The Lycan's Stolen Bride

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The door was unlocked. It gave easily beneath her hand, swinging open just enough for her to slip inside before easing it shut behind her, careful not to let the latch click too loudly.

The room was dim, lit only by the low burn of a single candle left on the bedside table, wax pooling thick around its base. The general lay in the bed, still dressed in his undershirt from earlier, blankets pushed low around his waist like he had been too warm or too restless to keep them properly settled. His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven breaths, his face even in sleep pulled tight with some deep, constant discomfort.

Callie stood just inside the door for a long moment, studying him, second-guessing herself all over again.

This is foolish, she thought again. But she was already crossing the room, already kneeling carefully beside the bed, already reaching toward the edge of his loosened shirt where a faint discoloration marked the skin beneath, dark veins spreading out from some central point like cracks through glass.

She had never seen anything quite like it. Not from any wound at the camp, not from any injury she had treated in secret over the years. Whatever magic had caused this, it sat wrong beneath her fingers even before she touched him, something colder and heavier than ordinary injury.

She pressed her palm gently against the skin near the wound, careful not to press directly against it, careful not to wake him.

She closed her eyes and let the warmth build slowly, the way her first mentor had taught her. Focus. Let it flow slow. Never rush it.

The heat gathered at her fingertips, faint and gold, and she guided it carefully into the darkened skin, feeling immediately how differently it moved compared to any ordinary wound. It resisted her at first, the dark threads beneath his skin pushing back against her gift like something alive and unwilling to let go. She breathed out slowly and pressed further, patient, coaxing rather than forcing, easing the darkness back thread by thread the same way she might work loose a stubborn knot.

The general shifted slightly in his sleep, a low groan escaping him, and Callie froze, hand still pressed lightly against his side, breath caught in her throat.

He did not wake. His face, after a moment, seemed to ease slightly, the tight clench of his jaw loosening by some small fraction, his breathing settling into something a little less labored than before.

She kept working, slow and careful, pulling just enough of the dark sickness loose to dull the worst of his pain, to start closing the ragged edges of whatever wound sat hidden beneath that spreading darkness. She did not try to heal it fully. She could feel, even without fully understanding it, that this was deeper and more complicated than anything she could finish in one quiet visit, and pushing herself too far tonight would only leave her drained and vulnerable if anyone questioned her in the morning.

Enough for now, she told herself. Enough to ease him. The rest can wait.

She drew her hand back slowly, watching the faint golden light fade from her fingertips as she withdrew, the discoloration beneath his skin visibly lighter than before, the tight lines of pain in his sleeping face softened just slightly.

Callie sat back on her heels for a moment, studying him, feeling the familiar pull of exhaustion settle heavy into her own limbs. It was smaller than the price she had paid for the matriarch or would pay for others still to come, but it was there nonetheless, a debt her body would collect from her whether she liked it or not.

She rose carefully, smoothing her shawl back into place, and cast one last glance at him. His face, for the first time since she had seen him at the party, looked something close to peaceful.

Good, she thought. That will have to be enough for tonight.

She crossed the room silently, eased the door open just enough to slip through, and pulled it shut behind her with the same careful control she had used to enter.

The latch clicked softly into place.

Down the hallway, barely visible in the dim light of the wall sconces, a young servant girl carrying a fresh stack of linens toward one of the other guest rooms stopped mid-step, eyes going wide.

She had seen it clearly, just for a moment before the door shut, a soft golden glow spilling out from beneath the general's door, fading the instant it closed.

The girl stood frozen for only a second longer before spinning on her heel and hurrying quickly back down the hallway, linens clutched tight against her chest, already rushing to find someone to tell.