Dangerous Patient

"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. Not rising, but his hand shot out, closing around my wrist with unnerving precision. His skin was burning hot, searing into mine, and though his grip was not cruel, the power within it was undeniable. I could feel the coiled strength beneath that touch, the beast caged within the man.

"Do not mistake my warning for arrogance," he said, voice dropping into something intimate, dangerous, a growl cloaked in velvet. "I tell you this because you have done what few would dare. You looked upon a beast and chose to heal it."

The space between us crackled. His thumb rested against the pounding pulse in my wrist, and I knew he could feel my heart racing beneath my skin, even worse-hear it.

"I..." I started looking for words to defend my actions, for it seemed like he was looking for them in his eyes that deemed me stupid."I didn't think. I just... acted. You were dying, and I didn't know you were human..."

"Whatever that you are. I didn't have the slightest idea I was gonna get in trouble for dragging you in. And Chicken Nugget wouldn't let me leave you there."

His gaze flicked down to where his hand held mine, his expression unreadable. Slowly-deliberately-he released me, retreating to the shadows of the pillows.

"That's impulse," he murmured, eyes half-lidded but still burning.

"It wasn't, I told you I didn't really want to take in a large wolf like that. I was just worried if I handed you over to the forest rangers they would have chosen to euthanize you instead of going through the rabies testing first."

I rubbed my wrist, but the heat lingered, as though his touch had branded me. "And Chicken Nugget wouldn't have let me abandon you."

I stopped myself from complaining further when he looked over. "Then tell me how to stop it," I said, surprising myself with the sharpness of my tone. "If these hunters are coming, tell me what I'm supposed to do."

His expression shuttered, noble and unyielding. "Run."

"That's not an answer."

"It is the only one," he said, voice low, resolute. "I will not remain here long. When strength returns, I will leave. If you are wise, you will forget me."

Something twisted inside me, sharp and painful. Forget him?

It seemed so futile to even consider the possibility after what I had seen, what I had touched? After stitching his torn flesh, after watching a wolf break into a man with eyes of ruby.

"I don't get scared that easily," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

A sound escaped him, between a laugh and a growl, filled with something unearthly. "No. You do not. And that is what frightens me."

For a long time, silence stretched, broken only by the hiss of the IV and the ticking clock. The wind outside rose, rattling the windows, whispering against the glass.

Finally, Zevrael spoke again, softer now, reluctant but commanding. "There will be signs before they come. Watch for the scent of iron in the air." His hair fell off his shoulder, more dry than before.

"Watch for the crows that gather at dusk. Do no give it a second thought on the whispers you might hear in the trees, do not step outside. And if you see a mark burned upon your door..."

He stopped, the words seemed like impending doom, like a prophecy of sorts.

My voice was barely breath. "What then?"

His eyes met mine, fire and sorrow entwined. "Then it will already be too late."

The words fell into me like stones in water, rippling outward. The clinic no longer felt like the safe haven I had built with my hands; it felt like a fragile lantern set against a vast storm.

He laid back, eyes closing, his chest rising in slow, deliberate breaths. Whether he had succumbed to sleep or merely refused to speak more, I could not tell.

But the air was changed now. Heavier. Hungrier. The shadows seemed to stir, stretching longer, deeper.

And even as I tried to steady myself, I knew with a clarity that terrified me: I was no longer only a healer tending to a wounded stranger. I had stepped across a threshold. Into his world.

And something in it had already begun to watch me back.