"She's been unconscious for a week, Draven. Her heart is beating, but she's not... she's not coming back."
The voice drifted through layers of thick fog, pulling Elarose from a place that felt like floating in warm honey.
Her body felt strange - heavy and light at the same time, like she was made of lead and feathers. Every breath was an effort, but somehow she was breathing deeper than she ever had in her life.
"Give her time, Lucien. What she did... no one should be able to channel that kind of power and survive it."
Draven.
His voice wrapped around her like a security blanket, and she found herself reaching for it even though she couldn't move her arms. There was something different about the way he sounded - raw, exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days.
"What if she doesn't wake up? What if—"
"She will." But even as Draven said it, Elarose could hear the doubt threaded through his words like a crack in glass.
A week?
The thought hit her like ice water.
She'd been unconscious for an entire week? What had happened to her in that forest? The memories came back in scattered pieces - silver light pouring from her hands, the screaming of those creatures, the feeling of something vast and powerful moving through her veins like liquid fire.
She tried to open her eyes, but they felt sealed shut. Her whole body was betraying her, refusing to obey even the simplest commands. Panic started to creep up her throat. What if something was permanently wrong with her? What if whatever she'd done had broken something inside her that couldn't be fixed?
"Elarose?"
Draven's voice was suddenly much closer, and she felt the warmth of his hand touching her forehead.
"Can you hear me?"
She wanted to answer, wanted to tell him she was okay, but her voice felt like it was trapped somewhere deep inside her chest. Instead, she managed to twitch her fingers - just barely, but enough.
"There." Relief flooded Draven's voice. "She's fighting her way back."
Fighting. That's exactly what it felt like. Like she was clawing her way up from the bottom of a deep, dark well, inch by painful inch. Her eyelids finally cracked open, and the world rushed in all at once - too bright, too loud, too much.
The ceiling above her was carved stone, lit by flickering candles that hurt her eyes. But what really made her gasp was how clearly she could see everything. Every tiny detail of the stone carving, every dancing shadow from the flames, every speck of dust floating in the air. It was like someone had cleaned the world and turned up the contrast.
"Easy," Draven murmured, his hand still on her forehead. "Don't try to do too much at once."
She turned her head toward his voice - a simple movement that somehow felt monumental - and found herself looking into those silver eyes she remembered from the forest. But now she could see things she'd missed before. The fine lines around his eyes that spoke of years of worry. The way his jaw was clenched like he was holding back something painful. The dark circles under his eyes that suggested he'd barely slept.
"You look terrible," she whispered, her voice coming out like sandpaper.
To her surprise, he laughed - a broken sound that was half relief and half hysteria. "You've been unconscious for seven days straight, and you're worried about how I look?"
"Seven days." She tested the words, tried to make them feel real. "I lost a whole week."
"Your body needed time to adapt." Another voice, younger than Draven's. She turned to see a man who looked like a leaner version of Draven, with the same black hair but gray eyes instead of silver. "I'm Lucien. Draven's brother."
Brother. The word hit her strangely. She'd never had siblings, never had anyone who looked at her with the kind of protective warmth she could see in Lucien's eyes when he glanced at Draven.
"What happened to me?" she asked, though part of her was afraid of the answer.
Draven and Lucien exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Whatever had happened, it was significant enough to worry them both.
"What do you remember?" Draven asked carefully.
Elarose closed her eyes and tried to piece together the fragments in her mind. "Running. Those creatures chasing us. Fighting. And then..." She paused, remembering the feeling of power flowing through her like electricity. "Light. Silver light, everywhere. It felt like the moon was inside me."
"That's exactly what it was," said a new voice. An older man stepped into view, his white hair and lined face making him look ancient. But his eyes were sharp and knowing. "The moon's power, channeled through your blood. It's something that hasn't been seen for over a thousand years."
"Who are you?"
"Elder Marcus. I've been alive long enough to remember the old stories, the old bloodlines." His gaze was intense, studying her like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve. "And you, child, are something we thought was lost forever."
The way he said it made her skin crawl. "I don't understand."
"You will," Draven said softly. "But first, you need to recover. You've been through an ordeal that would have killed most people."
"Most people," Elarose repeated. "But not me. Because I'm not most people, am I?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
She tried to sit up, and this time her body cooperated, though everything ached like she'd been hit by a truck. The room came into better view- carved stone walls, comfortable furniture that looked handmade, tapestries hanging everywhere. It felt ancient but lived-in, like a home that had been loved for centuries.
"Where exactly am I?"
"The Moonshade Pack's stronghold," Lucien answered. "Our home. And if you're truly Draven's mate, then it's your home too."
Mate. The word sent a jolt through her. She looked at Draven, really looked at him, and felt that strange warm connection she'd experienced in the forest. It was stronger now, like an invisible thread binding them together.
"Is that what I am? Your mate?" she asked him directly.
Draven's jaw tightened. "It's... complicated."
"Everything about this is complicated," she said, surprised by the bitterness in her own voice. "A week ago I was just trying to survive in an orphanage. Now I'm apparently some kind of supernatural being with mysterious powers, and you're telling me I'm destined to be with someone I barely know."
"I know it's overwhelming—" Draven started.
"Overwhelming?" Elarose laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I don't even know what I am. I don't know why my blood apparently glows in the dark, or why I can throw grown men into trees, or why everyone keeps looking at me like I'm either their salvation or their destruction."
The room fell silent. She could feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on her like a physical thing. These people - these werewolves, her mind supplied - were depending on her for something she didn't understand, something she wasn't sure she was capable of.
"What do you need from me?" she asked quietly. "What are you all hoping I can do?"
Another exchange of looks. Elder Marcus stepped forward, but Draven held up a hand.
"Not yet," Draven said firmly. "She's barely been awake for an hour."
"But she needs to understand—" Elder Marcus started.
"She needs to recover first." Draven's voice carried an Alpha's authority. "There will be time for explanations later."
Elarose felt frustration bubble up in her chest. "Don't talk about me like I'm not here. I may be confused, but I'm not fragile."
"You nearly died," Draven said quietly. "Your heart stopped for almost a minute. So forgive me if I want to make sure you're actually okay before we pile more pressure on you."
The weight of unspoken expectations settled on her shoulders like a lead blanket. Whatever they needed from her, it was big. Important enough that they were treating her like she was made of glass, like she might shatter if they pushed too hard too fast.