Fevered Meetings
1842 Words
The small kitchen was in disarray.
Myra returned with a pot of water and a handful of rags, her hands trembling.
Together, the women tended to Selena’s wounds, whispering instructions to one another as if afraid their words might draw punishment.
They fashioned a makeshift bed in the kitchen’s shadowed corner, shielding her from wandering eyes. The air reeked of sweat and herbs — desperation disguised as care.
“This is too much,” Myra murmured, pushing damp hair from Selena’s face.
“Hold on, love,” Juno said softly, dabbing another patch of torn skin. “We’ll take care of you.”
The days dragged like a wound refusing to close. Selena drifted in and out of consciousness, fever burning through her veins.
Every breath came shallow; every sound echoed in her skull. The others took turns keeping watch, fear sharp in their eyes.
They couldn’t stop their duties to care for her, or she would be disposed of as a distraction and a handicap to the base.
That didn’t mean they wouldn’t try. They always snuck around their shifts to make sure Selena was still breathing.
One night, they decided things weren’t working.
Illys poured water into a wooden bowl and brought it to Selena’s cracked lips. “She isn’t getting better,” she whispered.
Myra wiped sweat from her brow. “We can’t keep her here much longer. The air’s foul. She needs proper care.”
“She’s burning up,” Illys said, pressing her palm to Selena’s forehead. “We can’t leave her like this. The infirmary’s the only option.”
Juno’s gaze darted toward the door. “If Skalwarg or his men see us, we’re done for. You know what happens if they catch us sneaking around.”
“Then what—do we just watch her die?” Myra snapped, voice breaking.
Selena stirred on the pallet, muttering something incoherent. The women fell silent. Illys’s eyes welled up as she looked at Selena’s pale face. “I’ll get the healer,” she whispered. “We can’t let her go like this.”
“Be quick,” Myra said. “And be quiet.”
Illys slipped through the kitchen door, her footsteps fading into the darkness.
Time slowed to a cruel crawl. Selena’s fever worsened; she trembled, her skin slick with sweat.
Myra and Juno tried everything — cool rags, whispered prayers, stolen herbs — but nothing eased her pain.
At last, Illys returned, breathless, with a woman in healer’s garb close behind.
Aira, Helle’s healer, set her satchel down and knelt beside Selena. “How long has she been like this?”
“Two days,” Juno answered. “She hasn’t eaten or spoken since the branding.”
Aira’s expression hardened. “Then we’re out of time.”
She worked quickly — checking Selena’s pulse, peeling away old bandages, applying fresh salve that stung and steamed. “We move her,” Aira said. “Now.”
Between them, they lifted Selena’s limp body and carried her through the dim corridors to the infirmary. Every step was a risk. Every shadow looked like a guard’s outline. But fortune, or perhaps the goddess, kept them unseen.
*-*-*-*-*
Days blurred.
Selena’s fever raged like wildfire, dragging her through dreams that felt too vivid to be false. She saw flashes of silver fur, the glint of a blade, Ray’s face twisted in betrayal.
Sometimes she smelled smoke; other times, blood.
Sometimes she heard her mother’s voice. “Endure, my daughter. Lunas do not break.”
And sometimes, she woke up screaming.
Aira and the others tended her tirelessly. Cold compresses. Herbs that burned her tongue. Whispered reassurances that dissolved into silence when they thought she couldn’t hear.
It was a week, maybe more, before the fever finally broke. Selena awoke in a clean bed, the air sharp with the scent of antiseptic herbs instead of decay. Pale light filtered through the narrow window, and she blinked against it, her mind slow to understand she was still alive.
Her body ached, but the pain was distant now, manageable. She turned her head, taking in the neat rows of cots and the faint bubbling of water over the fire. The infirmary was quiet, too quiet. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious.
The escape, she thought suddenly—the plan.
Selena tried to sit up. Pain flared white-hot across her body, but she froze when her hand brushed her cheek. The skin there was rough, tight, wrong.
Slowly, she dragged herself to the water basin nearby.
The reflection staring back made her stomach twist. Her face was marred by a burn running from temple to jaw — angry, pink, and edged in silver where the brand’s heat had splattered.
Her wolf whimpered low inside her chest, mourning the loss of symmetry, the insult to their pride. She raised trembling fingers to touch the edge of the wound, but the moment her skin met it, pain flared so sharply she gasped aloud.
It wasn’t just the brand on her shoulder now; it was her face. The world would see her scars before they saw her crown.
Her throat tightened. For the first time since the branding, she wept, quietly, almost soundlessly.
The door creaked.
Aira entered, speaking to someone behind her. “She’s awake, but weak. Keep your voice low.”
Another voice answered, softer, familiar.
“I’ve been away too long. Any patients needing help?”
The tone, the cadence — something in Selena’s heart lurched. She turned toward the door, eyes narrowing against the light.
The newcomer stepped forward, pulling down her hood.
Selena’s breath caught.
“Bianca?” she rasped, disbelief and hope warring in her chest.
The woman froze mid-step, brown eyes widening. Then she crossed the room in three strides and knelt by the bed. “Lady Selena?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Is it truly you?”
“It’s me,” Selena said weakly, tears stinging her eyes. “But… how? How are you here?”
Bianca’s hands trembled as they cradled her face, careful to avoid the burn. “It is you,” she murmured. “By the goddess, Selena, your face—”
Selena flinched, turning away. “I’ve seen it.”
Aira hesitated, then quietly excused herself, shutting the door to give them privacy.
Bianca swallowed hard. “She did this, didn’t she? Esmaray?”
Selena went still. “How did you—”
Bianca gave a bitter, broken laugh. “After she accused me of leaking pack secrets, the elders banished me. I wandered for weeks before the slavers found me, led by her. She came with them, Selena. She brought them.”
Selena’s stomach turned to ice. “She… sold you?”
Bianca nodded. “You, me, the others who questioned her. She’s loyal to no one but power now.”
The words hung between them like a curse.
Selena closed her eyes. “I loved her like a sister.”
Bianca’s touch softened. “We all did. That’s how she fooled us.”
Silence stretched until only the sound of the fire crackling filled the room.
Bianca sighed, returning to her healer’s work. “Please hold still, my lady. The burn’s healing badly.”
Selena tried to pull away, but Bianca’s grip was firm. “Don’t be stubborn. Skalwarg’s temper is nothing to trifle with.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Selena snapped, then winced as Bianca pressed a cool cloth to her cheek.
“Well, he doesn’t need a reason. He’s a monster, and you have a habit of provoking monsters.” Bianca bound the wound in fresh linen and frowned. “This will scar.”
Selena gave a bitter laugh. “Add it to the collection. With Mika dead, my plans to escape are—”
Bianca’s hand flew to cover her mouth. “Are you insane?” she hissed. “Do you know what would happen if anyone heard that?”
Selena glared, pulling her hand away. “I know. And I don’t care.”
“You just woke up! You can barely stand, and you’re already thinking about running?”
“I will run,” Selena said through gritted teeth. “And I’ll make them pay for everything.”
Bianca’s expression softened with pity, or maybe fear. “Selena, I understand the rage. But fighting him head-on will get you killed.”
“So what?” Selena shot back, voice shaking. “You’d rather I lie here and rot—like you?”
Bianca’s face went utterly still. Her brown eyes, always so warm, even here, dulled as though she’d been struck. The flicker of hurt there pierced straight through Selena’s fury. Bianca’s mouth trembled before she pressed her lips together, holding herself rigid.
Selena’s breath caught. Regret speared through her as fast as her anger had come. “Bianca…” she whispered, voice softening. “I didn’t—”
Bianca straightened the blanket with brisk hands, but her voice was unsteady. “It’s all right. You’re a Luna, true and true. That hasn’t changed. It’s… actually good to see.” She managed a small, crooked smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m happy for you. I just don’t want to lose you again.”
Selena turned her face away, throat thick. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, but Bianca was already tucking the edges of the sheet like a nurse sealing a wound.
She straightened the sheets, her voice shaking again. “I’ll change the dressing tomorrow. Don’t scratch at it. It’ll hurt for a while.”
Then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Selena stared at the ceiling, chest heavy with guilt and exhaustion. She hadn’t meant to lash out. She hadn’t meant to sound like every ungrateful, entitled Luna she’d despised growing up. Bianca had risked everything to keep herself alive back in Bloodfang.
The chains around her wrists glowed faintly where silver met skin — burning, eating slowly through flesh. She could feel the lethargy it bred, the way it dulled her wolf. But she would not yield to it.
Myra’s words came back to her. The magician would know a way out.
Selena clenched her fists. She needed to reach him. Somehow.
But the room tilted, her heart slowed, and her body finally betrayed her. Regret, rage, and exhaustion folded into one, dragging her under.
Selena passed out, fists still clenched on the blanket, her mind already running even as sleep swallowed her.
In the days that followed, she listened and watched.
By the marking of the twelfth day, she knew which wooden floorboards creaked, which doors stayed unlocked, and which guards drank too much before dawn.
At night, when sleep refused her, she repeated her father’s words: To yield to fear is to yield to defeat.
She had yielded once, when they’d deceived and sold her.
She would not yield again.
She was Selena of the Bloodshade Pack. Luna by birthright.
And if the gods still listened, she would make them remember it.
- Writer
