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Rudela,

It took around half an hour of intense concentration to prepare the potion. Warner looked exhausted, but he did not give up. While he processed the medicine that needed to be applied, I cleaned the Lycan’s wound and carefully stitched it closed.

“Rudela, don’t hit his nervous system. He might attack you,” he warned just before he placed the last ingredient, moon water, into the mixture.

“I am being careful!” I answered, applying a bit of pressure on the skin. Within seconds, the Lycan’s left claw shot out and sank into my arm, the sharp tips digging deep into my flesh.

I hissed in pain. My body trembled violently when a dangerous voice struck me. “Who are you? How dare you touch me without my permission?”

The Lycan’s red eyes met mine and sent a terrifying jolt through me.

“Don’t hurt her!” Warner hurried toward us. “It’s all right. She is a nurse here. A nurse is allowed to touch her male patients.”

The Lycan groaned in irritation and then lay back down. Those red eyes watched me like a predator.

“What happened?” I asked, still confused.

Warner glanced at me and shook his head. I said nothing more.

“Come here and process the potion. grind it slowly.”

I nodded.

Warner bandaged the wound and spread a special healing herb paste over the bandage. The paste could not be applied directly onto the wound; otherwise it would burn the skin severely.

The Lycan cooled down soon afterward, but he passed out once again.

“The poison is dangerous. His body is too weak to fight it.”

“It’s almost done.”

Warner nodded quietly and continued bandaging the other wounds.

Soon a sharp, spicy smell hit my nostrils. The medicinal potion began bubbling as if it were boiling.

Warner’s head snapped toward me. “It’s done. Bring it to me.”

I walked over and handed him the bowl.

“Only five drops to drink, remember. Never use more than five drops. For children, use only two.”

“What does it work for?”

Warner paused for a second and then looked at me. “This is the remedy for the deadliest poison—Soul-rot. It damages not only the body but also breaks the spiritual connection between the human and the beast. There is also a trace of nightshade and cyanide mixed in his body.”

My breath caught. “Whoever wanted to kill him wanted to give him the worst death possible,” I whispered, staring at the unconscious Lycan.

Just then a golden crescent-shaped moon mark flickered across his forehead.

My breath caught again. “What was that?”

Warner glanced toward the door. “Keep your voice low. He is not someone we can afford to offend.”

My eyes widened. “Who is this? Do you know him?”

Warner carefully parted the Lycan’s locked jaws and dripped three drops of the potion into his mouth. “If I remember correctly…” He hesitated. “The person lying in front of us is none other than the Lycan King of the Lycan Kingdom.”

The ceramic bowl in my hand nearly slipped. I stepped back and stared at Warner in disbelief. Now I understood why he had been so careful while treating this man.

“Holy shit. You aren’t joking, right?”

Warner shook his head. “This is the blessed Moon Mark that only the kings of the werewolves receive during their coming-of-age ceremony. He is certainly the Lycan King.”

I stood frozen. This was the first time I had ever seen a Lycan up close, and I had never expected it to be the king himself.

“What will we do now?”

“I will move him to the second floor of this shop. You should go back. You have other jobs to attend to.”

“But…”

“If possible, bring homemade meals for him tomorrow. I don’t think I can feed him what I usually eat. I am a terrible cook.”

I nodded quietly.

After helping him clean up, I left the shop and went on to the other places where I worked—a restaurant, a small café, and a modest business. The pay was not much, but at least it provided extra income.

Warner’s shop did not earn a great deal in this part of town, yet he had taught me everything free of charge, something few others would have done.

After quitting my previous position I had received a small amount of severance pay—nowhere near one thousand dollars. This time I did not deposit it into my account.

I walked nearly another hour into the city and went to the bank that held my debt account.

“Miss, the option I was told about—once my husband gets a job I can transfer the debt to his account—is it still valid?”

The worker glanced at me and then at the account records. Three years earlier, when we took out the loan, Kyle had insisted we keep that option available. I had not given it much thought at the time, but I had agreed because every day still carried a little hope, and I had wanted to quit my part-time jobs soon.

For the last three days I had continued paying the fixed amount of the debt out of the trust I once had in him.

That trust was gone now. I was done carrying the burden of his family.

“Yes. Do you want to change the payer’s account?”

“Yes. Here is my ID card, and this is my husband’s work ID.”

“Please let me verify it.” She took my identification and the phone that displayed his work credentials. Because he had already agreed and signed the agreement papers as co-payer years before, all I needed to do was show proof that he was employed.

She looked from me to her computer screen. “Your husband, Kyle Victor, project manager at Sky Corporation.”

Project manager… The title tasted bitter on my tongue.

“Yes.”

“According to this information he is listed as single. What exactly is your relationship with him?”

I leaned back in the chair and smiled bitterly. “Whatever the relationship may be… according to the agreement I have full authority to transfer the primary payer’s responsibility to the person who signed that agreement, correct?”

Her expression shifted at once. She said nothing further to me but muttered under her breath, “Then I will proceed according to the agreement.”

She typed for a while. I sat with my hands folded in my lap and, for the first time in a long while, felt lighter.

“In the last three years you have paid approximately forty-three thousand two hundred dollars. The remaining debt is around fifty-six thousand eight hundred dollars.”

The figure of forty-three thousand two hundred dollars made my blood run cold. When I broke my leg I had not possessed even forty cents. I had cried every night from the pain while my dearest mate lived another life with money to spare.

My heart shattered as I imagined him watching me limp, cry, and crawl to work without the slightest urge to help.

I smiled at the bank worker. “Is there any way to take out another loan on this account?”

Her eyes met mine. “Another loan?”

“Yes. Since I have been paying regularly without any breaks, I do not believe I have broken the terms. The agreement states I am eligible for another loan if I do not skip payment three consecutive times in a row.”

She leaned back and examined the account. People like us, especially those from the slums with questionable identities, rarely received a second loan because of payment problems.

But in the past three years I had not missed a single payment. She didn't have any room to argue.

“How much do you want?”

“Exactly forty-three thousand two hundred dollars. Is that possible?”

Her eyes narrowed immediately. “Ma’am, since the payer information has changed, we may have to reconsider—”

“Don’t worry. My husband hands his salary over to me. Even though the payer details have been updated because of the new income source, I will still be the one managing the payments.”

She pressed her lips together. Hesitation lingered in her eyes, then she nodded. “Fine, then. Please don’t make trouble for us.”

I smiled. “Of course not. My husband is a project manager. Having a debt on his record would not look good for him.”

The words “project manager” seemed to calm her. She promptly issued the new loan. “Thank you for coming to us.”

I nodded, taking the money that represented every payment I had made, month after month, for the last three years. Kyle, This time I would choose my dream.