Zayn’s howl shook the ground as he knelt by Lily’s side. His eyes blazed with fury that made even the bravest pack members step back. Blood still seeped from his own wounds, but he paid them no mind.
All he saw was Lily—pale, bleeding, and barely conscious.
“Cut her free,” he growled to the nearest guard, who scrambled to obey.
As the ropes fell away, Lily collapsed into Zayn’s arms. He cradled her against his chest, his hands trembling with rage and fear. Her blood soaked through his shirt, warm against his skin. With gentle movements that belied his fury, he pressed his palm against her wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
He used some of his own bandages to wrap the wound tightly, hoping it would stop the bleeding. What he could not ignore was what his pack had done.
Zayn turned his attention back to the gathering, his face twisted into a mask of pure rage.
“Who did this?” His voice was deathly quiet.
