Chapter 72: Stand My Ground

Chapter 72: Stand My Ground Kaya I’m awake. I know that because I feel it—the ache blooming across my entire body. That bittersweet soreness of overworked muscles, the deep stiffness that no amount of stretching can shake off. Outside, the soft pitter-patter of rain taps against the window, slow and rhythmic, lulling me toward sleep again. I want to open my eyes, but my eyelids feel like they’re made of lead. Then, just as a cool, refreshing gust of wind brushes against my face, something rustles in the room. I jolt upright—too fast, too startled. "Awake?" Samantha’s voice is soft as she reaches out and gently presses her hands to my shoulders, grounding me back to the mattress. "Don’t move so suddenly. It’s not good for you right now." She’s right. The moment the initial shock fades, the pain rushes back in like a tide. I melt into the bed with a groan, overwhelmed by the deep, dragging ache that feels like my bones are being pulled taut by invisible ropes. "Why do I feel like shit?" I ask bluntly, my voice hoarse. Sam chuckles at my honesty, the sound light but short-lived. "You’ve been drugged," she replies, her tone shifting to something more serious. "Or more precisely—dosed with a heat inducer." "A heat inducer?" I almost shoot upright again, this time more confused than afraid. "But that wouldn’t even work on me!" Sam sighs, her expression tense as she gently eases me back down again. "We couldn’t find the last glass you drank from, but the Doc thinks it was probably spiked with an illegal substance—one that some rogues use to capture humans for breeding purposes. That’s why it worked on you." "Rogues?" I blink at her, stunned, the word landing like a weight in my chest. Samantha nods. "When you ran out of the mansion, Alpha Magnus chased after you into the forest and fought off a rogue who tried to attack you. Unfortunately, the bastard died too fast, so we couldn’t interrogate him." "I see..." I mumble, my fingers curling tightly around the edge of the blanket. My mind is still foggy, like a window clouded with mist, but the more Samantha speaks, the more fragments start slipping back into place. I remember the party.I remember the drink.I remember the heat—how it burned under my skin and ached in my bones.I remember the damp forest floor.And I remember... Magnus. A slow flush creeps up my neck and spreads through my body as the memory returns—his lips crashing into mine, fierce and urgent. I know I wasn’t in my right mind, but it felt too real to be a dream. Too vivid. Too raw. Too... intoxicating. "Crap, are you relapsing again?" Samantha’s voice slices through my haze of thoughts. A moment later, I feel her cool palm press against my forehead. "Your face is as red as a tomato," she mutters with concern, then touches her own forehead to compare. "But you don’t feel feverish..." Mortified, I gently push her hand away and shake my head, retreating beneath the blanket like a turtle into its shell. "It’s nothing. Don’t worry. I’m fine." "Yeah, right," Sam says, clearly unconvinced. "I’m calling Ron just in case. If something happens to you on my watch, Alpha Magnus is going to kill me." Desperate to redirect the conversation, I carefully clear my throat and ask, "By the way... is Ma—I mean, is Alpha Magnus around?" Samantha shakes her head. "No, he had to leave shortly after bringing you back. An emergency on the northern border—ghouls again." "Ghouls? " I echo. It feels like it’s been ages since I last heard that word spoken aloud. And honestly, I had no idea that spotting them could be a real emergency. Sam lets out a long, frustrated sigh, crossing her arms over her chest as she leans against the foot of my bed. "I know, right? Those bastards have been way too active lately. It’s suspicious. But don’t worry—our squad knows how to handle them. They’ll clean it up fast." I nod, but it isn’t the ghouls I’m truly worried about. I’d been drugged—forced into a false heat. And if Magnus hadn’t found me in time... I don’t even want to finish that thought. Goddess, why does chaos seem to follow me wherever I go? "Hey." Sam leans in a little, her tone softer but laced with concern. Her eyes meet mine with quiet intensity. "We’re going to get to the bottom of this, I promise. But... do you remember who gave you your last drink?" I do. The memory is there—sharp, vivid, and unmistakable. Every instinct in me urges me to tell her. But for some inexplicable reason, I find myself lying. "I’m sorry... All I remember is leaving you at the bar. After that, it’s just flashes. Nothing clear." Sam studies me for a moment, her expression unreadable, then sighs and rises to her feet. "It can’t be helped. I’ll go fetch the Doc. There’s some fruit and yogurt on the nightstand. Try to eat something, okay?" I nod again, and finally, she offers me a small, warm smile before stepping out of the room. "By the way," she says a moment before exiting my room. "I won. Once you’re feeling better, there is an amazing bottle of white wine waiting for you in my room!" *** Once Ron finishes examining me, I feign sleepiness—and he takes the hint without a word. But resting is the last thing on my mind tonight. Gloria drugged me and sent a rogue after me in the woods? I still can’t wrap my head around it. I don’t understand why she’s so hostile toward me. Even if I had done something to offend her—though I can’t imagine what—it’s hard to believe she’d go so far just to make a point. I could’ve told Samantha. I should’ve. If I had, Gloria would probably be exiled before dawn. But something holds me back. Is it pride? A sudden flare of arrogance? Or maybe—just maybe—it’s because I’m finally beginning to believe in myself. The training... the growth... the way I’ve started to stand for something. For myself. What am I trying to prove? And more importantly—to whom?To her?To the pack?To Magnus?Or... to me? Do I always need to run? To hide behind those who are stronger, faster, more respected? Maybe that’s what Gloria is trying to show me in her twisted way—that I’m not her equal. That I don’t deserve to be. But that’s exactly why I need to fight. Not with fists. Not with fury. With resolve. A spark of determination flares in my chest as I throw the covers off and reach for my notebook. I tear out a single page and start writing—simple, direct, honest. Once I’m done, I double-check that no one’s watching, then slip quietly out of my room. The hallways are dim and silent as I tiptoe toward the Gamma floor, my pulse quickening with each step. I stop in front of her door. I’m not ready to face her yet. But I will be. For now, this is my first move. I slide the note beneath her door... and walk away. I walk away now, so that tonight... Tonight, I can stand my ground.