A Female Alpha’s Revenge novel Chapter 714

Chapter 714

Third Person’s POV

“Moon Goddess, help us.” Skye was spiraling. This was a nightmare. Alpha Howell wasn’t even in the pack!

He had slipped out of the capital long before the New Year’s Gala, using a “relapse of an old illness” as a cover story to go into seclusion.

For years, the Silverlight Pack had been total wallflowers–ghosts in the social scene.

They never caused a stir, stayed out of the spotlight, and barely rubbed elbows with the royal heavy hitters.

They never, in a million years, expected Clarissa to drop Dr. Hughes on their doorstep.

Luna Skye was a nervous wreck, her fingers twisting her handkerchief into a knot. “Alpha Howell already has a private doctor. He’s stable, really. There’s no need to trouble Dr. Hughes.”

“It’s no trouble. We’re already here,” Richard said flatly, wearing a polished, corporate–ready smile.

“Besides, this is a direct order from Clarissa. If Dr. Hughes doesn’t get a personal look, we can’t exactly head back to the Palace and tell her mission accomplished,‘ now can we?”

Skye was a leaf in the wind. She didn’t have a backbone, and she honestly had no clue what Howell was actually up to. He’d just told her he needed to vanish for a while and that she had to keep her mouth shut.

A moment later, Herman, the pack butler, stepped out from the inner rooms. A thin layer of sweat coated his forehead, but he was doing his best to play it cool.

“So sorry, but Alpha Howell just took his meds and crashed. Can Dr. Hughes even do a diagnosis while he’s dead to the world?”

“Absolutely,” Dr. Hughes replied, picking up his medical bag.

His tone was clipped and professional.

“Since he’s asleep, I’ll just check his vitals. After that, you can hand over his medical records. I can tell a real illness from a fake one just by looking at the charts.”

Herman went rigid.

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Chapter 14

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He’d actually staged the room with an old veteran who had a chronic condition, tucking him into the master bed behind heavy curtains to act as a body double.

But Howell wasn’t even sick, so where were the records supposed to come from? If he handed over the veteran’s files, the names and dates wouldn’t match.

“The records… the private doctor keeps those off site,” Herman lied through his teeth.

“The private doctor doesn’t live with the pack? You don’t have a resident physician in your own pack?”

Dr. Hughes narrowed his eyes, turning to Luna Skye.

Skye started to nod, about to say they did, but she caught the murderous look in Herman’s eyes and choked on her words. She quickly shook her head.

“No, no… we usually just call someone in from the hospital.”

Richard let out a soft chuckle that sounded like a serrated blade.

“That’s fine. We can wait while you send someone to go grab the files. We’ve got all day.”

Faking a medical record wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was making it match the exact condition of the old guy currently in the bed, all while standing up to the scrutiny of the best doctor in the kingdom.

Herman was backed into a corner. His mind raced as he tried a different angle.

“The doctor lives pretty far; it’ll take ages to get those files. And honestly, he’s been treating Alpha Howell for months with no results. He’s probably incompetent. Why don’t you just give Alpha Howell a once–over now?”

Dr. Hughes nodded and grabbed his bag. “Fine. Lead the way.”

The group walked down the long corridor to Alpha Howell’s master bedroom.

The place looked like a high–security biohazard zone.

The heavy velvet curtains were pinned shut, blocking out every stray beam of light.

The air was thick with the stinging scent of disinfectant and a heavy–duty sedative spray used to mask pheromones.

“He” was sleeping inside a temporary sterile pod surrounded by thick, semi–transparent medical curtains. You could just barely make out a human shape inside.

Beside the bed, an EKG monitor gave off a faint, rhythmic beep… beep…

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Herman hurried forward, positioning himself in front of the curtains.

“Dr. Hughes, Alpha Howell has developed lupine shingles. It’s highly contagious, and he’s got open sores that can’t be exposed to light. For your own safety, please don’t open the pod.”

Dr. Hughes snorted. He wasn’t the type to be scared off by a little infection. He pulled on a pair of medical gloves and stepped up.

“I’m a doctor. I’m not worried about a rash. Just pull his hand out. I need a blood sample and a ‘Soul Trace‘ scan to check his wolf spirit.”

Herman’s eyes darted around in a panic. He unzipped a small flap at the bottom of the pod and pulled out an arm.

It had an IV line taped to it, and the skin was deathly pale, covered in blotchy red spots.

Hughes didn’t draw blood right away. He stared at the hand, then squeezed the muscle of the forearm.

The room went dead silent, save for the steady beep of the monitor.

After a few seconds, Hughes’s brow furrowed. His expression shifted from confusion to shock, and finally, to cold, hard fury.

“Strange… very strange,” he muttered under his breath.

Sky’s heart was in her throat. Behind his back, Herman’s hands were balled into tight fists.

“What is it, Dr. Hughes?”

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