Chapter 4: The Lycan’s Boundary

**POV: Silas**

The sun had not yet crested the jagged peaks of the Northern range, but the room was already bathed in the pale, blue light of a mountain dawn. I hadn't moved from the chair in hours. My muscles should have been stiff, my joints aching from the forced stillness, but the Lycan blood kept me in a state of hyper-alert readiness.

I watched her.

She was deep in sleep now, her breathing rhythmic and shallow. The scent of "Mate" had settled into the fabric of the room, mixing with the cedar smoke of the fire. It was a drug to my senses. Every time she shifted, every time a small, soft sound escaped her throat, my heart slammed against my ribs.

The beast inside me was pacing, claws metaphorical and literal scraping at the floor of my mind. It wanted to be closer. It wanted to crawl onto that bed, wrap our massive frame around her, and scent-mark every inch of her skin until the world knew she was ours.

But I stayed in the chair.

I saw the way she had looked at me when she woke.the sheer, paralyzing terror in those violet eyes. I had smelled her fear, sharp and acrid, and it had nearly brought me to my knees. To her, I was just another Alpha. Another man with the power to break her.

A soft knock at the door shattered the silence.

I didn't growl, but it was a near thing. My aura flared instinctively, the shadows in the corners of the room deepening as my power pushed outward.

"Enter," I rumbled, my voice low so as not to wake her.

The door creaked open, and Hestia, my head healer, stepped in. She carried a tray of fresh bandages and a basin of steaming water infused with marigold and comfrey. Behind her stood a young male apprentice, a boy named Leo who was barely twenty.

The moment Leo stepped over the threshold, my Lycan hit a wall of pure, territorial rage.

I didn't think. I was out of the chair and standing between the bed and the door before Hestia could take a second step. My shift wasn't full, but my eyes were glowing a lethal, molten amber, and my teeth had elongated into points.

"Silas," Hestia said, her voice calm but firm. She didn't flinch, having known me since I was a pup. "The girl needs her dressings changed. The silver-poisoning in her back is weeping. If we don't clean it, the infection will take her."

"You," I pointed a clawed finger at Hestia. "You may stay."

I turned my gaze to Leo. The boy had turned ashen, his knees shaking so hard I could hear the rattling of his bones.

"Out," I snarled.

"Alpha," Leo stammered, his voice cracking. "I... I am here to help lift her. She’s heavy with the blankets and"

The roar that ripped from my throat was low, vibrating the glass in the windows. I took a step toward him, my shoulders bunching. The thought of another male’s hands on her even a healer’s apprentice, even with the best of intentions felt like a hot iron being pressed to my brain.

"Your help isn't needed here," I hissed. "No male eyes will look upon her. No male scent near her bed. If you value your life, boy, you will forget this floor exists."

Leo didn't wait for a second warning. He dropped the basin he was holding Hestia caught it with a practiced hand and bolted down the hallway.

Hestia sighed, setting the tray down on the side table. "You are being unreasonable, Silas. I need an assistant for a wound this deep."

"You have me," I said. My voice was returning to a human level, but the Lycan was still peering through my eyes, watching the door as if Leo might return with an army.

"You?" Hestia raised an eyebrow. "The King of the North is going to act as a nursemaid? Your hands are made for crushing stone, not cleaning silk."

"I will do it," I insisted. I moved back toward the bed, my movements jerky with the effort of containing my beast. "Tell me what to do. I will lift her. I will hold her. But no one else gets close to her, Hestia. Not while she is like this."

Hestia looked at the girl, then back at me. She saw the "clinginess" the desperate, primal obsession that had taken hold of me. She knew the Lycan lore. When a Lycan finds a mate who has been harmed, the protective instinct doesn't just activate; it becomes a psychosis.

"Fine," Hestia whispered. "But you must be gentle. If you squeeze her too hard in your protectiveness, you will break the very thing you are trying to save."

I nodded, my throat tight.i knew she meant something else but I nodded anyways.

I approached the bed. Elara was still asleep, though her brow was furrowed, as if she were having a dream she couldn't escape. I sat on the edge of the mattress, the weight of my body causing the bed to tilt.

Slowly, I reached out. My hand looked monstrous against her pale, thin shoulder. My fingers were twice the size of hers, my skin tanned and scarred, hers like fine porcelain.

"Gentle," I told the beast. "Gentle."

I slid my hand under her back, lifting her just enough for Hestia to begin unwrapping the old linen. Elara let out a small, pained whimper in her sleep, her head lulling back against my chest.

The contact was electric. The moment her skin touched mine, a shock of pure, white light seemed to flash behind my eyelids. My Lycan let out a purr so loud it sounded like a small engine.

"Her skin is burning," I whispered, my heart breaking at the heat coming off her.

"The silver is fighting her wolf," Hestia explained, her fingers moving with deft precision as she peeled back the blood-soaked cloth. She paused, a sharp intake of breath escaping her. "Gods above. Silas... look at this."

I looked.

The wounds were deep, but it wasn't the depth that caught my eye. It was the way they were healing. Around the edges of the jagged cuts, there was a faint, purple shimmer—the same color as her eyes. It looked like glowing embers, pulsing slowly.

"That isn't wolf healing," Hestia whispered, her voice trembling. "I’ve healed Alphas and Omegas for fifty years. I’ve never seen a body react like this. It’s almost as if... as if the wound is being knit together by something other than blood."

I reached out, my thumb grazing the air just above the glowing skin. I felt a tingle, a spark of energy that made the hair on my arms stand up. It felt like the earth before a lightning strike.

"She’s an Omega," I said more like a question, though even as I spoke the words, they felt like a lie. "A low-ranked runaway."

"She is and she might not be one.it's a mystery," Hestia countered. "And whatever she is, her body is exhausted. Silas, the power required to heal silver-burns this quickly... she’s burning through her life force. She needs to eat, and she needs to be kept calm. If she panics, her heart might not take the strain."

I looked down at her. She had turned her face into the crook of my neck, her nose brushing against my pulse point. She was seeking my heat, seeking the safety of my scent even in her unconscious state.

The Lycan in me let out a soft, satisfied whine.

"I will keep her calm," I promised, my voice a vow. "I will be the only thing she sees. I will be the only thing she hears."

"That is called smothering, Silas," Hestia warned as she applied the cooling salve. "She is a person, not a captive."

"She is my mate," I countered, my eyes flashing gold. "And in this pack, my word is the only law. She stays with me. Always."

Hestia finished the bandaging and packed her things. She looked at me one last time—at the way I was now fully lying on top of the covers next to Elara, my arm draped protectively, but lightly, over her waist. I was like a dragon guarding a single gold coin.

"She will wake soon," Hestia said, walking toward the door. "Be careful, Alpha. She is been hurt . If you hold her too tight, she will see a cage, not a sanctuary."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I was too busy watching the way a single strand of her hair fell across her forehead.

The room grew quiet again. I stayed there, my body a shield between her and the rest of the world. I knew Hestia was right. I knew I was being "clingy," that I was bordering on obsession. But every time I looked at the purple glow of her wounds, every time I felt that strange, magical hum beneath her skin, I knew she was more than just a mate.

She was a miracle. And I would slaughter every wolf in the Iron Claw pack before I let them dim her light again.

As the morning light grew stronger, Elara’s eyes began to flicker. Her hand moved, her small fingers clutching at the fur blanket—and then, they brushed against my hand.

I held my breath, the beast inside me going perfectly still.

She didn't pull away.

In her sleep, her fingers curled around mine, holding on as if I were the only thing keeping her from drowning.

"I’ve got you," I whispered, the words vibrating into the silk of her pillow. "I’ve got you, little bird."

The North was mine, the mountains were mine, the pack was mine. But as her small hand squeezed mine, I realized that I was completely, utterly hers.