5

Dawn was creeping through my windows when Roman started thrashing again.

I jolted awake from my chair, nearly knocking over my cup of cold tea.

His skin was burning up, even by werewolf standards, and sweat soaked the sheets beneath him. The sight of him— a man so powerful, so utterly in control— reduced to this state sent a sharp pang through my chest for some reason.

"Shit.." I muttered, pressing my palm to his forehead. The heat practically scorched my skin. Whatever poison they'd used, his body was still fighting it, and losing. His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, his jaw tight even in unconsciousness.

I grabbed fresh cloths and my basin of cool water, trying to bring his temperature down.

As I wiped his chest, his muscles tensed under my touch, his entire body coiled tight even while unconscious.

Werewolves were always like this— predatory, even when vulnerable. I tried not to notice how my fingers trembled slightly against his burning skin. It wasn't fear, though..

No, fear would have been easier to rationalize.

"Damn it Belle focus." I scolded myself aloud, my voice barely above a whisper. "He's a patient, not a piece of meat."

"Enjoying the view, little healer?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin, the cloth slipping from my fingers into the basin with a loud splash.

His golden eyes were open, slitted with pain but still bright with that dark amusement he seemed to carry like a second skin.

"You're burning up," I said, ignoring his comment and the heat rising to my cheeks. "The poison's still in your system."

He tried to sit up, but I pushed him back down with both hands on his chest.

The moment my palms made contact, it was as though a spark of electricity shot through me. His eyes darkened, locking onto mine, and my hands froze before I quickly pulled them away.

"I need to check your wounds," I said, proud that my voice remained steady despite the way my pulse was hammering in my ears. "Try not to move."

"So bossy," he drawled, though he stayed still. "Tell me, do you order everyone around like this, or am I special?"

"I order around anyone stupid enough to get themselves half-killed on my doorstep," I shot back, peeling back the bandages on his torso.

The gashes were healing, but slower than they should for a werewolf. His kind were infamous for their rapid regeneration, but these wounds were still raw and angry-looking..

"These should be closing faster," I muttered, more to myself than to him.

"The poison slows the healing," he explained through gritted teeth. "Makes us vulnerable."

"Like regular wolves, then?" I couldn't resist the jab.

It was easier to focus on sniping at him than on the heat radiating off his body or the way his muscles flexed under my touch.

His hand shot out, snaring my wrist in an iron grip. "I am nothing like a regular wolf, little healer. You'd do well to remember that."

His voice was low, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down my spine. But I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze head-on. "And you'd do well to remember that you’re in my care. I don't respond well to threats, Alpha or not."

To my surprise, he laughed, though it quickly turned into a grimace. "Fuck, don't make me laugh! Everything hurts."

"Good. Maybe pain will teach you some manners." I twisted my wrist free and turned to grab my herbs. "I need to make a stronger poultice. The poison is fighting your healing ability."

His eyes tracked me as I moved around the small cottage, gathering ingredients and grinding them into a paste. "You know a lot about werewolf anatomy for a human."

"My grandmother was a healer before me," I said without looking at him. "She believed in being prepared for anything."

I ground the herbs with more force than necessary, trying to ignore the way his gaze felt like a physical weight on my back. "Including arrogant werewolves who think intimidation is a personality trait."

"Your grandmother sounds wise," he said, shifting slightly on the bed and wincing. "And you sound bitter. Bad experience with my kind?"

I paused, the pestle stilling in my hand.