The HEALER'S SECRET
The wind howled through the trees, its high-pitched cries making the shutters of the tiny cottage where Elara toiled by the light of a candle tremble. Outside the trees, the woods murmured shadowy fringes, their secrets borne upon the wind. She did not fear the woods, but the villagers did. They whispered of things with burning eyes like red-hot coals, of shrieking shadows that prowled at night.
Elara was more wise. She'd grown up among the trees, and never once did she ever see the monsters they imagined. But the forest was alive, its power a thrum in her bones.
Tonight, though. tonight was different—something brewing.
"Elara?"
Maren's voice pierced her head. The ancient medic whaled with herbs by grinding them between mortar on the low wooden bench, her own face stern, lines deeper than were normal for it. Her lined-up fingers arthritically, trained all these years past to shut out wounds and illness, were functioning well but peered out at the window in expectation as though waiting for an intruder's shadow to evade into darkness.
“You’re distracted again,” Maren observed, her tone sharp but laced with concern.
Elara sighed, rubbing her hand over her forehead. “Tired. Just tired. This storm—”
A loud crash shattered the night.
Both women were startled. The sound had come from outside—near the treeline.
One breath later, a low, animalistic growl followed.
Elara’s pulse spiked. She snatched a lantern from the table, heart thundering. “Someone’s out there.”
Maren's face grew dark, her ancient eyes nearly black. "Don't go, child."
But Elara had already gone.
She yanked open the door, icy wind slapping her in the face. Drives of rain were pouring down, puddling in her plain dress as she ran towards the noise, her feet barely grazing the wet earth. The wind wailed through the trees, but still, she ran on, driven by some nameless impulse.
And she saw him.
A man huddled on the ground beneath a tree, his body smeared with blood.
Her breath froze. He was huge, unreally huge, his chest expanding and contracting in shallow, rasping gasps. His black hair clung to his face, rain-soaked and smeared with blood and red streaks. The metallic flavor of blood and wet earth, acrid and bitter. But his eyes were what froze her.
A burning, dark gold.
Not human.
Lycans. Monsters the village feared.
Elara's mind screamed for her to run—to turn around and listen to Maren's warning. But her healer's heart won out over fear.
She moved beside him slowly, drinking in his wounds. Claw slashes across his chest, deep, new blood welling up. His breathing was ragged gasps, his body wracked with fever despite the deluge of rain. He wouldn't survive.
She sat beside him, reaching
A hand shot up, iron fingers clamping around her wrist.
Elara gasped, her pulse hammering against her ribs. His grip was strong despite his injuries, his body trembling from pain and exhaustion.
His lips parted, and his voice—hoarse, broken—sent a chill racing down her spine.
“Princess…you are alive". He coughed, blood staining his lips. His golden eyes locked onto hers, wild with desperation.
“You’re alive.”
Elara's heart pounded in her ribcage.
Princess?
He wasn't saying anything, but she was stunned enough not to tell him to talk. The man's grip on her tightened, his eyes blazing into hers with something abysmally near recognition.
Lightning crackled in the blackness above, dashing a brief beam of light across his face. And with it, something in Elara stirred—a tug, a whisper of something lost.
A memory, on the outskirts of consciousness.
And the man's eyes dimmed out once more, his body falling into unconsciousness.
Thunder rumbled above.
Elara knew she needed to be away from him. He was not human. He was one of them. The creatures that the village feared.
But something within her was telling her that the true danger wasn't standing in front of her.
It was what had done this to him.
And it was still on the loose.
