Trinity's world dissolved into a maelstrom of agony. Her chest felt as though a colossal weight pressed down upon it, each breath a shallow, desperate gasp. A searing, relentless pain clawed at her left arm, radiating through her very bones, forcing a guttural scream from her lips. She writhed, tears streaming down her face, begging for release, for the torment to end. The agony was a living entity, consuming her, leaving no room for coherent thought, only the primal urge for it to cease.
Boris, his face etched with helpless anguish, gently laid Trinity on her stomach in one of the sterile hospital beds. Alana, ever the medical professional, immediately began her assessment. There were no outward signs of injury, no blood, nothing to explain the profound suffering that emanated from Trinity. Yet, Alana could smell pain, a metallic, almost coppery scent that clung to the air around the girl, a stark contrast to the absence of visible wounds.
"Scissors!" Alana barked, her voice cutting through the tense silence. A nurse, startled into action, quickly handed her the instrument. Alana, her jaw tight, sliced open the back of Trinity's shirt. She forced herself to maintain a clinical detachment, to ignore the brutal tableau of abuse laid bare: thin, angry slices crisscrossing her skin, raw burn marks, and the deep, unmistakable scarring of old lashings, a testament to unimaginable cruelty. The sheer multitude of scars was sickening.
As Alana examined her, the flesh on Trinity's left arm began to burn, a slow ooze of blood pooling on the surface of her skin. It looked eerily similar to a silver burn, though Alana knew that a typical defectives reaction to silver was usually akin to a severe allergic reaction, debilitating but rarely this overtly destructive unless it was a large dose or a very pure form. For a True Wolf, however, it could be lethal.
"Trinity, I need you to relax," Alana said, her voice surprisingly calm despite the turmoil in her gut. "We're going to give you something for the pain." She found herself slipping into a professional persona, a coping mechanism to distance herself from the agonizing reality of her own daughter's suffering. It was easier to treat Trinity as just another patient, to compartmentalize the overwhelming emotions that threatened to drown her. Boris's raw, unbridled anguish in the room was a palpable force, threatening to compromise Alana's own composure. Embracing a clinical mindset provided a much-needed shield.
"I need a syringe with a local anesthetic," Alana instructed. Turning back to Trinity, she explained, "Trinity, we're going to inject a local anesthetic. It's going to block your pain receptors. Bear with me."
Through their mind link, Alana silently ordered her nurse to hold Trinity down. Trinity was thrashing, her body convulsing with uncontrolled pain, making any precise action difficult.
Alana carefully injected the anesthetic into Trinity's arm. It offered a mild reprieve, enough to stop the flailing, but the agony was clearly far from quelled.
"Is there a chance there's silver in her body?" Alana asked Boris, her gaze piercing. When he remained silent, transfixed by the grotesque landscape of scars on Trinity's back, she reached out and clasped his hand, squeezing it for emphasis.
"I've been watching her for hours," Boris finally choked out, his voice hoarse. "She didn't get any silver on her."
As if on cue, a fresh scream tore from Trinity's throat. The middle of her back suddenly bloomed with blood, a gruesome circular wound appearing as if she had been shot from within. The sight sent a cold dread through Alana. Her mind raced, grappling with the bizarre and terrifying physiological assault unfolding before her. What could be happening? How could Trinity's own body be turning against her in such a horrific way?
A sharp prick of pain in the palm of Alana's hand brought her back to the immediate moment. She looked down, then at Boris, whose nails were digging so deeply into his own palms that small crescents of blood were visible. A chilling thought solidified in Alana's mind. She froze.
"Is she mated?" Alana whispered, the words barely audible.
She sent a frantic mental link to her nurse. They had to flip Trinity over, to strip away her remaining clothing. If she was marked, they needed to find it. That would explain the unimaginable pain, the internal trauma. And if they were right, there was nothing they could do but try to keep her comfortable. Because it seemed, with a horrifying certainty, that her mate was dying.
With swift, practiced movements, Alana and her assisting nurse removed Trinity's clothes. They meticulously examined every inch of her body, searching for the tell-tale signs of a mating mark. It was incredibly difficult to discern amidst the labyrinth of old scars, some deep and jagged, others faded. The mark could be hidden, obscured by the litany of past torments etched into her skin.
Another piercing scream erupted from Trinity. She convulsed, reaching for her leg, and just like before, a new wound, circular and bleeding, appeared on her thigh, as if another invisible bullet had struck her.
Finally, Trinity let out a raw, guttural cry, and then her body went limp. The sheer, overwhelming pain had forced her into unconsciousness. Alana quickly checked her vitals, relieved to find her stable, albeit deeply sedated by the shock. Unconsciousness was a blessing in this horrifying moment.
Boris, his face a mask of primal fury, stalked out of the private room. He spotted Ryan in the hall and, without a word, grabbed him by the arm, pulling him unceremoniously into Trinity's room.
"She may have been marked," Boris growled, his eyes fixed on Ryan, then gesturing wildly towards Trinity's prone form. "Do you know if she's mated with anyone?"
Ryan's mouth went instantly dry at the sight of Trinity. He had never seen all the scars, not like this – not in the stark, unforgiving hospital light, unobstructed. Not as a complete, horrifying tapestry of past pain. A suffocating tightness gripped his chest as the full weight of her suffering, a suffering he had only partially comprehended, crashed down on him.
"You can't keep her secrets right now!" Boris roared, his voice raw with fear for his daughter's life.
The words, the sight of Trinity, shattered Ryan's resolve. Had he truly marked her? The thought was an icy shock. "Trinity's only ever been around two wolves," Ryan confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "My brother, and I know he didn't mark her. And Mickey, the rogue." The metallic taste of bile rose in Ryan's throat at the mere mention of Mickey, a name synonymous with sickness and the absolute worst kind of depravity.
Ryan struggled to get the words out. To say it all aloud. To expose what Trinity had tried so desperately to keep to herself. "He used her as a replacement mate. He used to torture her. He kept her and Jess in his basement for years. I know he—" Ryan paused, a knot forming in his throat, the metallic taste of his own guilt rising. The air in the room grew heavy with his unspoken truth. He finally forced the confession past his lips. "He raped her. I wouldn't be shocked if he marked her for his sick fantasies. If there's someone who marked her, it would be him."
Boris's head spun, a dizzying mix of rage and self-recrimination. He had left his daughter alone in the human realm, a place teeming with criminals and psychopaths, defenseless. And now, because of that grave mistake, he couldn't even seek justice for her. If Mickey was the one who marked her, Boris couldn't kill him, or his own daughter would die. The thought was unbearable: he had to consider protecting the very monster who had systematically destroyed his daughter.
"Where is he?" Boris snarled, his eyes flickering between his natural piercing blues and the abyssal depth of his wolf's eyes, a terrifying manifestation of his inner turmoil.
"I don't know," Ryan admitted, shaking his head. "My family ran him off a couple of years ago. We haven't heard from him since." Ryan had never made an effort to find Mickey, not unless it was to end his life.
"Dr. Carter!"
Alana's attention snapped from Trinity's pale face to the nurse's urgent voice. The nurse pointed to Trinity's abdomen. Another bloody, circular wound had appeared, as if her mate had just been stabbed.
"What will happen to him if he dies?" Alana wondered aloud, a chilling realization settling over her: there was nothing she could do for Trinity, not in this specific way. For all the times she had wished Trinity would simply disappear, or that she wasn't her daughter, she hadn't considered Boris in those moments. How he would feel, what he would do, how he would break. Alana wasn't sure her mate could survive the death of his daughter.
Trinity's mind was a disorienting swirl of images and sensations. In the oppressive darkness, she glimpsed flashes of a man on the ground. But she was in his body, looking up at another human wielding a knife. The images were blurry, fragmented – from being on the ground to running, then a kaleidoscopic blur of fur and bright lights, followed by a vast sea of green stretching before her eyes. It was all a chaotic, messy jumble, disorienting and utterly incomprehensible.
With a sudden, terrified gasp, Trinity shot upright in the bed, her golden eyes wide and unfocused, locking onto Alana's. A desperate hope flickered within her: perhaps the worst was over. Perhaps it would finally stop.
Alana gazed into Trinity's brilliant golden eyes and felt it – a profound tug on her soul, a primal recognition within their bond. Trinity's usual pale blue eyes were now a striking, incandescent gold, a color that faded as rapidly as it had appeared, along with that deep, gnawing sensation of having finally found her daughter.
Alana was momentarily speechless. For a fleeting second, Trinity was truly her daughter, her true self, then that profound connection receded. Trinity's wolf was trying to emerge, struggling against an unseen barrier. Alana knew, with a fierce certainty, that she would help. She would force her daughter's wolf to the surface. She would bring her daughter home.
Author's note
I thought I should put it out there. I do not give trigger warnings. There will be death blood and sex. This is as close as you'll get to a trigger warning.