Chapter 5 The Trial of Tradition

The three days following our midnight trip to Shadow Creek were tense with unspoken questions. Connor avoided being alone with me, burying himself in administrative work while I ran the clinic. My blood samples and research notes were secured in a locked drawer in my quarters—evidence of something I still couldn't fully comprehend.

I'd run every test possible with our limited equipment. My blood was human by all standard measures, yet it had neutralized the silver in Connor's system like a targeted antibody. The mark on my hand had deepened to a rich indigo, and sometimes I caught tribal members staring at it, then quickly looking away when I noticed.

Ezra had increased his visits to the clinic, watching me tend to patients with calculating eyes. I could feel the weight of his suspicion, though he said nothing directly. The council was meeting more frequently behind closed doors, and the atmosphere in the village had grown decidedly cooler toward me.

"They know something happened," Lydia told me during one of her check-ups. She'd become something of an ally, more open-minded than most of the elders. "Connor returned different. His scent changed."

"His scent?" I repeated, still uncomfortable with how casually the pack discussed such things.

"He carries traces of you now," she explained matter-of-factly. "Blood exchange creates bonds that can't be hidden."

I changed the subject, unwilling to discuss the implications. "How's Jacob doing? Has Connor sent the supplies I prepared?"

Lydia nodded. "The treatment protocol you developed has stabilized him. Elena is cautiously optimistic."

Relief washed through me. At least something good had come from our risky venture. The treatment I'd developed—a combination of immunosuppressants and plasma exchange—was experimental, but it was working.

"Has there been any progress identifying what happened to your patient in the city?" Lydia asked, her voice careful.

I shook my head. "Connor's been looking into whether any pack members were in the area at the time, but so far, nothing."

"And the injection marks? Could they have been made to mimic our bite?"

"It's possible," I admitted. "The punctures were precisely spaced, like fangs, but deeper examination showed they were hollow—consistent with a dual-needle injection device."

Our conversation was interrupted by a commotion outside—raised voices and the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly. The door burst open, and Connor entered, his expression grim.

"Ezra has called an emergency council," he said without preamble. "Both of you need to come. Now."

"What's happened?" I asked, packing up my medical supplies instinctively.

"There's been an incident at the eastern border." Connor's jaw was tight. "A human hiker was attacked. He's claiming a wolf the size of a man did it."

My heart sank. "Is he alive?"

"Yes. Local rangers found him and got him to the regional hospital." Connor looked troubled. "But he had silver powder in his backpack. He knew what he might encounter."

"A hunter?" Lydia suggested.

"Or bait," Connor replied darkly. "Either way, Ezra is blaming outside influences. Specifically, you, Alison."

I bristled. "That's absurd. I've done nothing but help your people."

"I know," Connor said, his voice softening slightly. "But there are... complications. The council needs to see you immediately."

The tribal longhouse was packed when we arrived. Every elder was present, along with several senior pack members. Ezra sat at the center, his weathered face set in hard lines. Next to him was a young man I recognized as one of the border guards, his arm bandaged and his expression defiant.

"Connor," Ezra greeted coldly. "Bring the doctor forward."

Connor's hand briefly touched the small of my back—a gesture of support that didn't go unnoticed by the assembled council. I stepped forward, keeping my expression neutral despite the hostility radiating from several elders.

"Dr. Carter," Ezra began, "are you aware that since your arrival, our pack has experienced a series of unprecedented disruptions? Altered transformation cycles, border incidents, and now direct human threats?"

"Correlation isn't causation," I replied evenly. "I've been working to help your people, not harm them."

"Have you?" Ezra's gaze dropped to my marked hand, where the indigo paw glowed visibly even in the daylight. "The healer's mark has never manifested this way before. You've interfered with natural cycles. You've encouraged our Alpha to violate our laws."

I glanced at Connor, whose expression remained carefully blank. "What laws have been broken?"

"Blood mixing," an elderly female elder stated. "The most sacred boundary between human and wolf."

So they knew. Somehow, they knew what had happened at Shadow Creek. I kept my voice steady. "I performed an emergency medical procedure. Connor's life was at risk."

"You crossed the barrier our ancestors established generations ago," Ezra countered. "And you did so without council permission."

Connor stepped forward. "The responsibility is mine. I made the decision to seek treatment."

"From a rival pack," another elder added. "Another violation."

The accusations continued, growing increasingly pointed. I was blamed for everything from the border incident to changes in weather patterns. It was clear this "trial" had been decided before it began.

"Enough," I finally interrupted. "If you want me to leave Gray Ridge, just say so. But don't pretend this is about tribal law when it's really about fear of change."

A murmur ran through the assembly. I had broken protocol by speaking out of turn, but I was beyond caring about their arcane rules.

"The human speaks truth," a voice called from the back. An ancient woman, so old her skin resembled parchment, stepped forward slowly with the aid of a carved staff. "She names our fear directly. That is the wolf way, not the human way."

"Grandmother," Ezra acknowledged, his tone softening with respect. "This doesn't concern you."

"All pack matters concern me, Ezra. I was Alpha when your grandfather was a cub." Her milky eyes turned toward me. "Come closer, doctor."

I approached cautiously. The old woman reached out with gnarled fingers, touching my face with surprising gentleness. She inhaled deeply, then nodded as if confirming something.

"This one carries the old blood," she announced. "The circle returns."

"Impossible," Ezra protested. "She's human."

"Is she?" The old woman's smile revealed surprisingly sharp teeth. "The mark tells another story. As does her scent now that she shares blood with our Alpha."

"Grandmother," Connor interjected, "what do you mean by 'the circle returns'?"

"The prophecy of the silver mother," she replied, as if this explained everything. "The healer who walks between worlds returns when the blood turns to silver."

The council shifted uncomfortably. Whatever this prophecy was, it clearly held significance. Ezra looked particularly disturbed.

"Prophecies are open to interpretation," he said dismissively. "What matters is that our laws have been broken. The human doctor has used witchcraft to control our Alpha."

"Witchcraft?" I couldn't help the incredulous laugh that escaped me. "I used medical science to save his life."

"Then explain this," Ezra demanded, gesturing to a young pack member who brought forward a wooden box. Inside were my blood samples and research notes—the ones I'd kept locked in my quarters.

Anger flashed through me. "You broke into my private space?"

"We protected our pack," Ezra corrected. "These contain forbidden knowledge. You've been experimenting with wolf blood, seeking ways to control us."

"I've been researching cures for conditions your traditional medicine can't address," I countered. "Ask Jacob from Shadow Creek if he objects to my 'witchcraft.'"

At the mention of Shadow Creek, several elders muttered darkly. Connor moved closer to me, his presence a silent support.

"The true issue," Ezra continued, "is that you've used your blood to influence our Alpha. Since your... intervention, Connor has opposed council decisions, changed patrol patterns, and shown concerning signs of human sympathy."

"Is independent thought a crime in your pack?" I challenged.

"Enough," Ezra snapped. "The evidence is clear. You've used blood magic to subvert our Alpha's will. The traditional penalty is banishment. For both of you."

The assembly erupted into heated debate. Connor stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chaos.

"I challenge this judgment," he declared formally. "By right of blood and rank, I demand the trial of transformation."

A shocked silence fell over the longhouse. Ezra's face paled. "You would risk that? After your injury?"

"I would," Connor confirmed. "Let the true wolf judge my actions."

"What is he doing?" I whispered to Lydia, who had moved to stand beside me.

"The oldest form of trial," she explained quietly. "He'll transform before the council—completely, not the partial form you've seen. If he maintains control of his wolf, his judgment is considered sound."

"And if he doesn't?"

Lydia's expression was grave. "Then they were right about your influence weakening him, and you'll both be exiled. Or worse."

"This is insane," I hissed. "His fang is broken. I've seen the effect it has on his control."

"That's why he's doing it," Lydia replied. "To prove that despite his injury, despite your blood in his veins, he is still worthy to lead."

The council reluctantly agreed to Connor's demand. The assembly moved outside to the ceremonial circle—the same one I had accidentally driven into on my first night. Connor stood at its center, having removed his shirt to reveal the scars that mapped his battles across his torso.

"Prepare the silver test," Ezra instructed.

Two guards approached with what looked like a silver-tipped spear. I started forward instinctively, doctor's instincts kicking in, but Lydia held me back.

"Don't interfere," she warned. "This is sacred."

"They're going to hurt him," I protested.

"The silver will force a complete transformation," she explained. "It's the only way to prove he's in full control."

Connor knelt in the center of the circle, his eyes finding mine briefly before he bowed his head. The guard with the silver spear approached, pressing the tip against Connor's shoulder just enough to break the skin.

The effect was immediate and horrifying. Connor's body convulsed as the silver entered his system, triggering the transformation. But unlike the controlled shift I'd witnessed before, this was violent—bones cracking audibly as they realigned, muscles bulging and contorting. His face elongated into a muzzle, teeth extending into deadly fangs—including the broken one, jagged and menacing.

The transformation completed in seconds, leaving a massive black wolf where Connor had knelt. The creature was twice the size of a natural wolf, with shoulders that would reach my chest if it stood beside me. Its eyes glowed amber in the fading daylight, fixed on Ezra.

"Alpha Connor," Ezra intoned formally. "The council questions your judgment. The human doctor has influenced you through blood mixing. Do you deny this charge?"

The wolf growled, a sound that vibrated through the ground beneath my feet.

"Will you submit to the wisdom of the council and sever your blood connection to the human?"

The wolf—Connor—rose to his full height, towering over the kneeling Ezra. For a terrifying moment, I thought he might attack the old shaman. Instead, he turned his massive head toward me.

Our eyes locked across the ceremonial circle. In that amber gaze, I saw Connor's consciousness—clear, focused, and very much in control. He deliberately turned back to Ezra and shook his head, a distinctly human gesture of refusal.

"Then you leave us no choice," Ezra said grimly. He motioned to the guards. "Restrain him until the council delivers judgment."

What happened next unfolded with shocking speed. One guard approached with a silver chain, but Connor was faster. He leapt over Ezra, powerful muscles propelling him across the circle toward me. Lydia pulled me back, but not before Connor landed between us and the approaching guards.

His massive body created a barrier, protecting me as he growled a warning at anyone who came too close. I could feel the heat radiating from his fur, see the muscles tensed for attack.

"He's chosen," the ancient grandmother announced, her voice carrying surprising strength. "The Alpha protects his mate."

"He's feral!" Ezra shouted. "The broken fang has corrupted his control!"

One of the guards raised what looked like a modified tranquilizer gun—loaded, I suspected, with silver bullets rather than sedatives. Acting purely on instinct, I pulled a syringe from my medical bag and plunged it into Connor's flank before anyone could stop me.

It wasn't silver nitrate as they might have feared, but the same calming agent I'd developed for the pack's children. Connor's massive body shuddered once, and I felt rather than heard his growl of surprise. He turned his head, amber eyes questioning, but remained firmly positioned between me and the guards.

"He's not attacking," I called out. "He's protecting. That's what Alphas do, isn't it? They protect their pack."

"You are not pack," Ezra spat.

"The mark and the blood say otherwise," the grandmother countered. "Look at him, Ezra. Perfect control, even with the broken fang. The trial is passed."

For several tense moments, no one moved. Connor remained in his protective stance, his breathing steady despite the silver still in his system from the test. Then, slowly, his fur brushed against my leg as he pressed closer.

Without thinking, I placed my hand—the marked one—on his massive shoulder. The indigo paw print flared brightly at the contact, and a ripple of visible energy passed from my palm into Connor's body. Before the astonished eyes of the council, Connor began to transform again—not violently this time, but smoothly, like water changing form.

Within seconds, he knelt beside me in human form, naked but dignified. The silver that should have kept him transformed for hours had been neutralized by my touch.

"The trial is complete," Connor announced, his voice hoarse but strong. "I am in control, and Dr. Carter is under my protection."

Ezra stared at us both, his authority visibly crumbling. The grandmother cackled with delight.

"The silver mother returns," she repeated. "The prophecy unfolds."

As Connor rose to his feet, someone brought him a blanket to wrap around his waist. The council members were backing away, some looking afraid, others thoughtful. Only then did I notice something warm trickling down my arm.

I looked down to see three parallel claw marks across my forearm—shallow, but definitely bleeding. In the confusion of Connor's transformation, his claws must have accidentally caught me.

"You're hurt," Connor said, noticing the blood at the same moment.

"It's nothing," I assured him, though I was already reaching for antiseptic wipes in my bag.

Ezra's eyes widened at the sight of my blood. "She bleeds," he said, as if this were significant.

"Of course she bleeds," Lydia replied irritably. "She's still human, prophecy or not."

But as I wiped away the blood, something strange happened. The wounds, which should have required stitches, began to close before our eyes—not instantly, but far faster than normal human healing.

"That's not possible," I whispered, watching my own flesh knit itself together.

Connor's hand covered mine, hiding the healing wounds from the staring council members. "We need to talk," he murmured. "Privately."

Ezra seemed to recover his composure. "The trial may be complete, but this matter is not resolved. The council will deliberate on what we've witnessed." His gaze hardened as he looked at me. "Until then, Dr. Carter remains under watch. She is not to leave the village or practice any more... medicine... without supervision."

"She remains under my protection," Connor stated, his tone making it clear this wasn't negotiable. "And she continues her work at the clinic. Those who need healing shouldn't suffer because of council politics."

The standoff between Alpha and shaman was palpable. Finally, Ezra inclined his head slightly—not submission, but temporary acceptance. "Until the next full moon, then. The council will deliver final judgment when the Great Spirit is strongest."

As the assembly dispersed, Connor kept his hand on my lower back, guiding me away from curious eyes. Neither of us spoke until we reached the privacy of the clinic.

"That was incredibly dangerous," he said once the door was closed. "Injecting me during transformation could have killed us both."

"So could a silver bullet," I countered. "I made a calculated decision."

"You're making a habit of those." His tone was stern, but his eyes held something softer. "Let me see your arm."

I extended it, pulling back the blood-stained sleeve. Where three deep claw marks had been, there were now only faint pink lines, like week-old scratches.

"This isn't normal," I said quietly. "Human bodies don't heal like this."

"No," Connor agreed. "They don't."

Our eyes met, and the question hung unspoken between us. If I wasn't fully human, what was I? And how much longer could I deny the evidence mounting before me?

"The grandmother called me 'silver mother,'" I said. "What does that mean?"

Connor sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's an ancient prophecy. The silver mother is said to be a healer who walks between worlds—human and wolf—who will return when the pack faces its greatest threat. When the blood turns to silver."

"Like Jacob's condition," I realized. "And your lunar fever."

"Yes." Connor's expression was troubled. "The prophecy says she will 'heal the blood and unite the divided.' It's why Ezra fears you so much. If you are the silver mother returned, everything changes."

"I'm not some mythical figure," I insisted. "I'm a doctor who's stumbled into something I don't fully understand."

"Are you sure about that?" Connor asked gently. "The mark, the healing, the effect of your blood on mine... These aren't coincidences, Alison."

He was right, and we both knew it. Something was happening to me—had been happening since the moment I crossed into Gray Ridge territory. Memories that weren't quite mine flickered at the edges of my consciousness, and the mark on my hand pulsed with a life of its own.

"I need time," I said finally. "Time to understand what's happening."

"Time is the one thing we may not have," Connor replied grimly. "The next full moon is in seventeen days. And whatever is causing the silver blood condition is spreading. Elena reported two new cases this morning."

I straightened, doctor's instincts taking over. "Then we need to work faster. I'll analyze my blood again, compare it to yours post-transfusion."

"And I'll try to discover who's been creating false evidence of wolf attacks," Connor added. "The hiker with silver powder is connected to your patient's death. I'm certain of it."

As we stood there in the fading light, human doctor and werewolf Alpha united by circumstances neither of us could have imagined, I felt something shift between us—a recognition of shared purpose that transcended the boundaries of our separate worlds.

"Whatever happens," I said, meeting his gaze steadily, "we face it together."

Connor's hand found mine, fingers intertwining with gentle strength. The mark on my palm flared brightly where our skin touched, casting indigo light across our joined hands.

"Together," he agreed. "As it was always meant to be."