Third Person P.O.V
The girl hadn't moved.
Not once, not even when Jareth— the King's lead border scout—hoisted her into his arms like a broken thing. She was so light it took him by surprise, felt like he had picked up nothing more than a wet pillow.
She was freezing. Bones too close to the skin. Her pulse faint but present, steady in a way that shouldn't have been possible for someone that mangled. Her scent was tangled—rogue, yes, but beneath that... something wilder.
Something wrong.
Jareth didn't speak as he carried her through the winding trails of the northern woods, past the obsidian stone markers that lined the Lycan border like silent sentinels. Only once, when he caught the gleam of her wrist bone where skin had split open, did his jaw tighten.
He'd seen what rogues did to each other. He'd seen what alpha punishments looked like.
This wasn't either.
This was personal.
By the time they reached the outpost's med-hall, dawn had begun to stain the sky. He laid her gently on the padded table, blood dripping from the hem of her ruined tattered clothes onto the slate floor.
Dr. Esryn, the pack's head healer, stepped forward, already pulling on gloves.
"What is this?" Esryn asked, examining the girl with narrowed eyes. "Looks like she was dragged through hell."
"She crossed the river," Jareth replied. "Found her collapsed under the willow tree when we went to investigate what had set off the border alarm. She was completely alone. No weapons. No scent markers. She's rogue… technically. I must say though the rogue scent is vague so she couldn't have been one for long"
"And you let her live, you brought her here?" Esryn stated more than asked.
Esryn peeled away what was left of the girl's clothing with clinical care. The room went silent.
Scars. Bruises. Fresh welts layered over older ones. Burns near the spine. Her left shoulder was dislocated, and ribs—broken, healing, re-broken again. Even now as they looked over her, fresh bones laid broken under the skin poking out at unnatural bins.
Esryn hissed softly. "Moon, someone did a number on her. This wasn't just exile or rogue work. This was torture."
"She's barely seventeen by the looks of it," Jareth muttered. "And she made it across the river in one of the coldest winters we've ever had. "
"Which means she's stronger than she looks. Or too stubborn to die. Whatever she was running from she was determined to get away"
Jareth didn't respond.
He'd carried countless rogues off the battlefield. He'd slit the throats of more rogues than he could even remember. One's just like her, crossing into their lands looking for a fight.
But this girl hadn't come to fight. She barely came alive.
She'd come to escape…to survive.
Elsewhere in the stronghold, King Kelowna stood before the ancient stone map carved into his war hall floor, arms crossed behind his back. His mind in deep thought thinking over the attack from the ball. Then to have his border breached the very same night. He wasn't threatened by the breach; he actually found it amusing. And when the border alarm went off and he felt the pull, he could tell it was no more than one or two unwanted visitors. Probably rogues from the ball attack trying to get away. Unfortunately for them they slipped onto the wrong land. He wanted them alive. He had gotten ahead of himself at the ball, his wolf was having too much fun and forgot to leave one alive for questioning. Even though no rogue stood a chance against him he was slightly curious to see what provoked them this time around.
A deep solid knock at his door let him know he's about to get the answers he was wanting. And with his normal lazy yet cold tone he spoke.
"Enter."
The door creaked under its own heavy weight as it was pushed open.
"It was indeed a rogue my Lord, brought in alive...though barely." Jareth said, head down waiting for permission to say more.
Kelowna didn't turn. "Barely you say. Makes it more entertaining….. don't you think, when they put up a fight."
Jareth was quiet for only a moment as he thought about how to break the news of the girl to his King.
"M-my Lord. I wouldn't…. She was in her current sate when we found her. I had to rush her to the infirmary just to keep her alive."
The King turned around quicker than Jareth had time to process his eyes sharp, blazed.
"She? Infirmary? Report now!"
Jareth gave him everything—how he'd found her under the willow, unconscious but breathing. How her scent was wrong for a rogue. How the healer had never seen wounds like hers on someone still standing. How she was simply alone with no weapons other than a rusted knife that wouldn't do much damage.
When he finished, Kelowna was quiet.
Too quiet.
"She crossed alone, are you sure?" he finally asked.
"Yes, my King. No one was near her. She must have been being chased. That's the only logical reason I can think of for her seeking death by crossing that river. It's a miracle alone she made it across. The only fresh blood trail came from the river's edge."
"And no wolf?"
"No sign of a shift, no signs of any self-healing. She's either wolfless or…"
Jareth let the thought hang.
Kelowna turned now, finally shifting his eyes from his scout.
Something burned in his eyes. Not anger. Not yet.
But curiosity. And the edge of something darker.
"Keep her isolated," Kelowna said. "No contact. No questions. Not until I see her myself. And inform the Healer that he must do whatever it takes to keep her alive."
"Yes Alpha." Jareth bowled deep to his king before leaving the room.
Kelowna didn't say it aloud, but the thought rang through him like a drumbeat:
What kind of creature survives hell… only to wake on my land?
And why—when he'd never felt this feeling before—did the scent from the ball still linger in his chest like a wildfire waiting to be named?