The infirmary was a cold, sterile cavern carved from the limestone heart of the fortress. It smelled of dried sage, bitter iron, and the faint, sweet rot of magic.
Elara sat on the edge of a stone plinth, her fur cloak discarded. The claw mark on her shoulder from the initial infiltration had reopened during the skirmish, and blood was beginning to seep through the thin linen of her tunic.
"Leave us," Kaelen commanded, his voice echoing against the vaulted ceiling.
Sophia stood by a table filled with glass retorts and silver basins. Her violet eyes lingered on Elara's wound with a look of intense, clinical hunger. "Alpha, her human physiology is fragile. I should be the one to—"
"I said, leave," Kaelen repeated, his tone dropping to a warning growl.
Sophia tightened her grip on a small crystal vial in her hand, her knuckles turning white. She glanced at Ren, who was leaning against the doorway, his silhouette as sharp as the daggers he favored. With a stiff nod, she placed the vial on the table and swept out of the room, Ren following silently behind her.
As the heavy oak door thudded shut, the silence in the room became a physical weight.
Kaelen walked over to the table and picked up the vial Sophia had left. It contained a shimmering, iridescent liquid—Dreamer's Breath. Elara recognized it instantly from her training. It was a potent hallucinogen used to break a prisoner's will by blurring the line between memory and reality.
"Sophia claims this will dull the pain," Kaelen said, his eyes fixed on the liquid. He walked over to Elara, towering over her. "But we both know Sophia's 'gifts' usually come with a price."
He uncorked the vial. A scent like crushed lilies and ozone filled the air.
"I... I don't like medicine," Elara whispered, shrinking back. Her fear was only half-acted; if that liquid touched her bloodstream, her internal mental firewalls—the ones keeping "The Ghost" hidden—might crumble.
"Neither do I," Kaelen murmured. He dipped a clean cloth into a basin of water and began to wipe the dried blood from her shoulder.
His touch was surprisingly gentle, yet the calluses on his palms felt like sandpaper against her skin. Elara's muscles instinctively tensed—a warrior's reaction to a vulnerability—but she forced herself to shiver instead, her breath hitching in a simulated sob.
"You have the body of someone who has suffered, Elara," Kaelen said, his voice low and rhythmic, almost hypnotic. He traced the edge of an old scar on her collarbone—one she'd received years ago during a mission in the desert. "But these aren't the marks of a kitchen maid. These are the marks of a survivor."
"In the camps... they weren't kind," she lied, her eyes downcast.
Kaelen picked up the vial of Dreamer's Breath. "Sophia says this reveals the truth of the soul. If I apply this to your wound, will I see the girl who saved my life today? Or will I see the creature who throws stones with the precision of a master assassin?"
He held the vial inches from her open wound. Elara could feel the cold vapor of the drug. Her heart hammered against her ribs—not with fear, but with the cold, hard calculation of a cornered predator. If he poured it, she would have to kill him. Right here. Right now.
She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears, and did something reckless. She grabbed his wrist, her small hand looking fragile against his massive arm.
"Then let it show you," she choked out, her voice raw with desperation. "Let it show you the nightmares. Let it show you how much I hate this world for taking everything from me. If you want to break me, Kaelen, just do it. But don't pretend you're doing it to help me."
Kaelen froze. He stared into her eyes, searching for the lie. He saw the pain, the rage, and the bone-deep weariness—all of which were real, though directed at her life in the Organization, not the story she'd told him.
For a long moment, the only sound was the crackling of a torch on the wall.
Then, Kaelen slowly recorked the vial and tossed it onto the table. It shattered against a mortar, the shimmering liquid spilling harmlessly across the stone.
"I don't need a witch's potion to tell me who you are," Kaelen said, his voice thick with a sudden, dark heat.
He leaned in, his hand moving from her shoulder to the nape of her neck, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin behind her ear. The air between them hummed with a tension that was no longer just about suspicion. It was a lethal temptation, a pull of two broken souls recognizing the darkness in each other.
"You're a liar, Elara," he whispered, his lips inches from hers. "A beautiful, dangerous liar. And I think I'm beginning to like the taste of your secrets."
He didn't kiss her. He simply stayed there, his forehead resting against hers, his wolf scent—cedar and cold rain—enveloping her until she felt dizzy.
Elara's hands remained on his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. For a heartbeat, she forgot the Moonstone. She forgot her sister. She forgot the needle in her boot.
He knows, she realized with a jolt of terror. He knows I'm a weapon, and he's not trying to disarm me. He's trying to claim me.
Outside the door, Sophia pressed her ear to the wood, her face twisted in a mask of fury. She had heard the vial break. Her plan had failed.
"He's choosing the human over the pack's safety," she hissed to Ren, who stood in the shadows, his arms crossed.
Ren didn't answer. He was looking at a small scuff mark on the floor—the exact spot where Elara had stood earlier. He noticed that her footprints were perfectly spaced, even when she was supposed to be staggering.
"He's not choosing her," Ren said, his voice like grinding stones. "He's obsessed with the challenge. But a wolf who plays with a viper eventually gets bitten."
Inside the room, Kaelen finally pulled away. He picked up a jar of ordinary salve and began to finish bandaging her wound, his movements brisk and efficient.
"Get some sleep, Elara," he said, not looking at her. "Tomorrow, the elders will demand more than just a stone-throwing display. You'll need your strength for what comes next."
As he walked out, Elara sat in the silence, her shoulder throbbing. She looked at the shattered remains of the Dreamer's Breath on the floor.
She had survived the witch's trap, but she was falling into a much deeper one. Kaelen wasn't just her target anymore; he was becoming the very thing she was trained to avoid: an obsession.
She reached into her hair and pulled out a small, silver pin—the one she used to pick locks.
I need to get to that vault tonight, she thought, her eyes turning cold. Before I forget why I'm here.