7

Douglas looked at the bowl of porridge she held. It was still warm and contained a broth infused with medicinal herbs.

"Put it down. I can eat on my own."

"It’s a good thing you can manage by yourself now. I’m so proud of myself for healing a werewolf all on my own!" she said, sounding almost like a child, before carefully placing the bowl on his lap. She took her leave, carrying a shotgun slung over her shoulder and a sword strapped to her waist.

At first, Douglas had found it strange that she always carried weapons whenever she stepped outside. But after living here for a month while recovering, he finally understood why. Although the Lycan King’s kingdom was far away, this house stood in close proximity to it—right on the edge of a forest controlled by rogues. Almost every day, he would see werewolves attempting to break in to snatch the livestock she kept. Having been orphaned at a young age, she had grown accustomed to such situations; she faced these werewolves without a shred of fear, despite being nothing more than an ordinary human.

Douglas gritted his teeth. Ever since Logan took charge of the kingdom, the rogue problem had only grown worse. He had learned from Peter—a friend of Noemi’s who once visited—that there were rumors of werewolves venturing into the city, killing humans without any fear of consequence. He also learned that some were even offering things to Norah—who is currently having a difficult pregnancy with Logan’s child—believing the baby to be powerful precisely because the pregnancy has been so arduous.

He was cold and ruthless, yet he found himself in this predicament. He had vehemently opposed any werewolves setting foot in the city, but what choice did he have? He needed to keep a low profile while recovering. His wounds had healed on the surface, but not yet internally; those rogues had left him nearly incapacitated.

During the month he spent recuperating here, he hadn't once set foot on the ground. Fortunately, he was now able to move his feet and legs again. The wound on his chest was also gradually healing—it seemed the medicine his mother had prepared was truly effective.

He offered a bitter smile. At least his life hadn't been wasted. He craned his neck, looking out the open window toward Peter’s approaching truck. The moment he first saw him, he knew he was a hybrid—he hadn't been wrong about that. Peter had introduced himself right away. What he couldn't quite grasp, however, was why he had to go along with the ruse and lie about being the young woman’s husband.

"It’s a good thing you still have plenty of eggs and milk in stock," he heard Peter say, as he and Noemi walked along, carrying trays of eggs from Noemi’s storage shed.

"That batch you took ran out awfully fast. You were just here the other day."

"I wish it had actually been sold. But that’s not what happened."

"What happened?"

Peter let out a sharp, frustrated sigh as he carefully placed their load into the truck.

"Werewolves suddenly raided our shop. Thankfully, not everything was destroyed."

Douglas clenched his fists. If there were anything he could do, he would have done it—but right now, he couldn't even manage to stand up.

"Ever since the new Lycan King took over, things have been like this." Douglas’s jaw tightened at Peter’s remark.

"Took over? Didn't the new successor—the son—just ascend to the throne? What happened?"

"Word is, he isn't actually the biological son of the former Lycan King. He was so ruthless that he intended to kill the former Lycan Queen and his own older brother; but the current Queen—his wife, killed him instead, as she vehemently opposed such a cruel plan." Douglas couldn't help but laugh at what he heard.

"If that Lycan king was truly that cold and ruthless, why was the city—where humans lived—a place of peace and quiet during the two years he reigned?"

"Why is your husband always so angry?" Peter whispered to Noemi.

Noemi smiled.

"Have you finished eating your porridge and taking your medicine?"

Douglas didn’t answer; he simply stared at the food that was still sitting on his lap.

"What? You’re still feeding him porridge? I think he’s capable of eating solid food by now."

Even though Douglas didn’t particularly like this friend of hers, he felt an urge to pat him on the shoulder for saying that. He had been eating nothing but porridge for days, and it just wasn't enough. His stomach was craving meat—he wanted meat. If he weren't incapacitated right now, he would have already devoured some of the sheep or a few of the cows in the pen. He was truly starving for meat.

Noemi scratched her head.

"I forgot that he’s a wolf, just like you."

Douglas couldn't help but roll his eyes. How could he possibly forget that, when he calls Douglas "Dog" every single day?

He was about to say something when he noticed something up ahead. A ravenous, wild-eyed wolf. Its eyes were bloodshot, and drool dripped from its jaws. It was so emaciated that its bones stood out sharply beneath its skin. It began to salivate even more intensely from hunger upon seeing the animals inside Noemi’s yard—but its drooling intensified further when it caught sight of Noemi and Peter.

"Darling, watch out!"