Chapter 4

I paused for a moment, then my expression smoothed over. I calmly reached out and took the file from Damine.

"It's nothing. Just a confirmation receipt from the Southern Sanctuary for their anti-silver toxin remedies. They must have mixed up the documents." My voice sounded perfectly normal.

A flicker of doubt appeared in Damine's amber eyes. He knew I never lied.

But at that moment, I lowered my eyelashes slightly, avoiding his direct gaze. This small movement felt off to him.

In the end, he pushed down his urge to question further, just raising his hand in a habitual gesture to ruffle my hair.

"Alright. I'm heading to the council chamber then. The patrol needs to inventory the new weapons confiscated tonight."

"Wait." I stopped him. I turned to the small wooden chest in the corner that held various herbs and ointments, rummaging through it until I found a ceramic jar engraved with the Stormfang Pack wolf crest.

It was a special ointment made by the pack's top healer, specifically for treating wounds caused by silver.

I walked behind him and gently tapped my finger on a spot on his tactical vest near his shoulder blade. "Yesterday when you were dealing with those poachers, some shattered silver fragments must have gotten caught in your clothes. Let me help you clean it out."

Damine's body tensed slightly. He reached back to touch his own back.

Last night, when he'd grabbed the silver dagger from the stocky poacher, he had indeed felt small fragments splatter against his back, leaving a faint stinging sensation.

But he was an Alpha, with powerful healing abilities.

He hadn't thought anything of it, assuming any wound had already healed. He never expected me to notice

I was always like that, paying attention to details he overlooked: knowing that while he wasn't afraid of thunder, the chaotic energy during thunderstorms made him instinctively irritable, so I'd hang thick pelts on the cottage windows to block the sound; knowing that after long hunts or patrols in wolf form, he liked a sip of warm honey wine brewed from the territory's special Blueflame berries, so I'd always have a small pot warming by the hearth before he returned.

He silently peeled off his black tactical vest and sat down on the bearskin-covered sofa as I'd instructed.

His back was to me. On his tanned skin, a shallow but distinctly unnatural grayish-white wound was visible—a lingering trace of the silver toxin.

I opened the ointment jar, dipping a clean brush in it to scoop up some of the dark green ointment that had a bitter scent. Carefully, I began applying it to his wound.

My movements were gentle and focused, trying to avoid causing him any additional pain.

Damine felt the cool touch on his back and the slight stinging from the ointment, but his mind uncontrollably drifted back to the parchment letter Michael had read at the bonfire.

The Wolf Mint he'd occasionally found in his training bag after morning workouts, easing his muscle aches; the excellent healing ointment that had appeared in his locker whenever he was injured... it had all been me.

It had always been me.

"Sylvia," he couldn't help but speak again, his voice deeper and huskier than usual, "about what was in that letter today..."

"The ointment needs to be spread evenly for the medicinal properties to penetrate, otherwise the silver toxin won't be completely cleared and might leave a scar."

My voice cut him off. My hand movements remained steady as I used the brush to carefully spread the ointment along the edges of the wound. "Next time you encounter enemies with silver weapons, try to avoid direct frontal impacts.

The healer said last time that the silver toxins building up in your system need time to metabolize... there won't always be someone around to help you deal with these things."

The last few words were so soft they were barely more than a whisper. Damine didn't seem to hear them, or perhaps his focus was still on the letter. He instinctively lifted his head to ask, "What did you just say?"

I shook my head, not repeating it. I simply sealed the ointment jar and put it back in the chest, then turned toward the bedroom. "Don't let the wound get wet. I'm tired. I'm going to rest."

The cottage was very quiet late at night, only the sound of wind rustling through the pine trees outside. I lay on the soft-pelted bed, my back to the room.

After a while, I heard Damine's footsteps as he came out of the bathroom.

He walked to the bedside, hesitated, and then, as he had on many nights over the past three years, habitually reached out to wrap his arms around my waist—a common gesture between bonded mates for comfort and connection, usually helping both sleep better.

However, the moment his arm brushed my side, I lightly but clearly shifted toward the center of the bed, avoiding his touch.

"I'm not feeling well tonight," my voice came from the darkness, calm and without emotion, "the effects of the blood moon probably haven't worn off yet. I want to rest alone."

Damine's arm froze mid-air. His fingertips still tingled with the cool feel of my sleepwear fabric. He was silent for a few seconds, then said nothing. He just reached out to straighten the blanket covering me.

"Alright. If you feel worse, call me anytime." His voice was low as he finished, then he turned and lay down on the other side of the bed.

The next morning, a thin mist still lingered in the forbidden forest when a commotion broke out outside the main house.

I was combing my hair when I heard the noise. Just as I was about to go out, I saw Sofia standing at the entrance with a few young wolves who were clearly not from Stormfang Pack.

In her arms, she held a large bundle of plants with strangely white-shining leaves, and a small gift wrapped in fine leather.

"Damine!" Sofia's voice was cheerful, ignoring the slight frown on Damine's face as he leaned against the doorframe. "Thank you so much for yesterday! I specially collected some Moonlight Grass from Moonbeam Valley for you. It's amazing for clearing silver toxins! And this, I brought back from outside—supposedly an essence that can enhance a werewolf's constitution. It's for you!"

Damine's gaze swept over the curious outsiders behind her, and his expression didn't improve.

According to pack rules, outsiders cannot enter another pack's core territory without invitation.

But when he saw the hopeful, almost pleading look in Sofia's eyes, the tight line of his jaw softened somewhat.

"Come on in." He stepped aside, his tone regaining its usual steadiness but with an undertone of indulgence, "Don't make a scene at the entrance."

Sofia beamed, like a child who's been given permission.

She turned and very naturally shoved the expensive bundle of Moonlight Grass into my hands. Her tone was commanding, as if it were absolute. "Here, this is Damine's favorite Moonlight Grass. Its scent is calming. Go hang it in the hunting trophy room, on that oak shelf with the best ventilation. Remember to let it get sunlight every day, don't let moisture ruin its effect."

"Sofia." Damine's voice turned cold in an instant. "I prefer the scent of pine and snow, not Moonlight Grass. And Sylvia is my bonded mate, the Luna of Stormfang Pack. Watch your tone. She isn't some servant you can order around."

I looked down at the bundle of Moonlight Grass in my hands. The cool leaves felt against my skin, carrying a faint, cloyingly sweet fragrance.

It wasn't until this moment that I finally understood why there was a perfectly positioned yet perpetually empty oak shelf in the hunting trophy room.

Last year, when I was helping him organize newly acquired trophies, I had casually asked about the shelf's purpose. He hadn't looked up from what he was doing as he answered, "The elders said to keep it empty. Maybe for ritual incense someday."

So that spot had always been waiting for Sofia to return, to hold these flashy Moonlight Grasses she liked.

I didn't say anything. My expression remained neutral. I simply handed the bundle to an Omega attendant standing nearby. "Hang this in the empty oak shelf on the east side of the trophy room. Follow the preservation guidelines for valuable herbs—turn it daily to ensure it gets enough sun."

My voice wasn't loud, but it was clear.

Sofia watched my back, a triumphant, challenging glint in her eyes. Then she quickly followed Damine into the trophy room.

I carried a cup of hot tea, freshly brewed with Blueflame berries, and walked to the small balcony connected to the trophy room.

The stone door to the balcony was slightly ajar. Their conversation drifted out clearly.

"Damine! Look! Isn't this my baby fang that I lost after my first successful hunt as a kid? You actually kept it in this crystal box! You've had it all this time?"

"And this! This lopsided wolf wood carving! I just made it and threw it away at the tribal market back then, and you actually picked it up?"

"Wow! This black bear fur rug! It's from the bear we hunted together on our first winter hunt, right? You actually made it into a rug and kept it here..."

Sofia's voice, filled with delight and a hint of coquettishness, was like tiny silver needles, pricking persistently at my ears.

I remembered when I had first moved into the main house, I had also asked Damine about these seemingly ordinary items in the trophy room that he had carefully preserved. He had been polishing the crystal box holding the wolf fang at the time, paused his movements, and replied flatly, "Just some old junk from when we were kids. Thought it had some sentimental value, so I kept it."

I had actually believed him back then.

I had even thought privately that despite being Alpha, he had a sentimental and delicate side.

Only now, hearing Sofia list the origin of each item as if she knew them by heart, did I finally understand completely.

Those items he had so carefully preserved, locked in crystal boxes, laid out on soft furs—they were all memories that belonged to Sofia.

All those complex emotions in his eyes that I had never been able to decipher—deep-seated attachment, the bitterness of being abandoned, an unbreakable nostalgia—they had always been about Sofia, and only Sofia. Not a single fragment of them had ever been for me, Sylvia.