Chapter 15 - Aftermath
917 Words
*Elara – pov*
The adrenaline slowly began wearing off, which was unfortunate because the moment it did, my brain started functioning again.
Functioning meant noticing things. Like the fact that the injured wolf I was currently bandaging suddenly wasn’t a wolf anymore.
Bones shifted beneath my hands. Fur receded.
A fully grown man appeared in front of me with a sharp inhale of pain.
I froze.
The towel in my hands slipped slightly.
The man, who looked barely older than twenty, looked equally horrified.
Then he yanked the blanket someone had dropped nearby over his lap with impressive speed.
Right.
Because apparently shifting destroyed clothing.
Which meant…
My eyes lifted slowly.
Oh no.
Every single shifted wolf in the kitchen was naked.
Heat exploded across my face instantly.
I stood so abruptly I nearly knocked over the medical supplies.
“Well,” I announced to absolutely nobody, “that’s… deeply inconvenient.”
A snort sounded somewhere behind me.
I turned sharply toward Raiden.
Huge mistake.
Because now he was standing there too.
Bare chest.
Dark hair still damp with sweat.
Scratches lining his skin.
Looking entirely too large and entirely too male.
My brain chose violence.
I immediately looked away again.
“Are none of you concerned about this system?” I demanded at the room in general. “Do wolves not believe in emergency pants?”
Several men actually laughed.
The audacity.
Raiden’s mouth twitched slightly.
“We usually prioritise survival over modesty.”
“That’s a terrible system.”
His eyes warmed visibly. That should not affect me the way it did.
One of the injured men groaned softly beside me and I immediately crouched again, grateful for the distraction.
“You’re going to need stitches,” I muttered automatically while checking the wound again.
“I’ll heal,” he assured me.
I looked up sharply.
Right.
Werewolves.
Still getting used to that.
“That doesn’t mean you should ignore infection risk,” I informed him firmly.
The younger wolf blinked at me.
Then nodded immediately.
Interesting.
Apparently my medical tone worked on wolves too.
Behind me, the atmosphere in the room shifted suddenly.
Darker.
More dangerous.
I looked up just in time to see two massive restrained wolves being dragged through the destroyed kitchen by several of Raiden’s men.
Rogues.
Even injured, they radiated aggression.
One snarled low when it saw me.
Raiden stepped in front of me instantly.
The movement was so automatic it startled me.
Protective. Possessive almost.
His voice turned cold enough to freeze the room.
“Take them to the dungeon.”
Dungeon.
I stared at him.
Excuse me?
The rogues fought violently against the men restraining them.
Another growled:
“She belongs to him.”
My stomach tightened instantly.
Raiden’s entire posture changed from dangerous to deadly.
“Move,” he repeated sharply.
No one argued.
The wolves were dragged from the house quickly while low growls echoed through the corridor.
Heavy silence settled afterward.
I stood slowly, wiping blood from my hands with a towel while trying very hard to process the fact that:
1. Werewolves existed.
2. Apparently there was an actual dungeon nearby.
3. Raiden transformed into a giant black wolf capable of terrifying violence.
4. I still somehow trusted him more than anyone else in the room.
Which honestly felt like the craziest part.
The kitchen looked wrecked now.
Broken cabinets.
Blood on the floor.
Construction tools scattered everywhere.
One of the workers sighed dramatically.
“Well,” he muttered, “there goes the kitchen timeline.”
Another groaned.
“I literally installed those cabinets this morning.”
To my complete shock, laughter rippled through the room.
Not panic or hysteria. Just tired amusement.
Like rogue attacks were somehow an annoying inconvenience instead of life-altering trauma.
Raiden rubbed a hand across the back of his neck before looking toward me carefully.
“You alright?”
I stared at him.
“You turned into a wolf.”
A pause.
“Yeah.”
I folded my arms tightly.
“And there are dungeons.”
Another pause.
“…yip.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“You couldn’t have eased me into this slightly slower?”
Something unexpectedly soft crossed his expression then.
“I tried.”
“No, you flirted with me while withholding critical supernatural information.”
Several nearby wolves suddenly became very interested in avoiding eye contact.
Raiden looked entirely unapologetic.
“You were already overwhelmed.”
“You think?”
His gaze moved slowly across my face then.
Checking.
Assessing.
Like he was making sure I was truly okay.
“You handled yourself well tonight,” he said quietly.
I blinked.
“That’s because I thought you were actual wolves.”
His mouth curved slightly.
“You still helped.”
I opened my mouth to argue but stopped. My instincts kicked in and I had helped without hesitation. Like some part of me had recognised them even before my mind caught up.
That realization unsettled me more than the fight itself.
Raiden seemed to notice.
His expression softened again.
“You don’t have to figure everything out in one day.”
Easy for him to say.
His entire species hadn’t apparently ambushed him this week.
I exhaled slowly and looked around the destroyed kitchen again.
“So,” I muttered tiredly, “does this happen often?”
Riaden’s eyes darkened immediately.
“No.”
Something about the way he answered made my stomach tighten again.
Because that one word meant this attack hadn’t been random.
- Writer
