Chapter 6: The Healer Returns
1155 Words
Chapter 6: The Healer Returns
Ava Pov…
The scent of the pack house l hadn't changed.
I stepped into the marble hall, each footfall echoing against memories I'd buried deep. The same towering pillars, the same cold floors beneath my boots. But I was no longer the trembling girl they tossed into the woods. I was the rogue healer now. And I didn’t come to feel at home—I came to heal the Alpha, the man who cast me out.
I traced my fingers along the stone walls as I walked, my heart steady, my face blank. I remembered sneaking into this very place once—desperate, hoping to help the alpha I’d been fated to. The mate who never looked twice before letting my step-sister take everything that belonged to me. I had nothing to prove anymore… but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t make them see me.
A voice called out ahead.
“Lady Ava—thank you for accepting the invitation. Truly.” It was the Beta—Lucas, if I remembered right. He was older now, with deeper lines around his mouth, but the way he carried himself hadn’t changed. His tone was kind, even grateful, but I could see it in his eyes: he didn’t recognize me.
Of course he wouldn’t.
It had been five years. Five long years of clawing my way back to life. There was no trace of the weak omega girl they’d beaten and chained.
I kept my voice flat. “Where’s the Alpha?”
He blinked, surprised at my sharpness, but nodded. “This way. He’s been asking for help since dawn.”
I followed him down the long corridor without another word, ignoring the way my heart clenched tighter the closer we got to the room.
The door creaked open, and there he was.
Kyran.
Unconscious, pale, and barely breathing. He looked nothing like the proud, untouchable alpha who once sneered as I was dragged away in chains. His lips were cracked, sweat clung to his temples, and his chest rose and fell in shallow, struggling movements. My heart gave a stupid stutter.
Lucas turned to me. “I’ll leave you two. He’s been calling for someone in his sleep. I’ll… give you privacy.”
“Wait,” I said before he could leave. “He asked for someone? Who?”
He hesitated. “Clara.”
Of course.
I nodded stiffly, and he shut the door behind him.
I took a slow step forward. Every inch of me screamed to leave—to turn around and let him suffer—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Something deeper, older, tied to that long-forgotten bond, made my feet keep moving.
I knelt beside the bed and laid a hand on his chest. The bond I thought had died sparked again, just for a second, like embers under ash. His body stirred, just faintly, and his hand gripped mine weakly.
Then his lips parted and he whispered, “Clara…”
I snatched my hand away like I’d been burned.
My jaw clenched as heat pricked behind my eyes. After all these years—after everything—he still thought she was the one? That she was the mate?
I was right here. And he still couldn’t see me.
I rose to my feet, biting down the ache building in my chest. “You never knew me,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Not then, not now.”
I steadied myself. He was burning up—his fever flaring dangerously. I pressed my hand to his forehead and let the healing energy flow from my palm into him. The fever began to ebb slowly. His breathing calmed.
From my satchel, I pulled the crushed herbs and tinctures I’d prepared. They were bitter, strong, but effective. I placed a pinch beneath his tongue, forcing him to swallow. His throat moved weakly.
The moment I turned to leave, his hand caught mine again. His eyes fluttered open. This time, they focused.
“Who… are you?”
His voice was rough, like gravel.
I didn’t meet his eyes. “The girl you left to die,” I said, barely above a whisper. “The one you never saw.”
His brows pulled together in confusion. “I don’t—”
“You wouldn’t remember.” I yanked my hand from his grip. “You never cared to.”
I moved to the door, trying to keep my breath steady. I didn’t want him to see me cry. He didn’t deserve to see anything real from me.
“Wait,” he rasped. “Stay.”
I paused, my fingers on the door handle.
But I couldn’t. Not now. I was about to step out when the door opened—and she walked in.
Clara.
She looked exactly the same. Polished. Perfect. As if five years hadn’t touched her. But her eyes—those were colder. Sharper. She was still playing the role of Luna, still wearing my stolen crown.
She barely glanced at Kyran before turning her attention to me.
“You must be the healer,” she said, her tone sugary-sweet. “Thank you for coming. Will he make it?”
I smiled tightly. “He needs rest. I’ll need to stay for a week to ensure his recovery.”
Clara nodded once, but her eyes scanned me from head to toe. “Right. You’re… different than I expected.”
“So are you,” I said, my voice calm.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
I ignored her tone. “I’ll assume my payment will be ready when I’m done.”
Her expression darkened slightly. “You’re awfully bold for a healer.”
“I’ve earned the right,” I replied.
She gave a breathy laugh. “We’ll see. For now, don’t get too comfortable. You’re here to serve, not demand.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to.
Because one way or another, I was going to make sure she remembered me. Every lie she told. Every scar she helped carve into my back. She’d feel all of it—soon.
Just then, Lucas appeared in the hallway behind her. Clara turned to him with a smile.
“Beta,” she said smoothly, “please show our healer to the maid’s quarters.”
Lucas hesitated. “That room isn’t—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in before he could argue. “Show me.”
Clara tilted her head, mocking. “Yes, listen to her. Beta. Good girls know their place.”
I held her gaze, my smile unbothered. “It’s only temporary.”
She smirked. “We’ll see.”
I glanced one last time at Kyran lying motionless in bed. Then without another word, I turned and walked past Clara like she wasn’t even there.
She might have stolen my place once.
But this time, I’d make sure she choked on every lie she ever told.
- Writer
