Chapter Ten

Without another word, Zaide gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod, turned on his heel, and left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a tense, vibrating silence in his wake.

Kara stood frozen, his harsh words echoing in her ears. A prisoner with a nicer view. The fragile sense of peace she had felt just moments before had been thoroughly trampled by his professional suspicion.

Milo let out a long, quiet sigh, breaking the tension. He didn't offer an explanation or an apology for Zaide's demeanor. Instead, he simply picked up the chart at the end of her bed, his focus shifting entirely back to her, a silent acknowledgment that Zaide's world was security, but his world was her health.

"He's thorough," Milo said, his tone neutral, before gracefully changing the subject. "How is the pain in your leg this morning? On a scale of one to ten?"

After checking the healing of her leg and making a note on his chart, Milo's expression turned serious again, though his eyes remained kind.

"Kara," he began gently, "I just want you to be prepared. The suppressants are holding steady, buying us the time you need to heal your body. But they are a temporary shield. Your heat is still coming."

He saw a flicker of the old fear in her eyes and quickly added, "You do not need to be afraid of it here. We will not let you suffer through it. When the time comes, we will discuss all of the options available to you, and whatever you need, whatever you decide... the decision will be yours. And only yours."

He left soon after, leaving Kara alone in the quiet, sunlit room. The fear of her own body was still there, a distant shadow on the horizon. But for the first time, it wasn't a terrifying monster poised to destroy her. It was simply... a part of her. A part that, unbelievably, she was being told she would get to control.

The thought was both staggering and revolutionary.

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A week. A full week had passed in a quiet rhythm of healing and rest. The sharp terror that had been Kara’s constant companion had finally receded, leaving behind a stillness she hadn't felt in years. Each morning, Milo would arrive with a kind smile and a tray of food, checking her injuries with a gentle professionalism that she was slowly, cautiously, beginning to trust.

Her leg was still in a cast, but she could now move around her suite with the aid of crutches, her strength returning with each passing day. The hormonal suppressants kept the threat of her heat at bay, a quiet hum of gratitude in the back of her mind. She hadn't seen Lucian again since their first meeting, a fact for which she was both thankful and, to her confusion, slightly disappointed.

It was on the eighth day that Milo, after declaring her healing was progressing "beautifully," gestured to the door. "The walls must be getting tired of you staring at them," he said lightly. "The library is quiet this time of day. A change of scenery might do you good. No one will bother you, I promise."

Anxiety coiled in her stomach, a familiar, unwelcome guest. But for the first time, another feeling pushed back against it: a fragile, fluttering excitement. The thought of seeing something beyond these four walls was both terrifying and intoxicating.

"Okay," she said, her voice quiet but firm, more to convince herself than Milo. "I'd like that."

She pushed herself up, leaning heavily on the crutches as she found her balance. But as she put weight on her good leg, a sharp, sudden cramp ripped through her lower abdomen. She gasped, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the handles. It was small, and it passed almost as quickly as it came, but it left a trail of cold fear in its wake.

A warning. The suppressants were a shield, not a cure, and the clock was ticking down to a choice she was not ready to make.

For a moment, she considered staying, retreating to the safety of the bed. But the cramp, the grim reminder of her own biology, hardened her resolve. She couldn't make a choice if she knew nothing about the world she was now in. With a determined nod to Milo, she moved toward the open door.

Leaning on her crutches, Kara cautiously made her way out of the hallway and into the library. She had expected something grand and intimidating, like a throne room. Instead, she found a room that felt like a warm embrace.

The air smelled of old paper, leather, and the faint, lingering scent of woodsmoke from a grand stone fireplace that took up most of one wall. Worn, colorful rugs were scattered across the polished wood floor, and plush, comfortable-looking couches had cozy blankets draped over their backs, as if someone had just gotten up from a nap. It wasn't a showpiece; it was a home.

Her eyes were drawn to a collection of silver-framed photos on the mantelpiece. She moved closer, her curiosity piqued. Most were of the pack she was starting to recognize—Lucian, Milo, and even the harsh-faced Zaide, all laughing with a few other men. But one photo made her pause. It was an old, faded picture of a serious-looking boy with familiar, intense eyes, standing beside a woman who shared his regal bearing. A young Lucian and his mother. It was so startlingly normal, so human, that it made her head spin.