WALDEMAR LAY lay recovering in a secluded chamber within the temple, the makeshift bed of furs and cloaks a stark contrast to the severity of his injury. The deep gash on his side had closed, a testament to Selene's desperate, forbidden magic, but he was weak, his formidable Alpha strength temporarily dimmed. He still bore the pallor of exhaustion, and a faint tremor occasionally ran through his limbs.
Selene remained steadfastly by his side, tending to him with a quiet, unwavering devotion. She brewed herbal infusions Elder Maeve had reluctantly provided, wiped the sweat from his brow, and changed the makeshift bandages, though the wound beneath was already knitting remarkably well. The Moonbind, though no longer screaming with the agony of his injury, pulsed with a tender, raw vulnerabi
