Chapter 0396

I shout for reinforcements.

Pack members rush to help the wounded.

Several wolves lie unconscious. Bullet wounds slow their healing. Only one appears critically injured—I order him transported back immediately.

Isolde concerns me, but she shows no distress from the shoulder wound. Still, I won't relax until it's removed.

We both took wolfsbane arrows, yet I feel no poison effects. Just slower healing.

Now I understand Adrian and Sebastian's awe when discussing Guardian mate advantages.

My strength has doubled. My recovery speed astonishes me. After such a battle, exhaustion should cripple me. Instead, energy surges through my veins.

The pack hospital descends into chaos upon our arrival.

Not just from the influx of wounded.

Fenrir, Tobias's wolf, stands guard over something—snarling at approaching medics. Isolde pushes forward as Seraphina pleads with the protective wolf.

"What's happening?" I demand, joining Isolde.

Fenrir stops growling but doesn't yield.

"Tobias brought in a severely injured sylvan fae," Isolde explains. "She panicked when our medics approached. Tobias shifted—Fenrir's been shielding her ever since."

The tiny fae clings to life. Fenrir positions himself so his tail brushes her hand—she grips it like a lifeline.

"Fenrir, stand down," Magnus commands.

The wolf whines, resisting the Alpha order.

Isolde cups Fenrir's muzzle. "You know I won't harm her. Let me through."

Another whine, but he relents.

The fae twins hover nearby, clutching each other anxiously.

This fae is the smallest I've seen—whether child or simply petite, I can't tell. Fenrir shadows Isolde, ready to intervene.

"Your name's Elara, yes?" Isolde strokes the fae's cheek gently.

A sniffle. "Yes," comes the whisper.

"You're hurt. Our Gamma, Lady Seraphina, needs to examine you." Isolde uses formal fae address.

"She can't fix me." The words barely reach my ears. "They tore off my wing."

A tear glistens down her face.

Other fae glow radiantly—Elara's light flickers like a dying ember. Is this how their kind perishes? When their inner light extinguishes?

I stride to the nearest office and dial an unfamiliar number.

A deep voice answers.

"This is Alpha Victor. I need King Oberon—it's life or death."

Silence stretches. Just as I think the call dropped, a familiar voice responds.

"Alpha Victor?"

Finnian.

"Yes. My father couldn't come, but our scout said this was urgent."

"Hunters attacked my pack today." I cut to the chase.

"Is Seraphina safe? Was she hurt?"

"No, they weren't present during the attack." His relieved exhale carries through the line.

"But a sylvan fae suffered grave injuries. A wing ripped off. Her light... it's fading. I believe she's dying."

"We're too distant to assist. Does she have a mate?"

"None have come forward."

A heavy sigh. "Then nothing can be done. Only a mate can heal such wounds."