"You know what, dear sister?" Selene's voice dripped with venom and triumph, her wolf gleaming behind her eyes. "Even if you died right here, Fenris would not blame me for a single heartbeat. He would be too busy feeling sorry for me."
Lyra woke to agony.
A dull, throbbing ache radiated from her temple, laced with a tearing sensation so sharp that tears spilled from her eyes the moment she opened them.
The scent of healing herbs and antiseptic salves hung thick in the air, burning her throat and churning her stomach. Her heightened Omega senses made every smell ten times stronger, and the sterile tang of the pack healers' den was overwhelming.
Instinctively, she raised her hand toward the wound on her forehead—but her wrist was caught mid-motion and pressed firmly back down.
"Don't move!" The healer changing her dressing spoke urgently, fingers securing the herb-infused compress wrapped around her wrist, brow furrowed. "This poultice was just applied. If you keep moving, the healing essence won't bind to your blood properly. You've got thirteen stitches in your forehead—the wound is deep. If you keep aggravating it, even our strongest salves won't prevent scarring. You'll carry that mark forever."
Lyra's arm froze in midair. Her gaze drifted slowly to the healing pouch suspended above her head.
Clear liquid dripped through the woven tubing, cold and indifferent. She parted her lips, her throat so dry that each word scraped like sandpaper: "How... did I end up in the healers' den? Who brought me here?"
The healer tidied the dressing tray as she answered casually, "Your intended mate brought you in. He said you two had a dispute, you got worked up during your emotional state, and you smashed a ceremonial vase over your own head. Made quite a scene—we could hear the commotion from across the den."
"He paid for your treatment and left—said there was an urgent pack gathering he couldn't miss." The healer paused, a note of weary advice creeping into her voice. "He specifically asked me to tell you he arranged for a caretaker from the omega quarters, so you can focus on recovering. Little one, no matter how angry you get, you can't gamble with your own life. If that wound had been just a little to the side, you could've lost your eye. Even wolf healing has its limits."
Smashed it over her own head?