h4Chapter 64: Chapter 64 The Pup Is Gone/h4

Another hour passed, and despite their relentless efforts, the healer and the pack doctor failed to save the pup,rgely due to ire’s uncooperative behavior. Eventually, the steady rhythm of the tiny heartbeat faded into silence. The old doctor, doubting his aging ears, leaned in closer, hoping he was mistaken. But the truth was undeniable.

The pup was gone.

With the assistant still missing and no herbs avable to numb ire’s senses, they were left with no choice. The doctor handed ire a cloth to bite down on—there was no time, and they couldn’t risk her biting her tongue. With no anesthesia, and her fully conscious, they prepared to open her belly to remove the lifeless child.

"Miss ire, I’m deeply sorry to inform you... the pup didn’t survive the treatment," the old doctor said gently, his voice heavy with sorrow as he studied every crease in ire’s expression.

For the briefest moment, he caught a flicker of something unexpected in her eyes—tion, quickly masked beneath a veil of grief. His gaze darkened slightly. He hadn’t imagined it. ire was trying to hide it, but he could tell—she had been hoping for this oue.

The realization disturbed him. Why would she not want the child, especially if it belonged to his Alpha? He couldn’t make sense of it.

But now wasn’t the time to question motives. They still needed to remove the lifeless pup from her womb—if they didn’t act quickly, ire’s life would be at risk fromplications.

"Miss ire, we need to remove the dead pup from your womb," the doctor said calmly, though his tone carried urgency. "My assistant hasn’t returned with the anesthetics, but we can’t afford to wait any longer. The longer the pup remains inside you, the greater the risk ofplications—your life is in danger."

ire didn’t flinch. She kept crying, but her sobs had softened into something quieter, more resigned. It was as if she had already anticipated this. She nodded slowly, a picture of grief on the surface—but her expression didn’t quite match the sorrow in her voice. The doctor noticed the disconnect, saw through the cracks in her mask. And ire knew it—felt the weight of being seen through—and turned her gaze away.

Without another word, the doctor moved to sterilize the knife he would use. The healer, now serving as his assistant, stood beside him. Both of them scrubbed their hands thoroughly, then cleansed again with alcohol before drying. Everything was done with brisk precision.

When he was ready, the doctor gave ire a nod.

ire bit down hard on the towel they’d handed her. Then came the cut.

A sharp, searing pain sliced through her belly as the cold steel met flesh. It was a clean incision, but the agony was blinding. Her entire body trembled violently, her scream caught in her throat as she clung desperately to what little strength she had left.

"Ugh!" ire groaned, but only she knew the truth—she had expected this.

If she wasn’t cruel to herself, her enemies would be. This was the price she chose to pay, the pain she chose to endure. At least this way, everything remained on her terms, under her control. And to her, that was far better than living at someone else’s mercy.

As she endured the searing pain, deep in the forest, Zion was going feral. The entire Midnight River Pack was in chaos. Yet within the pack, those unaware of the full truth—like the pack doctor and the healer—simply focused on their task.

Hours passed in tense, meticulous silence as the procedure continued. Blood flowed freely from ire’s body, staining the towels red. The healer worked swiftly to clean it away, but both she and the doctor soon noticed something unexpected—ire’s wolf had begun to heal her.

It was as if her wolf had just waited for the pup to die before emerging—finally free to lend its strength.

In truth, it was only now that ire finally released her wolf.

The moment it emerged, it was overwhelmed with pain—the devastating realization that their pup was truly gone. Until now, it had clung to a fragile hope, believing the pup might survive. But ire had kept it buried deep within her mind, locking it away and silencing its instincts. Helpless, the wolf could only watch as its connection to the unborn life slowly faded, until it could do nothing but howl in grief.

It was still mourning. And it hated her for it.

ire’s wolf resented her deeply—for her cruelty, for her choice, for robbing them both of what should have been sacred. Taking the life of one’s own pup was a taboo among wolves, an offense against the Moon Goddess herself. A pup was not just a child—it was a divine gift, a blessing every female wolf yearned for, the very purpose of their existence: to create life and bring it into the world crafted for them.

Now, that gift had been stolen—snatched away not by fate, but by ire’s own hand.

So how could the wolf not hate her?

And yet... it still healed her.

Not out of love. Not out of loyalty. But because letting ire die now would be too easy. Death would be an escape. No—the wolf wanted ire to live. To suffer. To feel the full weight of what she had done. Only then would she understand true despair.

Normally, a wolf and its human counterpart are two halves of the same soul—distinct in character but aligned in essence. They share the same wavelength, ideals, and instincts. Like two sides of the same coin, they may be different, but they are inseparable—unable to survive without one another.

But in ire’s case, that bond had fractured.

Without even realizing it, her own wolf had turned against her. Or perhaps she had simply stopped listening—too consumed by her own feelings, too fixated on her goals. She had neglected not only her wolf, but the people around her. In her single-minded pursuit, she failed to see what was slipping through her fingers.

And now, her downfall had already been set in motion—not by an enemy, not by fate, but by the very being within her.

Her wolf.

And this—this was its revenge for the death of their pup.

ire growled through clenched teeth as searing pain radiated from the incision in her belly. Her wolf, instinctively trying to heal the wound, kept forcing it to close—again and again. Each time, the pack doctor had to reopen it, working quickly to prevent ire from losing too much blood.

He knew what was happening.

Her wolf was doing this on purpose—prolonging the pain, making ire suffer. It was a punishment. The doctor, though silent, wasn’t blind to it. He had lived long enough, delivered enough pups, and seen enough grief to recognize when a wolf’s instincts turned vengeful. But he said nothing. He simply focused on the task at hand.

After opening the wound once more, he carefully pushed asideyers of fat and muscle until he reached the womb. There, lying eerily still, was the pup. Its tiny body had a faint purplish hue, and it had clearly stopped breathing. The umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck—tight, a silent executioner. It must have thrashed inside, stressed by everything that had happened, fighting to live.