The Lycan's Stolen Bride

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The door clicked shut behind Callie and she let out a breath she did not know she was holding.

The storage room was dark now, the small window letting in only a thin gray light. Outside the sky had gone heavy with clouds, the kind that promised rain but never seemed to deliver it. She sat down slowly on the edge of the cot, wincing at the sting in her arm.

The cut from the table's edge had stopped bleeding, but it still hurt with every small movement. She peeled back the cloth wrapped around it and looked at the wound in the weak light. It was deep. Deeper than she had first thought.

She should let it heal on its own. That would be the safe thing to do. No light, no risk, no questions.

But it throbbed with every heartbeat, and she was tired. Tired of hurting. Tired of waiting for pain to pass on its own when she knew a faster way.

She glanced at the door. No shadows moved under it. No footsteps in the hall. The house had gone quiet after the scene with Peter and Rowena, everyone retreating to their own corners to nurse their own dramas.

It should be safe enough.

Callie pressed her palm gently over the wound and closed her eyes. She thought of the first woman who taught her this, a quiet inmate with rough hands and a rougher voice, who never once smiled but always made sure Callie ate first before she did.

Focus, the woman used to say. Let it flow slow. Never rush it. Rushing wastes it and hurts you more than good.

Callie breathed out slow and let the warmth build under her palm. It started small, a soft pulse of heat gathering at her fingertips, then spreading down into her skin. She felt it sink into the wound, working at the broken edges of skin, coaxing them back together thread by thread.

A faint light glowed between her fingers, pale gold, flickering like a small flame trapped under her hand.

She kept her eyes on the door as she worked, listening hard for any sound in the hallway.

Nothing.

The wound pulled itself shut slowly, the ache easing bit by bit as she poured herself into it. She could feel the pull of tiredness settling into her bones, the same exhaustion she always felt after using this gift, like she had given away a piece of herself to fix another piece.

The light flickered brighter for a second as the last of the wound sealed.

Then, without warning, the door creaked open.

Callie's whole body went rigid. She yanked her hand back and shoved it behind her, curling her fingers into a fist, hiding the last traces of glow before it could fully die out on its own.

A young maid stood in the doorway, holding a small oil lamp, her eyes already wide with alarm.

For one terrible second neither of them moved.

Then the maid's gaze snapped to the space behind Callie's back, to the faint edge of light still fading from her curled fingers, barely visible in the dark room.

"What was that?" the maid asked, voice low, unsure. "I saw something. A light. Under the door."

Callie kept her hand pressed firmly against her back, willing the last of the warmth to die out completely. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure the maid could hear it.

"There's no light," Callie said, keeping her voice flat and even. "It's dark in here. You probably saw the moon through the window."

The maid frowned, glancing up at the small window near the ceiling. Clouds still hung heavy outside, gray and thick, blotting out any trace of moon or stars.

"There's no moon tonight," the maid said slowly. "It's cloudy. Has been all evening."

Callie's stomach dropped, but she kept her face still. She had learned a long time ago that panic showed on the face before it showed anywhere else, and the moment someone saw fear, they knew they had found something worth chasing.

"Then maybe it was a candle," Callie said. "I don't know what you saw. I was just sitting here."

The maid's eyes lingered on her a moment longer, on the tension in her shoulders, the way her arm stayed pressed unnaturally behind her back. Callie held her stare, refusing to look away first, refusing to give anything else that might feed the girl's suspicion.

Finally the maid shook her head, like she was shaking off a strange feeling she could not explain. "Must have been my eyes playing tricks," she muttered, more to herself than to Callie. "It's been a long day."

"It has," Callie agreed quietly.

The maid straightened, remembering why she had come in the first place. "The family wants you. Now. In the main sitting room."

Callie's chest tightened. "Now?"

"Now," the maid repeated, already turning to leave. "They said to hurry. Don't keep them waiting."

The maid disappeared back down the hall, her lamp casting long shadows against the walls as she went. Callie sat still for a moment longer, waiting until the footsteps faded completely before she finally let her arm drop from behind her back.