The Luna Who Burned The Pack

CHAPTER TWELVE PT2

I warm up at his words and turn my face to hide the smile on my face.

The bowl of water and the other supplies Mira brought are resting on the table, so I pull the table closer, and grab a clean towel. I soak the towel in the water and wring it a bit so it’s not too wet or too dry.

I turn around and find Curran staring at me with intense eyes. So many emotions in those eyes, and it feel like he’s struggling to settle on one but then he must have chosen one because those intense dark green eyes fix on me with a weight that pulls the air right out of my lungs.

"Sit up, Curran," I say, keeping my voice as steady as I can. "And turn around."

He obeys without a word, swinging his broad shoulders away from me. Up close, the damage is staggering. The claw marks are deep, jagged gashes stretching diagonally across his shoulder blades down to his ribs. Dark, sluggish blood oozes from the tears, and the faint scent of copper and burnt ozone clings to his skin. Worse, the black, branch-like veins that crept across his back days ago are throbbing around the edges of the wounds, fighting his body's natural urge to heal.

My chest tightens. "Does it hurt?"

"I've had worse," he mutters, though his muscles tense as I bring the wet towel to the edge of the deepest tear.

"Lie," I whisper.

I press the damp cloth against the blood. Curran catches his breath, a low grumble vibrating deep in his chest, but he doesn't pull away. I wipe away the dried blood with slow, gentle strokes, careful not to press too hard into the raw flesh. Every time my fingers brush his skin, a soft spark of warmth flickers beneath my palm—not hot enough to burn, but warm enough to make the dark veins near my hands recede ever so slightly.

Curran stills completely. "Violet."

"Don't move," I scold softly, pouring a splash of rubbing alcohol onto a clean pad of gauze. "This is going to sting."

Before he can answer, I press the gauze to the open gash. Curran grunts, his hands gripping the edge of the wooden mattress frame so hard the timber groans under his strength. I hold the pad firmly, watching in fascination as the dark, corrupted energy hovering around the wound seems to hiss and dissolve where my bare fingers touch his skin.

He turns his head slightly, his profile sharp against the dim morning light filtering through the cabin window. "Your hands... they're warm."

"I'm always warm," I say, though I know what he means. It's the same feeling from last night. The same strange, pulsing heat that blazed on my wrist when the shadow beast laid its head in my lap. "Hold still. I'm going to wrap the bandages around your torso."

I lean in close, looping the white linen around his chest. To reach around him, I have to practically wrap myself around his upper body. My chest brushes against his back, and the rich scent of him—cedar, rain, and something entirely his own—fills my senses. My breath hitches.

Curran reaches up, his large, calloused hand coming to rest over mine where it rests against his ribs. His thumb traces the skin of my inner wrist, right over the spot where the glowing red mark had burned just hours ago.

"You didn't run," he says softly, his voice rough with exhaustion and something far more dangerous. "When the beast came out. When I lost control. You stayed."

"I told you I would," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. I finish tying the bandage off, but I don't pull my hands away. I can't. "I don't break my promises, Curran. Even when I probably should."

He turns around slowly until he's facing me on the edge of the bed. The exhaustion is evident in the shadow under his eyes, but the dark, possessive look in his gaze makes my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"You're a strange creature, Violet Harpsichord," he murmurs, his hand sliding up my arm to rest gently at the curve of my neck. His thumb rests right over my fluttering pulse point. "Dark Moon treated you like trash, yet here you sit, stitching up the monster everyone else runs from."

"Maybe I just recognize another survivor when I see one," I say, leaning slightly into his touch before I can stop myself. "Or maybe I just really hate seeing you hurt."

A dark, genuine smile breaks across his face, lighting up his features in a way that takes my breath away. "Is that so, my Luna?"

Before I can answer, a heavy knock rattles the wooden door of the cabin.

Raze's muffled voice carries through the thick oak. "Alpha! We have a problem at the eastern border. Dark Moon patrols were spotted near the river."

The soft, warm atmosphere in the room shatters instantly. Curran's jaw hardens, the relaxed posture vanishing as he shifts back into the cold, commanding Alpha King. But as he stands and pulls a dark shirt over his freshly bandaged chest, he pauses, looking back at me with an unreadable expression.

"Stay inside the cabin today, Violet," he commands, though his tone lacks its usual harsh edge. "Mira will be here shortly."

"Curran," I call out just as he reaches the door handle.

He stops, looking back over his shoulder.

"Be careful out there."

He gives me a single, firm nod before stepping out into the crisp morning air, leaving me alone in the quiet room with the lingering scent of smoke, cedar, and a burning question I'm not sure I'm ready to answer.