CHAPTER 79: A WOUND TO MEND

The rooftop of the castle was hushed that night, wrapped in the kind of stillness that makes the smallest sounds sharper. Rion had went inside his bedroom.

Lanterns glowed faintly along the railing, painting the stone floor in soft halos of light. From here, I could see the Undercity spread beneath me like a sea of scattered stars, its streets alive even in the dark.

A table and a pair of chairs had been placed near the edge, no doubt for those who enjoyed the view. I sat there, elbows on the table, my book resting closed in front of me.

When Rion finally emerged from the tower across the bridge, a small wooden box was tucked beneath his arm.

He crossed the bridge, and without asking, set the box down on the table. Then he took the seat beside me.

I tilted my head, studying him from the corner of my eye. "Is there some sort of special treasure in your bedroom, so you don’t want anyone stepping foot inside?"

Though, I couldn’t deny the relief that he hadn’t insisted I enter his chambers earlier. Just the thought of stepping foot in his private space made my skin prickle with unease.

Did he know that? Did he know I was uncomfortable so he just didn’t push it? I wonder.

His lips curved in that insufferable way. "I am the special treasure."

I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing. The arrogance of this man knew no bounds.

Without another word, he rolled his sleeve up past his elbow. The motion revealed the long, angry gash carved across his forearm. He placed the arm casually on the table, as though offering me a platter of fruit rather than his own injury.

The wound had already begun to close, but it was still raw, the skin red and swollen.

Strong wolf shifters healed faster than ordinary ones, but a slash this deep would take time even for them. A day, maybe two. With medicine, it could heal in less than a day, especially medicine crafted by skilled healers.

Still, seeing the size of it made my breath catch. The wound must have been larger before. If he were an ordinary wolf, it would have been life-threatening. He could have bled to death shortly after he got it.

And yet here he was, sitting like nothing happened, as though it was nothing more than a scratch.

Did he get into a fight?

I tugged the box closer and lifted the lid. Inside, the rows of bottles gleamed under the lantern light. They were labeled neatly, the handwriting sharp and clear. Even if I wasn’t a healer, I recognized most of the words.

"You didn’t even bother to see a healer," I muttered, sharper than my usual tone, almost scolding.

His crimson eyes slid toward me, glinting like firelight. "You sound like a nagging wife."

I froze for a heartbeat before shooting him a glare. "Don’t flatter yourself."

He chuckled low in his chest, clearly entertained.

There were healers in every pack—rare, gifted wolves whose abilities could mend wounds that would cripple others. Even those with lesser talent could at least slow bleeding, dull pain, or coax the body to heal. With a city as vast as the Undercity, there had to be at least one or two in his service.

Didn’t he think of seeing one before going home? Doesn’t he have any brain?

I heard Leika’s faint snicker inside me. I internally rolled my eyes, knowing well that Leika’s teasing me for thinking too much about it.

I honestly don’t care if he bleeds to death, but for the sake of the blood bargain, he wouldn’t be of any use to me if he’s dead.

I didn’t say anything, Leika replied.

"You seem a lot more interested in me than I thought," Rion said lazily, leaning back in his chair as though he was just sitting here for leisure.

I ignored him and selected a bottle. The faint scent of bitter medicine wafted out when I uncorked it.

Dipping a strip of cloth into the liquid, I carefully pressed it against his wound.

His skin was hot beneath my fingertips, the strength beneath it taut, coiled like steel.

Heat crawled up my arm before I could stop it, a strange flutter sparking in my chest.

My fingers trembled faintly, but I forced them steady, keeping my face composed, my lips pressed in a thin, disinterested line.

Rion didn’t flinch. He only watched me intently, his gaze fixed on my every movement. It was the kind of stare that felt too heavy, too sharp.

I felt anxious even when I couldn’t really see his eyes staring, but of course I could still feel it. He was inches away, and there was no way I couldn’t tell where his eyes were at this proximity.

I swallowed hard and reached for another cloth, dabbing carefully at the edges of the wound. My heart fluttered in unease, but I refused to let it show. I kept my face straight. Though I was sure he could sense it. The thought was embarrassing but I couldn’t really do anything about that.

"I’m just worried," I said coolly, both as an answer to his smug remark and to shatter the awkward silence between us, "that you’re not in the best shape to fulfill your end of the bargain."

The words came out calm, but my heart betrayed me, thudding faster with every second I lingered close to him. I kept my gaze locked on his arm, pretending the wound demanded all my focus, when in truth it was the man himself who unsettled me most.

"Oh, you shouldn’t worry." His voice was smooth, laced with arrogance. "Even if I had a dozen wounds like this, I’d still be in perfect shape to keep my end of the bargain."

I pressed the cloth against his skin, maybe a little harder than necessary. Typical. He sounded so sure of himself it made my teeth clench.

"Of course," I said, my tone dripping with mockery. "You are the mighty Alpha of Undercity. How foolish of me to think a mere scratch could bring you down. Forgive me if I’ve offended your pride."