When My Alpha Killed Our Pup, The Lycan Prince Saved Me

The suite door slammed behind us. Shane didn't let go of my wrist. He dragged me across the marble floor, past the velvet chairs and the tall windows that overlooked the pack grounds. My feet stumbled. I tried to pull free, but his grip was iron.

"Shane, please—"

He whirled around and backhanded me across the face. My head snapped to the side. Pain exploded across my cheek. I tasted blood.

"You think you can humiliate me?" His voice was low, shaking with rage. "In front of the entire eastern territory? In front of allied Alphas? You let that Lycan bastard bid on you like you're some kind of prize?"

"I didn't—" I gasped. "I didn't ask him to—"

"You stood there!" Shane roared. "You stood there and looked at him like he was your savior!"

He shoved me backward. I hit the stone fireplace mantle hard, my shoulder slamming into the edge. I crumpled to the floor, gasping.

Shane loomed over me. His eyes were wild, his wolf flashing just beneath the surface. "You're mine, Milana. You've always been mine. Every stitch, every thread, every enchantment you've ever woven—mine."

"You promised me Luna," I whispered. My voice cracked. "You promised."

"And you believed me." He laughed, cold and bitter. "That's the difference between us. I'm smart enough to use what's in front of me. You're just stupid enough to give it away."

I tried to push myself up. My right hand pressed against the cold stone floor.

Shane's boot came down on it.

I screamed.

He ground his heel into my knuckles, twisting, crushing bone and tendon and nerve against the unforgiving stone. White-hot agony shot up my arm. I heard something crack. Then another crack. My vision blurred. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Just pain. Endless, searing pain.

Inside my mind, Solene howled. A desperate, anguished sound that tore through my consciousness like claws raking glass.

Then—

Silence.

Not the quiet of sleep. Not the stillness of rest. A void. An absence so complete it felt like a piece of my soul had been ripped away.

"Solene?" I gasped inwardly, reaching for her. "Solene!"

Nothing.

Shane lifted his boot. My hand lay twisted on the floor, fingers bent at wrong angles, already swelling purple-black. I couldn't move it. Couldn't feel anything below the wrist except a distant, throbbing numbness.

"You won't be shifting anytime soon," Shane said flatly. "Nerve damage. Permanent, if you're unlucky. Which you are."

I stared at my hand. At the ruin of it. Shifting required the body's full neural network—every nerve firing in perfect harmony to transform flesh into fur, human into wolf. Without those pathways, Solene couldn't surface. She was trapped. Buried alive inside me.

"Solene," I whispered aloud, my voice breaking. "Please..."

Still nothing.

Shane crouched down, his face inches from mine. "Here's what's going to happen. You're going to finish Cameron's gown for the Grand Luna Trials. You're going to do it quietly, quickly, and perfectly. And if you even think about contacting that Lycan prince, if you try to run, if you so much as whisper to anyone outside this pack..."

He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"I will call Silas Drake. And I will tell him to disconnect your mother's life support."

My breath stopped.

"Evelyn's hanging by a thread, Milana. Literally. One word from me, and she's gone. Do you understand?"

Tears burned down my cheeks. I nodded.

"Good." He released me and stood. "Guards!"

The door opened. Two Nightveil enforcers stepped inside.

"Take her to the basement workshop," Shane ordered. "Lock her in. No visitors. No exceptions."

They hauled me to my feet. I cradled my ruined hand against my chest. Each step sent fresh waves of agony through my arm. We descended the main staircase, then a narrow service corridor, then stone steps that spiraled down into the cold, damp underbelly of the pack house.

The workshop was exactly as I'd left it. Bolts of fabric stacked against the walls. Spools of enchanted thread on wooden shelves. A single worktable beneath a flickering overhead bulb. The guards shoved me inside and slammed the iron door. I heard the lock click.

I sank onto the floor, my back against the table leg. My hand throbbed. My cheek throbbed. Everything hurt.

But the worst pain was the silence.

I closed my eyes and reached inward again, searching for Solene. For the warmth of her presence, the fierce protectiveness, the steady heartbeat that had been my constant companion since I was thirteen.

Nothing.

Just emptiness.

"Please," I whispered into the dark. "Please come back."

The workshop stayed silent.

I don't know how long I sat there. Minutes. Hours. Time blurred. Eventually, I forced myself to stand. My legs shook. I stumbled to the worktable and found a clean rag, wrapping it clumsily around my swollen hand with my left. The makeshift bandage soaked through almost immediately, dark red blooming across the fabric.

On the table, Cameron's half-finished gown lay draped over a mannequin. Ivory silk. Intricate beadwork. It needed another week of work—delicate embroidery along the hem, enchanted stitching to make the fabric shimmer under moonlight.

I picked up a needle with my left hand. It felt wrong. Clumsy. My dominant hand hung useless at my side.

I threaded the needle. My fingers trembled. The first stitch went crooked. The second tore the fabric slightly. I bit my lip and tried again.

Hours passed. My fever climbed. Sweat dripped down my temples. My vision swam. I kept stitching.

Because if I stopped, I would have to face the truth.

Solene was gone.

And I was alone.