They hit me like a hammer, knocked the air out of my lungs.
“No,” I whispered, wrapping my arms tighter around Nyra. “You're not serious.”
He was silent.
Turning to the Healer, Brexon’s eyes glimmered with frost. “Begin the bond. Save him.”
A strangled cry tore from my throat. “Brexon—”
He didn’t look at me. Not once.
The healers moved quickly, their hands glowing with silver Moonlight as they prepared the transfusion. Pack guardians flanked the clearing, silent, eyes unreadable, watching the legendary Alpha of the Silvermoon Howlers make his choice: not his daughter, not our daughter.
I pressed my forehead against Nyra’s, tears soaking into her frost-cold fur. “Don’t worry, little moonbeam,” I whispered. “I won’t leave you.”
She didn’t stir. Her paws slipped from my hands, limp and fragile.
Then—nothing.
The world lurched, a dizzying drop. I must have screamed, because rough hands were suddenly on me, pulling her away.
“Where are you taking her? No!” I thrashed, my voice raw and feral, clawing at the air.
Brexon didn’t intervene.
He stood firm, one hand resting over Orrin’s shoulder, while my entire world splintered apart.