Chapter 5 A Life For A Life.

MICHELLE

Two clinic security guards, both easily twice my size, stood on either side of the small supply closet they’d shoved me into, their arms crossed, their eyes daring me to so much as breathe wrong.

The room reeked of bleach and rubbing alcohol, and the single bare bulb overhead flickered every few seconds.

Time of death, 10:42 AM. You just murdered Govan Pack’s Beta’s mother, Michelle.

Dr. Vance’s voice kept looping in my skull, over and over, a broken record I couldn’t shut off no matter how hard I pressed my palms against my ears.

I hadn’t moved from the plastic folding chair they’d dropped me into hours ago. My scrubs were still speckled with flecks of the woman’s blood, stiff and browning now against the fabric.

“I didn’t do this. I swear—“ I stopped mid statement.

Saying it out loud hadn’t helped the first hundred times, so it was no use saying it again.

The door creaked open just enough for a nurse I didn’t recognize to slide a paper cup of water through the gap, refusing to meet my eyes before yanking it shut again.

I wrapped both hands around the cup and stared at the water, watching it tremble from how badly my fingers shook.

I’d begged one of the guards earlier to let me use a phone. He’d finally relented around noon, shoving his cell into the gap under the door like he couldn’t stomach touching me either.

I’d called my father first.

It rang four times before going to voicemail. I called again. Voicemail. A third time. Voicemail.

I tried Cleopatra next, some pathetic, desperate part of me hoping my stepmother’s ice-cold nature would at least translate into practical damage control—not out of love, just out of not wanting the Hawthorn name dragged through the mud.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Michelle?” Her voice was clipped, annoyed, like I’d interrupted something far more important than my own life.“I’m in the middle of a spa appointment. What could you possibly need that can’t wait until—”

“Cleopatra, please, I need Dad. I need him to call the clinic. I need—there was an accident at the hospital, and they think I—they’re saying I killed someone, but I swear it’s not true, and the Govan Pack’s Beta is going to—”

A pause. A long, suffocating pause where I could hear the faint hum of spa music in the background, the murmur of some other woman’s laughter.

“The Govan Pack?” Cleopatra repeated slowly.

Then she sighed. “Michelle, sweetheart, I cannot begin to tell you how badly your father does not need this today. Do you have any idea what kind of pressure he’s under with the territory renegotiations? If this gets out, if the Govan Pack finds out that a Hawthorn was responsible for the death of their member—” She cut herself off with another sigh. “I’ll let him know. When he’s free.”

“Cleopatra—”

“I really must go, dear. Try not to make this worse.”

The line went dead.

I’d stared at that guard’s phone for a full minute afterward, the dial tone buzzing uselessly against my ear, before I finally handed it back with numb fingers and no more calls left to make.

That had been six hours ago. Nobody had called back. Nobody was coming.

Of course not. I laughed, a humorless sound that scraped my throat raw. Why would today be any different?

The overhead bulb flickered again, and somewhere down the hall, I heard the unmistakable sound of a commotion building. Raised voices. The heavy, synchronized footfall of more than one set of boots. My stomach dropped straight through the floor.

They’re here.

One of the guards outside my door straightened immediately, his entire posture shifting from bored indifference to rigid, spine-snapping deference.

“Beta Bowen,” he said, voice pitched low with respect I hadn’t heard directed at anyone all day. “This way, sir.”

My heart stopped.

No. No, no, no—

The door was yanked open so hard it nearly came off its hinges, and there he stood. Nathan Bowen. The same gorgeous, glasslike jawline but the cruel amusement that had colored his face yesterday, where now replaced with pure fury in waves I could physically feel pressing against my skin.

Behind him stood at least six other Govan wolves, all dressed in matching dark tactical gear.

“Get up,” Nathan said.

My legs didn’t want to work, but the guards on either side of me hauled me up by the arms before I could even try, dragging me forward until I was standing directly in front of him.

Up close, I could see his eyes were bloodshot. Swollen. He’d been crying.

“Nathan, I—I swear to the Goddess, I didn’t—the syringe, I checked it, I know I checked it—”

“Shut up.” The words came out low and lethal, cutting straight through my babbling. His jaw worked, a muscle ticking violently beneath his skin. “Don’t you dare say another word to me.”

He took a step closer, close enough that I could see the tear tracks still drying on his cheeks.

“That was my mother.” His hand shot out, gripping my chin hard enough to bruise, forcing my face up to his. “The woman who raised me. And you put wolfsbane and potassium chloride into her IV line like she was nothing. Tell me is this because i rejected you? Was this your way of getting back at me?”

“I didn’t—”

“I said shut up!” he roared, and the sheer force of his Beta authority slammed into the room, buckling my knees so hard I would have collapsed if the guards hadn’t been holding me upright.

The room went dead silent except for my own ragged breathing.

Nathan released my chin, stepping back, dragging both hands down his face like he was trying to physically hold himself together.

“A life for a life,” he finally said. “That’s the law. That’s the oldest law in our world, older than any pack, any treaty, any goddess-damned contract. You took a life from the Govan Pack.” His eyes, when they met mine again, were empty. “So now, you pay back with yours.”