulling her into my arms. Her head rests on my shoulder as I hold her close, my hand gently stroking her hair.
"But it's our only solution for now," I murmur. "And just know… all will be well. Nothing you fear will come to pass, I promise."
She sniffles against my shirt, clinging to me like I'm the only anchor keeping her grounded.
After a moment, she pulls back slightly, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.
"You know what, Zane?" she says, her voice raw and uneven. "The moment another woman even tries to enter your thoughts… or your life... or your heart because of this? I'll kill that bitch. I don't care who she is."
My heart skips a beat, and I don't even know why. Freya has always been the jealous type. Possessive, protective, and fierce when it came to me. Maybe too fierce sometimes.
I offer a faint smile. "Nothing like that will happen. Okay? She will only carry our baby. That's it. Once she does, her part is done."
Freya stares at me for a long moment, then slowly leans back into my chest.
"I'll think about it," she finally says, her voice soft again.
I nod and tighten my arms around her. "That's all I ask."
Honestly? I never thought it would be this easy to convince her. I'd braced myself for resistance, maybe even a breakdown. But her willingness to at least consider it... it gives me hope.
Just then, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I slide it out to check the screen—Carlos.
Freya's expression changes the instant she sees the name flash across the display. She pulls away slightly and lays back down on the bed, curling into herself. I watch her for a second before answering.
"Hey," I say, keeping my voice low.
"You need to come to the hospital ASAP," Carlos says on the other end. His voice is tense. "The patient's heart rate is dropping—and it's not normal."
My eyes narrow. "I'll be there soon."
I end the call and tuck the phone back in my pocket.
"I have to go to the hospital," I tell Freya, bending down to kiss her forehead.
"But… you're on leave," she says, her brows pinching in worry.
"I am," I reply. "But she needs me right now."
I don't wait for her reply. I grab my coat and rush out of the room, my mind shifting instantly from one crisis to another. I make my way to the parking lot, slide into the driver's seat, and hope—pray—that traffic isn't insane tonight.
Luckily, the road clears faster than I expect. Within minutes, I arrive at the hospital.
Inside, chaos is already unfolding.
As I step into the room, I see her. They're using a defibrillator on her. Her body jerks violently, her heart rate monitor flatlining, then beeping erratically.
The moment I step closer—just a few feet—the monitor spikes.
From 50 bpm to 190.
Then 250 bpm.
My breath catches. That rate is unsustainable—her heart could rupture at any second.
She begins convulsing, her body arching off the bed as though something inside her is trying to escape.
"Get me beta blockers!" I bark at the nurse standing closest to me. She bolts out of the room without hesitation.
Carlos is already at the other side of the bed, monitoring her vitals.
"Her oxygen level is rising too fast," I say, analyzing the screen. "We need to stabilize it before she crashes."
Without waiting, Carlos blocks her nose and mouth with his hand, temporarily cutting off her oxygen supply. She thrashes violently, her body panicking against the lack of air. I slam my palm against her chest with calculated force.
Then—gasp.
She lets out a ragged breath, loud and sharp, as Carlos releases his grip.
Her chest heaves, her body jolts one last time, and then she collapses back onto the bed, her head falling gently against the pillow with a muted thud.
The monitor beeps rhythmically now—stable.
I release a long breath I didn't realize I was holding.
Then I feel it—her hand wrapping around mine.
Tight.
My gaze drops to our interlocked hands, then slowly travels back to her face. Her eyelids flutter. She's trying to open her eyes.
My heart beats louder than the machines around us.
Her fingers squeeze gently, as if recognizing something in me.
I carefully withdraw my hand from hers, my chest rising and falling like I've just run a marathon.
This girl…
What is it about her?