LOGIN"You shouldn't be touching me." he growled, his voice low and ragged, every muscle beneath her nimble fingers felt the tremors of restrained power. The heat of his skin radiated through her gloves. "If I stop, you'll bleed out." His hand shot up, curling gently-but firmly around her wrist. His eyes, a shade of hellish red in the dim lights, locked onto hers. "No, doctor," he whispered, his lips forming a stern pressed line. "If you stop, it won't be the blood that kills me. It'll be the hunger." Dr. Eleanor Airlea never believed in myths-until the night a wounded stranger staggered into her veterinary clinic under a blood-red moon. The wolfs injuries should have killed him, but his body healed with a feral strength she couldn't explain. His piercing eyes, wild and magnetic, left her both terrified and captivated. Raphael is no ordinary man-he's a werewolf, royalty no less with a bloodline that binds him to the violent laws of his pack and the forbidden desire that burns whenever Eleanor is near. In a world where hunters stalk the night and betrayal lurks under every silver light, their passion becomes as dangerous as it is irresistible. She's the healer who should fear him. He's the predator who has set his eyes upon her. And when blood and desire mix under the next full moon, neither of them will be able to resist the pull of destiny. "I don't care what you are," she said, her pulse racing as she held his gaze. "You were bleeding. You needed me." His lips curved into a dangerous smile. "Careful, doctor. Saving a wolf can make you his."
View MoreThat night, sleep brought no peace even as Chicken Nugget lay by my side offering his warmth and snuggles.Every time I rose from sleep in between hours of interval, I had an inkling of experiencing the same dream over and over again.And by the time I had fallen into deep sleep around three in the morning, this particular dream stabilised into a world unfolded in shadows and silver light, a forest stretching endlessly in all directions. The air was thick with damp earth and the smell of pine, but it carried something else-an unnameable scent, wild, and magnetic. My bare feet pressed into the soft moss, each step swallowed as though the forest itself were conspiring to hold me in place.From the darkness, a shape emerged-massive, elegant, terrifying. Crimson eyes pierced the dimness, luminous and aware. Not a man, not yet. But not merely a wolf either. Zevrael. The predator I had stitched together, the creature I had seen dissolve into man, now took form in the wild. His fur shimmered
It was while I redressed his wounds that I first noticed it.The gash was jagged, angry, and ancient in appearance. It slashed diagonally across his chest, cutting through the sculpted planes of muscle like a scar etched in defiance of time. Unlike the claw marks that had already begun to fade, or the fresh tears of flesh I had stitched with shaking hands, this wound was different-older, unnatural, deliberate. It seemed almost alive beneath my fingers separated by gloves, ridged and raw in a way that made my skin prickle."This one," I whispered, my voice barely audible, as if speaking louder would summon something dark into the room. My hand hovered, then, despite every rational instinct, brushed lightly over the ridged flesh. The warmth of his skin beneath was startling. I froze, caught between awe and fear, my pulse hammering like a drum in my ears. "What caused it?"Zevrael's body stilled beneath my touch. And in his breathing I could hear the faintest hitch that made my stomach c
I had closed the clinic, shifted all the in-patients to my mother's clinic while lying of catching a fever, bought in a week's worth of supplies to satisfy my paranoid mind and tried to leave Chicken Nugget at my parents house.Tried.Because he was currently curled up on my sofa while I examined the man recovering in my clinic who had not spoken to me for over 20 hours.By the third night, the change was undeniable. At first, it was subtle, so subtle I told myself I was imagining it. The hollowness beneath his high cheekbones. The faint quiver in his hands when he shifted his weight. I hovered with instruments around him, checked his fever, pressed the back of my hand to his brow like some nervous novice. But the truth gnawed at me, unrelenting.It was not sickness. It was not weakness.It was hunger.When I placed the tray beside him-bread, broth, tender chicken, it had softened until it fell apart beneath the spoon-he only regarded it with eyes too bright, too restless.The steam
"Zevrael."I repeated it, letting the syllables ground me. The sound filled the room. The name felt old, weathered, like it had been carved in stone long before I was born and lost in time for it be used for the newborns of this age."Listen. I don't really get what's happening. But currently I think we are safe here. No one knows you're here except-"My gaze flicked toward Chicken Nugget, who had curled near the table like a tiny sentinel."Except us," I finished. "You can trust him, he won't say a word." I offered humour lightheadedly both for myself and the tense stranger.His gaze followed mine briefly, then returned, molten fire softening-not gentle, never gentle, but less storm, more tide. "Safety," he murmured, almost to himself. "Such a fragile word, when spoken by mortals."I bristled, a spark of defiance against the weight of his disdain. "You're not the only one with teeth. I'm not just going to stand by, I took self defence-"He moved. So fast, so fluid, my heart lurched.












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