4

"Noemi, when did you find your man?"

Noemi didn't answer Peter's question. And even if she were to respond, she probably wouldn't have a sensible answer to give. She was still bewildered as to how the "puppy" she had been nursing for the past week had turned into a full-grown man.

"He looks so masculine, handsome, and... hurt."

Peter started to head into her room, but she stopped him.

"What happened to him?"

Noemi didn't reply; instead, she quickly pulled Peter out of the house. Moving with urgency, she loaded the gallons of milk and trays of eggs onto his truck.

"Just go. He doesn't like people."

"Noemi... what's going on? I'm just asking."

"Stop asking and just leave. Your mother might scold you again if you stay here too long." She personally ushered Peter into his vehicle. She even turned on the ignition for him.

"Go on. We can talk another time."

Left with no choice, Peter shook his head, glanced back at her house one last time, and slowly drove his vehicle out through the gate.

Noemi let out a sharp, heavy breath and hurried back into the house. She quickly grabbed her shotgun and crept toward her own bedroom.

Using the barrel of the shotgun, she pushed the door wide open and leveled the weapon at the face of the man still lying on her bed. Its body was bare, making the wounds on its abdomen and chest clearly visible. Now, the deep wound on its chest was even more apparent. It turned out there were also wounds on its neck—something she hadn’t noticed until now. There were also significant wounds on its face, extending as far as the eyelids; yet, she knew the eyes themselves hadn't been severely damaged—she recalled seeing them back when it was still just a "puppy," right before it was about to be buried.

Without even realizing it, she lowered the shotgun she was holding and studied his face. It had long, jet-black eyelashes, a sharp, well-defined nose, and red lips. Its face was beautifully structured—possessing a distinctly masculine, rugged appeal. And he wasn't mistaken: it had long hair.

He lay there soundly, as if merely asleep.

She tried to rouse him slightly using the shotgun, but he remained unconscious. She pulled over the chair from beside the bed—the same one she used whenever she tended to his wounds. She was bewildered by how the puppy she had once nursed back to health had transformed into a handsome man. She had assumed she was rescuing a child, given that it had appeared as a puppy.

She hugged herself, sensing something strange wash over her body—a sudden, warm sensation that seemed to settle upon her. She shook her head slightly as her gaze fell upon his naked form; she knew he wasn't wearing anything below the waist. She figured that might be the reason for the sudden heat she felt spreading through her own body. She stood up, pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed, and draped it over his chest. Her action drew a groan from him, prompting her to immediately level the shotgun at him. Yet, his eyes remained firmly shut. He groaned again—this time, it sounded like a cry of pain.

"Don't do this to me." He stirred, his eyes squeezing shut as he clutched his chest.

"Brother...Norah, why are you doing this to me?"

He coughed slightly and winced as a trace of blood escaped his mouth. It trickled down the side of his lips, accompanied by large tears welling up and spilling from both his eyes.

"You betrayed me! You will all pay for this! I'll kill you all!" he shouted, rising abruptly.

He was taken aback to find a cold object pressed against his forehead.

"Who are you?" Noemi asked, her expression serious as she braced herself.

Douglas furrowed his brow at the woman standing before him. He didn't recognize her. Even though a shotgun was pointed directly at his forehead, he paid it no mind; instead, he examined himself, scanned the interior of the house, glanced outside through a partially open window, and finally returned his gaze to the woman standing before him.

"Who are you?" he asked in return, his brow still furrowed.

"What? I asked you first. Who are you?"

"Did you... save me?" Douglas asked, clutching his wounded chest.

"So what? Who are you?"

"You don't know me? I am the Lycan King."

An awkward silence—as if a crow had just flown past—descended upon Noemi upon hearing Douglas's claim.

"Looks like he might have taken a hard blow to the head," Noemi muttered to herself.

"I said I am the Lycan King. How dare you—"

"Okay, okay. If you're the king, then I guess I'm the queen, right? Now that you're awake, why don't you call your men to come and fetch you?"

Douglas froze and lowered his head as the memory of what happened came rushing back. The events were still vivid in his mind. He couldn't believe that it was his own sibling and spouse who had betrayed him. He clenched his fists so tightly that the veins in his hands and on his forehead bulged, fueled by his rage.

"Betrayed?" Noemi asked, her voice calm, as she lowered her shotgun.

She didn't sense any immediate danger—well, at least not for the moment. Acting on instinct, she stepped closer and immediately pressed down on the cloth covering the wound on his chest, as blood began to seep through.

"Calm down. Your wound hasn't healed yet," she said.

"Wait, have we met before?"

"Huh?" was all Noemi could utter, unable to stop herself from staring at him.

She was right. His eyes really were silver—drowning, hypnotic.

"Your voice and your eyes... they're familiar."