5

"I think I've seen your eyes somewhere, and your voice... your voice sounds so familiar."

"You've been here for a week—of course my voice is familiar. You must have heard it, even while lying here half-dead," she replied, carefully removing the dressing from the wound on Douglas's chest to clean it and apply a fresh one.

"You're... human." Douglas squeezed his eyes shut as blood surged from his chest wound once again.

"I suppose so." Noemi’s answer sounded uncertain—and for good reason; even she wasn't entirely sure if she was still human. Her sense of smell was exceptionally keen; even without her parents ever saying anything, she knew there was something different about her. Then again, at nineteen years old, nothing unusual had ever happened, so perhaps she really was just human. Yet, there was something peculiar about her sense of smell—it allowed her to discern the nature of everyone she encountered. Bad people smelled sour, while good people smelled sweet. And this man... he smelled bittersweet.

"Good heavens. That’s a deep wound. Unlike the others, this one isn't healing at all."

"Silver is lethal to us." Noemi froze at Douglas’s words.

"You mean... someone stabbed you in the chest with a silver blade? They must have really wanted you dead."

Now it was Douglas who froze. Instinctively, he clenched his fists—a surge of rising anger that caused blood to gush from his chest wound once more.

"Calm down. You’re going to lose too much blood," she chided him.

"Wait a moment. I think this powder might be much more effective." Noemi walked briskly toward the living room, where a cabinet containing various types of medicine was kept.

Meanwhile, Douglas couldn't help but let his gaze wander around the house. Although the structure was built using a combination of concrete and wood, it was clearly crafted with great care and precision. He squeezed his eyes shut upon seeing his wound and recalling what had transpired. He couldn't believe that Norah was capable of doing this to him. Norah had been his wife for two years. It was his own grandfather—along with the wife of his late father—who had told him that Norah was his fated mate. Even though he didn't feel that connection very strongly, he had chosen to believe it—all the more so because his inner wolf had been behaving in an unusual way.

His jaw tightened in anger as he recalled that he was the very one who discovered that his own brother, Logan, was the father of the child Norah was carrying. He had failed not only in love but also in his duty to the throne. He had let his father down regarding the throne—the very thing his father held most dear and had entrusted to him. Although he was Logan’s younger brother, his late father had chosen him to succeed to the position, having discovered that Logan was not his biological son. Morgana had gone to great lengths to make the elders believe that Logan was the son of the former Lycan King. Unbeknownst to Morgana, his father already knew the truth; yet, out of his love for her, he kept it a secret. It came as a massive shock to everyone—and a source of great fury for both Morgana and Logan—when his father chose him to take the throne instead. When he asked his father why, the truth was finally revealed. Even after learning the truth, he had remained silent, never imagining that Morgana would only grow more malevolent. He knew she had orchestrated events to ensure Norah would become his wife. Now that their bond was severed—ever since she rejected him and stabbed him under the light of a full moon—he felt as though he had been reborn.

Yet, he was left with a weakened body and a weakened wolf. Because of the excruciating pain he endured, his wolf lost all control—which was why it had regressed into the form of a pup. It mattered little, so long as his wolf had survived; he vowed that he would gradually regain his strength and reclaim what was rightfully his.

He shifted into a more upright position against the bed as Noemi returned, carrying a bottle filled with a powdered medicine.

She carefully applied it to his wound. He clenched his jaw and gripped the blanket tightly. The pain was agonizing. It feels like something was eating and moving in his flesh.

"Oh I'm sorry. Was it the wrong medicine?"

"What?! You mean you poured a wrong medicine in my wound?!"

Noemi was taken aback by his cold and loud voice.

"Oh easy there doggy! You're under my roof so don't give me that attitude. It was the right one. I was just curious why did it hurt you that much."

Douglas calmed down at the young woman’s words, though he still struggled to contain the pain he was feeling. He froze, however, when his gaze fell upon an antique jade bottle. He snatched it abruptly from the young woman’s hand and examined the bottom of the bottle.

(R.E.) means Rosette Ebonveil.

"Where did you get this?!" Douglas demanded, his anger barely contained as he gripped the bottle tightly.

"What? From our cabinet, of course."

Douglas squeezed his eyes shut.

"Who gave you this medicine?"

Noemi shrugged, almost instinctively.

"I’m not really sure. It came from my late parents' cabinet. They used to treat a lot of werewolves back in the day. Why?"

It took a long moment for Douglas to respond; he gritted his teeth hard.

"That was my mother’s own medicine."

Noemi raised an eyebrow, took the bottle back, and read the inscription on the bottom.

"It was the only one she ever created that cost her... her life." Noemi nearly dropped the bottle, her gaze drifting instinctively toward the room outside, where the open cabinet could be seen.