Contracts Bride

Chapter 6

Kyle's Perspective

The chill of the stone bed seeped through the fur pallet, intertwining with the sharp agony in my left arm, tightening every muscle in my body. In my feverish haze, the wolf nature within me raged like a caged beast, rampaging through my veins—the black bear's claws had not only torn flesh but its savage aura had agitated my inner wolf into a restless frenzy. I could feel my canine teeth itching, my ears echoing with the shouts of my pack and the bear's roar.

"Wolf King, the shaman won't be back for three days. If this bleeding doesn't stop…" A commander's voice was thick with anxiety, cut short by my low snarl. "Enough."

I forced my eyes open, my vision blurry from blood loss, and pushed myself upright. Reaching for the wound sent a fresh, tearing pain through my left arm, cold sweat instantly soaking my hair. Damn it. I, who had lived this long, slain countless fierce beasts, brought down by a single bear. And the bitter irony—taking the blow to shield a reckless young warrior. As the Wolf King, I should never have allowed such a "lapse."

Just then, the stone door creaked open. A slender figure slipped inside. My eyes, lifting, turned cold the moment I recognized her. Ethan. She held a wooden tray laden with herbs and a clay bowl, hovering at the entrance like a rabbit straying into forbidden territory.

"Who let you in? Get out!" I didn't bother masking my disgust. Since she'd been forced upon me, she was like a persistent shadow, constantly appearing with those clear, hopeful eyes that grated on my nerves. I kept her here only out of deference to the elders.

She flinched at my tone, the tray wobbling, but she didn't flee. Instead, she tightened her grip on the handle, took a small step forward, and spoke, her voice trembling yet unnervingly firm. "Your wound is deep. The shaman isn't here. If it's not treated, it will get infected. Let me help you."

"I don't need your false concern." A wave of irritation rose in my chest. I'd rather die of the pain than have her touch me. But as the words left my mouth, my attempt to wave her off tugged viciously at the injury. A sharp gasp escaped me, my arm dropping heavily.

Seizing the opportunity, she hurried to the bedside. Before I could refuse again, her fingertips lightly brushed my blood-soaked armor. In that instant, every muscle in my body locked tight, my wolf nature flaring to full alert—a stranger's touch should have incited greater frenzy. Yet, the faint coolness of her fingers was like the first breeze of spring, unexpectedly smoothing the violent turbulence in my veins.

I froze, the reprimand dying in my throat. This was… wrong. No one but the "Moonlight Girl" from my memories had ever so easily calmed the beast within me. I stared intently at her as she lowered her gaze, her long lashes casting delicate shadows. She took a linen cloth, dipped it in warm water, and carefully wiped the blood around the wound, her movements feather-light, as if handling something fragile.

"This might sting a little," she murmured, her voice soft, laced with a barely perceptible tension. I could see her fingers quivering slightly—she was clearly terrified of me—yet her hands never faltered. Each wipe skillfully avoided the worst of the injury, her pressure perfectly controlled.

As the warm water touched the wound, a sharp pain shot through me. My free hand clenched the furs beside me, knuckles whitening. Sensing my tension, her movements grew even gentler. When her fingers occasionally brushed my bare skin, that strange, soothing sensation spread again, gradually overpowering the acute pain. Watching her focused profile, the firelight dancing on her slightly flushed cheeks, I momentarily forgot to rebuke her.

She took the bloodwort from the tray, crushed it into powder on the stone table, held her breath, and carefully sprinkled it onto my wound. The herb's coolness clashed with the throbbing pain. I frowned deeply but made no sound—I was the Wolf King. I would not show weakness before a substitute. Yet, from the corner of my eye, I saw her biting her lip, her expression utterly focused and worried, her breathing held soft, as if afraid to cause me more pain.

After what felt like an age, she produced a small jar of salve. When she opened it, a faint herbal scent drifted out. Dipping her fingers in, she gently applied it around the wound, her touch unbearably tender. "This is a salve my grandmother left me. It prevents infection," she explained quietly, her tone tentative, as if fearing my rejection.

I remained silent, simply watching her. As the salve took effect, the pain indeed lessened significantly. The restless wolf within me settled completely, leaving only a deep weariness. She took clean linen and wrapped my arm in neat, careful circles, finishing with a small, secure knot, testing the bandage to ensure it wasn't too tight.

The room was so quiet, filled only by her breathing and the soft rustle of cloth. The commanders had slipped out at some point. The large chamber held only the two of us. The air, thick with the scent of herbs and the faint, clean fragrance of grass that clung to her, evoked a sense of peace I'd never known.

She finished tidying the tray and looked up at me, a flicker of hope in her eyes. My heart clenched. I snapped back to reality—how could I feel this for her? She was merely an obstacle on my path. I shut down all emotion, my voice icy. "Just this once. If you dare touch me without permission or barge into my room again, don't blame me for being harsh."

The hope in her eyes died instantly, extinguished like a flame in a gale, replaced by profound hurt and disappointment. Her lips parted, but no words came. She just nodded stiffly, her voice hoarse as she said, "I understand," before grabbing the tray and fleeing, the door closing behind her without a sound.

Cold silence returned. I touched the neatly bandaged wound. My fingertips seemed to retain the memory of her touch, that strange soothing sensation lingering. I scowled, cursing my own absurdity—Kyle, get a grip! She is not the 'Moonlight Girl.' You cannot feel this for her!

Night fell, the dens growing quiet save for the occasional footsteps of the patrol. Lying in bed, the pain in my arm a dull throb, my mind relentlessly replayed Ethan—her trembling fingers, her focused profile, the worry in her eyes, the temperature of her touch—etched into my brain, inescapable.

I sat up abruptly, my chest tight, and slammed a fist into the stone bed. Absurd! This was utterly absurd! I bore the weight of the entire wolf tribe's safety. I was the exalted Wolf King. How could a mere, fragile Omega disrupt me like this?

I took several deep, steadying breaths, forcing calm. My gaze fell on the tribal emblem hanging on the wall—the silver wolf's head gleamed coldly in the moonlight, a constant reminder of my identity and duty. I could not be entangled by sentiment. I had to purge these chaotic thoughts.

Just then, Raynor's voice came from outside the door. "Lord Kyle, an urgent message."

I composed myself. "Enter."

Raynor pushed the door open, his expression grave as he approached the bed and bowed. "My Lord, scouts report increased activity from the Blood Wolf clan at the border. They've been spotted near our outposts for several consecutive days. They've also taken two of our patrol members."

"The Blood Wolves?" My eyes narrowed. The Blood Wolves were notoriously savage and belligerent. While skirmishes were common, they'd never dared something this brazen. Taking my tribesmen signaled preparation. "What is their aim?"

"Our intelligence suggests their chieftain is rallying rogues from other packs, likely seeking to expand his forces," Raynor paused, then added, "The Moon God's Festival is in three days. I suspect they plan to attack during the celebrations. With everyone gathered in the square, our defenses will be spread thin. It's the perfect opportunity for them."

The Moon God's Festival was our most sacred holiday, involving rituals and feasting with allied tribes. A Blood Wolf attack would not only humiliate us but could bring devastation. All distractions vanished. I rose from the bed. "Dispatch triple the scouts to the border immediately. Monitor their movements closely. Report back the moment their main force is sighted."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Also, redeploy the festival security." I moved to the table, quickly sketching the square's layout. "Fifteen elite guards at each of the East, South, and West entrances. Twenty archers on the surrounding high ground. Thirty shadow guards hidden, focusing on protecting the altar and our elders and children."

I marked key positions on the map as I spoke. "You oversee this personally. Have the detailed roster on my desk by dawn tomorrow. Double-check every assignment—no oversights. And get our captured tribesmen back. Alive if possible, but confirm their fate regardless."

"Understood. I will see to it immediately." Raynor took the map and withdrew.

For the next two days, I poured all my energy into the festival's security and border defense. I inspected guard training before dawn, analyzed border intelligence with the scouts at noon, and reviewed security details with Raynor late into the night. Meals were quick bites of meat brought to my study. I had no mind for anything else.

I thought the relentless focus would drive Ethan from my thoughts. But the busier I was, the clearer her image became in rare moments of quiet. Especially when the old wound ached, I'd find myself remembering the feel of her fingers and that jar of herbal salve.

On the third morning, after inspecting the square's preparations, I headed to my study for the latest scout reports. Passing the kitchen, a faint, savory aroma of broth drifted through the door, halting my steps.

After a moment's hesitation, I pushed the door open. The warmth inside was a stark contrast to the stone halls. Ethan stood by the hearth, gently stirring a pot of broth, her movements tender and absorbed. She wore a simple, rough-spun dress, her hair loosely tied back, a few strands softening her face in the firelight.

The broth simmered, its scent—a blend of herbs and rich meat—struck a familiar chord deep within me. In my childhood, after being mauled by a wolf, on a morning just like this, the "Moonlight Girl" had cooked a similar broth over a campfire. The same comforting aroma, warmth that seeped into the bones. She had smiled and said, "Drink this. It will help the pain. You'll get better soon."

Ethan sensed my presence and turned abruptly. Seeing me, surprise flashed in her eyes, quickly replaced by nervousness. The spoon nearly slipped from her grasp. "K-Kyle."

I didn't look at her, didn't speak. Clenching my fists, I forced my gaze away and strode quickly past the kitchen door. The scent of the broth followed me, her timid greeting echoing in my ears, tangling my thoughts into a hopeless knot.

Back in the study, Raynor had laid the latest border intelligence on my desk. I picked it up. It stated the Blood Wolves' main force had withdrawn from the border, seemingly abandoning their plan. I felt a moment of relief, shadowed by unease—the Blood Wolves were cunning. They wouldn't give up so easily.

Rubbing my tired temples, my hand went unconsciously to the wound on my arm. The pain was mostly gone, the bandage still neat. Remembering Ethan's focused care, that strange ripple stirred again in my chest.

After a moment's thought, I gave the order. "Double the guard presence around the festival square. Have them blend in with the crowd. They are to act immediately at any sign of trouble. Also, move Ethan to a chamber in the inner compound. Assign two guards to stay with her during the festival. Ensure she doesn't wander off."

I couldn't explain, even to myself, why I made specific arrangements for Ethan. Perhaps it was the courage she'd shown tending my wound. Perhaps it was the memory stirred by the broth. Or perhaps, it was a concern I refused to acknowledge. But I couldn't let anything happen to her. She was under the Grey Wolf tribe's protection, and by extension, mine.

I took a deep breath, forcing concentration. The festival was upon us. Whether the Blood Wolves had retreated or not, I could not lower my guard. I picked up my pen, annotating the report, instructing Raynor to maintain heightened vigilance. We would give the enemy no opening.

The sunlight outside grew stronger. The sounds of laughter and celebration preparation floated from the square—silver streamers and round moon lanterns hung everywhere, the air festive. Standing at the window, watching my people work, one thought dominated: I must protect this festival. I must protect my people.

As for Ethan, and all these unwelcome emotions… I would bury them deep for now. Once the festival was over, once the tribe was secure, I would untangle this mess. I didn't realize, as a breeze carried the faintest hint of broth through the window, that the corner of my mouth had twitched, almost imperceptibly.