Chapter 3: The Doctor's Bargain

 

The sound of iron deadbolts locking into place echoed through the massive chamber, sealing the titan doors shut.

Lyra’s pulse thrummed frantically against her throat. She was trapped. A mountain storm is howling outside, titanium doors locked from the outside, and a towering, half-naked Lycan King is trapping her against the plush velvet mattress.

"Caelum, listen to me," Lyra said, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to sound like a detached physician. "You are running a fever of over a hundred and five degrees. The silver in your bloodstream is calcifying around your vital organs. If I don't flush your system within the next twelve hours, the poison will permanently paralyze your nervous system—or kill you."

Caelum didn't pull back. Instead, he leaned down further, his sharp jawline brushing against her temple. His broad chest rose and fell in heavy, ragged heaves, the heat radiating off his scarred skin flushing Lyra’s cheeks with sudden warmth.

"Let it," Caelum rumbled softly into her hair. His hand remained anchored at her waist, his thumb stroking a slow, possessive rhythm over the silk of her shirt. "My pack thinks I'm a broken monster. My uncle thinks I'm a dead man walking. Let the silver take me."

"Don't speak like a coward!" The sharp words slipped out of Lyra’s mouth before she could stop them.

Caelum froze. The air in the room suddenly grew ten times heavier. His Alpha aura expanded in an instant, a crushing wave of physical authority that pinned Lyra into the mattress. Even with a black blindfold concealing his eyes, the sheer, terrifying power of the Obsidian King made the room feel suffocating.

Slowly, Caelum brought his face down until his lips were a breath away from hers.

"A coward?" he growled softly, a sound so deep it vibrated straight down to her core. "You have a dangerous tongue, little doctor. No one in this kingdom has dared speak to me like that in five years."

"Then it's a miracle you've survived this long without someone telling you the truth," Lyra countered, forcing herself to look directly into his blindfolded face. "You are an Alpha King. Your territory is being devoured by traitors while you rot in this citadel feeling sorry for yourself. If you want to die, fine. But you're going to let me do my job first."

For three agonising seconds, silence stretched between them.

Then, a low, rumble started in Caelum’s chest. It wasn't a growl—it was a dark, sensual laugh that sent a sharp thrill straight down Lyra’s spine.

"A feisty little mate," Caelum murmured, his lips curving into a wicked, predatory smirk. "Tell me, Dr. Vane... what is your price to save my life?"

Lyra swallowed hard, maintaining her grip on his massive shoulders. "A bargain. I flush the silver from your blood and restore your strength. In return, when the storm clears, you lift the lockdown and let me leave. Unharmed, unmarked, and free."

Caelum’s smirk slowly vanished. His hand tightened around her waist, pulling her so close against his body that she could feel the hard, unyielding contour of his abdomen against hers.

"You ask for the impossible," Caelum whispered against her lips. "A wolf does not let his mate walk away. Ever."

"I am a physician first, Caelum!"

"And you are mine second," he growled softly, his teeth grazing her bottom lip, sending a violent shockwave of electricity straight to her thighs. "Here is my counter-offer, doctor. You may treat me. You may flush the silver. But you will do it while living in my quarters, sleeping in my bed, and breathing my air. If you cure me... I might consider letting you step outside the citadel gates. Under my guard."

Lyra’s breath hitched. It was a gilded cage, but it was the only chance she had to stay alive and keep her secret intact. If she refused, he would hold her here anyway.

"Fine," Lyra choked out, her skin burning under his touch. "Deal. Now get off me so I can set up my instruments."

Caelum didn't move immediately. He inhaled deeply against her collarbone, savoring her wild jasmine scent one last time before slowly rolling off her and sitting back on the edge of the bed.

Lyra scrambled up, her hands trembling as she smoothed down her clothes and rushed over to her medical case. She pulled out a silver scalpel, a glass vial of rare botanical antitoxins, and a roll of linen bandages.

"I need to dress the entry wounds on your back," Lyra said, stepping up behind him. "This is going to burn."

Caelum sat like a massive marble statue, his muscles taut and rippling under the faint amber candlelight. "I've felt worse."

Lyra dipped a sterile cloth into the clear antitoxin liquid and pressed it against the jagged, black-tinged claw mark across his spine.

Caelum’s entire body went rigid. A low, feral snarl tore from his throat, his broad hands gripping the edge of the wooden bedframe so hard the polished timber cracked beneath his knuckles.

"Hold still," Lyra murmured softly. Without thinking, she reached out her left hand, placing her bare palm against the back of his neck to steady him.

Instantly, her dormant royal power reacted to his pain.

A faint, golden warmth bloomed from Lyra’s palm, flowing directly into Caelum’s spine. The blackened, poisoned tissue around his wound began to sizzle, the silver toxicity retreating under the soothing touch of her ancient bloodline.

Caelum gasped, his head snapping back.

"What... what are you doing to me?" Caelum rasped, his voice laced with shock. He spun around with blinding speed, his large hand snapping out and clamping tight around her wrist—pinning her arm right where the gold lace sleeve of her coat pushed up.

His calloused thumb brushed directly over the inner curve of her wrist—right against the faint, raised skin of her dormant Sun-Marked crest.

Caelum froze. His blindfolded face turned deathly pale.

"This mark," Caelum whispered, his voice dropping into a deadly, dangerous tremor as his thumb traced the exact outline of the royal crest. "What is this on your skin, Lyra?"