Chapter 6: The Healer's Dilemma

"Mom, why are you crying?"

Liam's innocent question broke the heavy silence hanging over my office. His small hand reached out, resting against the back of my fingers, which were still white-knuckled around the edge of the Thorne Clan's medical dossier.

Nora stepped in before Liam's suspicion could take root. Moving swiftly, she rested a hand on his shoulder with a warm, practiced smile and ruffled his dark hair.

"Liam, Uncle Theo is waiting for you out back," Nora said, gesturing toward the window. "He just brought some new archery targets up from the shed. Want to go try them out?"

Liam's silver-gray eyes instantly lit up. He nodded eagerly, let go of my lab coat, and bolted out the door, completely oblivious to the crushing secret that had just shattered my world.

The moment the latch clicked shut, the strength gave out in my legs. I collapsed back into my chair, burying my face in trembling hands slick with cold sweat.

The photograph on the desk seemed to burn into my skin. The stubborn cut of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the delicate arch of his lips—Leon was an exact mirror of Liam. For six agonizing years, I had lived with the guilt of leaving my firstborn in that den of monsters. And now, fate was rubbing my face in the brutal reality: my boy was on the brink of death.

"You can't go, Elora."

The calm baritone drifted from the doorway. Dr. Adrian Cole leaned against the teak frame, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his charcoal overcoat.

"I saw a copy of the dispatch before it hit your desk," Adrian said, his gaze fixed levelly on mine. "Kaelen Thorne has never been known for mercy. Just last month, two senior healers from the western territories were executed at the castle gates because they botched a calming draught for his son."

"He's my son, Adrian," I whispered hoarsely, looking up at the man who had been my trusted partner at the institute for the past five years.

Adrian froze. His eyes narrowed slightly as the weight of my words sank in. To everyone else at the clinic, I was simply an unwed mother raising Liam alone after escaping the clan territories. None of them knew who had fathered him.

"Kaelen Thorne is his father?" Adrian asked, his voice dropping low.

I gave a slow nod. "This spiritual core decay isn't an ordinary illness. It happened because his bond with his biological mother was violently severed the second he was born. If I don't harmonize my blood resonance with his soon, his living cells will burn him alive from the inside out."

"It's a wolf's den, Elora," Nora cut in, her voice tight with panic as she threw the bolt on the office door. "The second you walk through the Thorne gates, Vivienne will recognize you. You remember how vicious she was six years ago."

"Vivienne never saw my face in the light," I said, rising to my feet and wiping the dried tracks of tears from my cheeks. "And Kaelen never saw me without that blindfold. There's only one thing that could give me away."

My scent.

An Alpha's instincts didn't recognize a mate by sight—they recognized the pheromones woven into her blood. If Kaelen caught so much as a single breath of wild vanilla on my skin, my cover would be blown before I took three steps.

Without wasting another second, I hurried down the hall to the private compounding lab in the clinic's west wing.

Firing up the glass distillation burner, I retrieved a porcelain jar of dried silver-root powder from a locked drawer, measuring it out alongside black-needle pine resin and a micro-dose of belladonna extract. It was a high-grade neural scent-suppressant formula—the kind rogues and fugitives brewed when they needed to completely snuff out their wolf's scent.

The thick, inky liquid bubbled over the blue flame, throwing off acrid fumes that smelled of copper and ozone.

"That concoction will fry your own energy receptors if you keep drinking it," Adrian warned, following me into the lab and eyeing the steaming porcelain cup with deep concern.

"I don't care," I answered coldly.

Lifting the cup to my lips, I downed the scalding liquid in a single, unbroken swallow.

A searing wave of bitter heat scorched my tongue and throat. A gut-twisting, icy numbness tore through my veins in its wake, deadening the scent glands at the base of my neck. The sweet traces of vanilla clinging to my skin dissolved, replaced by the sterile, clinical stench of antiseptic and hospital-grade chemicals.

The next priority was securing my other son.

By late afternoon, I had moved Liam and Theo to a secluded stone cottage on the outskirts of Oakhaven. Tucked behind thick bramble hedges, the property was shielded by an energetic warding array Adrian had woven to mask the presence of werewolves.

Theo sat on the living room sofa in a heavy jacket, his fingers wrapped tight around the hilt of the silver hunting dagger he had carried everywhere since recovering from his surgery six years ago.

"Don't worry about us, Elora," Theo said firmly, unwavering loyalty burning in his eyes. "Liam is my life. Anyone who tries to lay a finger on my nephew will have to climb over my dead body first."

"Stay inside until I send the all-clear cipher," I instructed, checking the pantry provisions one last time. "Don't touch an ordinary cell phone. If there's an emergency, use the low-frequency radio transmitter set up in the cellar."

Nora nodded from the doorway, her jaw set. "I won't take my eyes off them for a single second, Elora. You just focus on saving Leon."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, I smoothed down my black wool coat and picked up the heavy metal medical case packed with silver surgical instruments and dozens of herbal stabilizing ampoules.

Every second I wasted here was another second ticking down Leon's life. I had to reach Thorne Castle before dawn broke.

I turned and walked toward the front door. But the moment my hand twisted the brass deadbolt, hurried footsteps came pounding down the wooden stairs.

A pair of small arms threw themselves around my calves.

Liam dropped to his knees, clinging to my legs so fiercely his entire little body shook. Tears tracked down his flushed face, his chest heaving as a wave of wild, primal wolf panic flared uncontrollably from deep within him.

"Liam? Sweetheart, what's wrong?" I set the medical case down and dropped to my knees, gently cupping his tear-streaked face.

Liam shook his head violently. His small hands bunched into my trousers, his nails digging in through the fabric as if trying to anchor me away from an open grave. His breath hitched in his throat, his tiny voice trembling in sheer terror against my chest:

"Mom, please don't go... the big wolf is going to tear us apart!"