Chapter 430
The Pack Surgeon stepped out, pulling down his bloody mask. He looked exhausted. “He’s stabilized,” the doctor said grimly, addressing Marcus. “But his leg bones are pulverized. He will be permanently disabled. It is highly unlikely he will ever be able to shift into his wolf form again.”
A wounded sob ripped from my throat. I slapped both hands over my mouth. For an Alpha heir, losing the ability to shift was a fate worse than death.
Victoria whipped her head toward me, tears of pure hatred spilling down her cheeks. “Are you happy now?” she spat, her voice dripping with venom. “You crippled my son. Just like you crippled your own husband.”
The words struck me like a physical blow to the chest.
Dallas stepped fully in front of me, forming an impenetrable wall between me and her wrath. “I will cover all of Braydon’s rehabilitation and lifelong care,” Dallas commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I am doing this as your Alpha. It is my duty to the Pack.”
Victoria let out a harsh, mocking laugh that scraped against the sterile walls. “You are not family, Marshall. She belongs to us. She always has.”
Marcus placed a firm hand on his wife’s arm, silencing her. He looked at Dallas, his expression unreadable, carefully calculating the shifting dynamics of power and guilt. “A word, King,” Marcus said quietly, gesturing toward the far corner of the room.
Dallas didn’t look back at me as he followed.
I sat there shivering, watching them. I couldn’t hear their hushed voices, but I could read Marcus’s posture — calm and deliberate, pressing a point with ruthless precision. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was laying out the terms of a war for my guilt.
He marked her with his sacrifice. What are you willing to give?
The silence felt charged and dangerous. Dallas stood taller, his knuckles turning white around the head of his cane. Though the room was quiet, I could almost hear the low, unwavering answer he gave to Marcus’s unspoken challenge.
Everything.
Braydon
The agony in my leg wasn’t just pain — it was a roaring, white-hot fire consuming my bones. I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights of the VIP trauma suite, the sterile stench of bleach and my own souring Alpha scent filling my lungs. My right leg was encased in a heavy plaster cast, suspended in the air like a grotesque trophy.
Katherine Parrish sat in the visitor’s chair beside my bed, her face buried in her hands, sobbing quietly.
Pathetic.
My mother’s plan had been simple: a minor mechanical failure, a small scare on the track, and I would swoop in to save Adella — the flawless hero. But the sheer violence of that crash, the way the metal had crumpled like paper, told me someone had gone off-script.
“Stop crying and tell me what went wrong,” I rasped, my voice raw and grating.
Katherine flinched, her tear-streaked face pale with terror. “Estevan,” she choked out, her whole body trembling. “He was angry about how she humiliated our family. He didn’t just loosen the valve. He used silver dust. He wanted her dead, Braydon. I swear I didn’t know he would take it that far.”