Liam’s POV
I arrived at the side house with Roman. I had hoped to find her in a better condition—there were questions I needed to ask her. But for that, I first had to send Roman away.
As we stepped into the house, Roman gestured toward the sofa. "Please wait here. I’ll check on her first."
He disappeared down the hall and returned a few minutes later. "You can co in. She’s awake."
I gave a short hum and followed him into the bedroom. She was sitting on the couch by the window in that small, quiet room. Dressed in nothing but a thin, oversized shirt that hung loosely over her frail fra, she had her legs folded tightly to her chest, staring blankly out the window.
She looked pitiful—but at least better than the day before. Maybe the shower had washed away so of the exhaustion.
"How are you, Eira?" I asked gently as I approached the couch and set my bag on the center table.
She turned to look at . At least she acknowledged my presence. Her expression was calm—far too calm—and completely unreadable.
As expected, she didn’t answer.
Not taking it personally, I sat down at the other end of the couch, facing her. "I need to check your wounds," I told her and began without waiting for a response.
She unfolded her legs, silently allowing to inspect the bruises and lacerations on her thighs. "Hmm, they’re healing. The swelling should be gone in a day or two." I didn’t bother checking the rest—if these were healing, the others would be as well.
Roman had clearly applied ointnt to them already. At least he was taking care of her, or I had already lost hope in these five monsters.
I tended to her toes and wrapped them again with fresh bandages. "These will take a little longer to heal," I inford her, but she seed indifferent, eyes still fixed on the window like the world outside held more aning than anything I could say.
When I finished, I looked at Roman. "Has she eaten anything?"
"After that pancake, nothing," he said. "I tried, but she didn’t like anything else."
"Then just get her another pancake," I told him. "I’ll stay and chat with her while you’re gone. Keep her company."
Roman didn’t argue. He nodded once and turned to leave for the main house. No doubt, he’d ask Lucian to make it again—and that bastard would throw a tantrum before even touching a pan.
And this was my chance to ask what I’d co for.
"Eira," I called softly.
She looked at , her gaze empty and distant.
"I want to ask you sothing important," I said.
As if my voice was just another burden, she turned her face back to the window, showing no interest in conversation. But I knew how to handle this. I was a doctor—I understood people, understood the quiet signals that most would overlook.
So I asked her directly, "Where is the child you gave birth to?"
That did it.
Her entire body stiffened, and she turned to face again. The calm was gone from her eyes, replaced by a storm—shock, pain, and a flood of raw, buried emotion. I had hit the mark.
"I know you had a child," I continued gently. "I just want to know what happened."
Her eyes welled with tears, the pain in them held abyssal depth.
"I can understand what you’re feeling," I said, my voice soft with compassion. "But maybe I can help you. You need to open up, Eira. Tell ... where is your child?"
Her lips quivered. Then, finally, the tears spilled over. "They... took him away..." she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible.
I hadn’t expected her to answer so quickly. That child clearly ant the world to her. Of course he did—she was a mother. But what caught my attention even more was the faint flicker of hope in her gaze. As if sowhere deep inside, she still believed she could get him back.
And this was the chance to make her talk more, and I was going to use it.
"Where?" I asked quietly.
"I don’t know..." Her tear-filled eyes t mine. "They said... if I obeyed everything they told , they’d release after five years. They’d let see him... but..."
Her voice broke, the words refusing to co out.
"Him?" I repeated. "It was a baby boy?" I asked and pondered over her words, "Free you after five years? That ans he is five now?"
She nodded, slowly, the silent plea in her eyes clear. She wanted help. She needed it. She just didn’t know if she could ask for it.
I had to piece together the rest. "And after those five years... they didn’t let you go. Instead, they sold you to the ones who auctioned you off to powerful Alphas?"
Again, she nodded.
Five years old. That ant she’d been pregnant after she was sent to prison, if I had calculated it right?
"Who’s the father?" I asked, my tone careful but firm.
This ti, the mont I said it, sothing shifted. Her gaze broke away from mine. It was like she’d been pulled out of those raw emotions and back into her shell. She looked away, refusing to answer.
Clearly She didn’t want to talk about him.
"Eira, you know as well as I do—you could only conceive a child with your fated mate. And that mate could only be one of the Alphas," I said carefully. "There are many Alphas in our pack. Who was it?"
She didn’t respond.
"Soone outside our pack? Was it Keiren from the Dreadwyn Pack?" I continued, trying again. "He was an Alpha too. You had a relationship with him. Was it him?"
Still, nothing. Just silence.
"Was it soone in prison? Soone who took advantage of you? Or... did you et him after being sold to the traffickers— one of your client?"
Her silence remained stubborn, like a wall she refused to let crumble.
"For god’s sake, Eira, say sothing," I urged, my voice low and desperate. "We don’t have much ti. Roman will be back any mont. Don’t you want to find your son?"
At last, she looked at . Not like she’d heard —but like the ntion of her son had snapped her back to being rational.
"Yes," I said, catching that flicker of emotion. "I can help you find him. I promise. But I need to know who’s your mate—"
"He’s dead," she cut in, her voice cold and sharp. "That man is dead. You can’t find him anyway."
"Dead?" I echoed, stunned. "Who could kill an Alpha?"
"I did," she answered, without hesitation. Her tone didn’t waver. There was no remorse in it—only fury.
"You..." I stared at her, shocked. But she was a pureblood too. Maybe desperation had driven her to it. Maybe sothing far darker.
Still, a part of wondered—was she telling the truth? Or simply dodging the question?
"Did he know?" I asked. "Did he know you were carrying his child?"
She shook her head.
"Why did you kill him?" I asked again.
"I’ve killed plenty of people without needing a reason," she said, eyes gleaming with cold fire. "Killing one more shouldn’t be a surprise."
The grieving mother who’d just shed tears over her son was gone—replaced by a woman burning with hate. Whoever that man had been, she despised him. Even the ntion of him brought rage to the surface like poison boiling beneath her skin.
"At least tell who he was. His bloodline, his pack... sothing," I pressed.
She turned back to the window and muttered, "Just a nobody, a fucking bastard."
And with that, she shut the world out again.
One thing was clear, if anyone she hated the most, was that man, a father of her child. But who could that be? Maybe I could make her talk again, and she spills it for the sake of finding her son.
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