“Father! Come quickly! Lady Casey twisted her ankle trying to help that witch!” Marc cried out, pointing at the grass.
Malachi’s eyes darted between my bleeding wound and Casey’s pitiful sobbing. He looked torn for a single second, then he let out a heavy sigh and released his hold on me.
“It is a clean wound, Rhea. Go to the pack’s healers; I will meet you there. I must carry Casey inside—she cannot walk,” he stated, his voice regaining its Alpha coldness.
If my heart broke further, I didn't let it show. I stayed on the dirt, watching as the man I had loved for eight years walked away from me again. He lifted Casey in a bridal carry. Over his shoulder, I saw the smug, viper-like look she gave me as they disappeared toward the carriage, Marc following close behind.
I was left in a pool of my own blood, shot by the very hand I had guided in the hunt. Fate was a cruel goddess.
I struggled to find my footing when a shadow fell over me.
“You wretched girl! Why are you still on our lands? Did you not howl to the whole city that you were leaving?”