Chapter Eight
Tyler
The infirmary hummed with subdued energy, low lamplight casting warm pools of light over the occupied beds as deepening shadows settled into the corners of the room. The air was thick with the earthy scents of medicinal herbs—the bitter notes of kulvitch mingling with the more whimsical undertones of palliks.
I had spent countless hours with Seraphina, standing by her side as she prepared batch after batch of healing tea. Her focus remained unwavering, even as fatigue tugged at her spirit. The only reprieve came when I managed to coax her out of the infirmary for brief breaks and the occasional snack of chocolate.
At last, she sighed. “I think I better go back to the house for some rest.”
Relief washed over me, flooding my chest with warmth. I had been acutely aware of the immense energy she poured into each potion, her magic intertwining with the herbs’ vitality. Thankfully, she recognized her limits before I had to drag her away from her work.
In a moment, Kelly took note of Seraphina’s orders, conferring quietly about which patients needed treatment throughout the night. Both Linda and Laura had retired earlier to rest before returning for the night shift. While I felt gratitude toward my packmates, my predominant emotion was protectiveness for Seraphina. My wolf prowled restlessly, eager to whisk her home and care for her.
Outside the infirmary, I extended Seraphina’s coat toward her, and she allowed me to help her into it. The simple acceptance warmed me, igniting a flicker of hope. Perhaps, just perhaps, things were slowly shifting between us.
In under five minutes, we arrived home, the familiar kitchen awash in cozy warmth. The moment the door clicked shut behind us, she made a beeline for the refrigerator, and an unexpected wave of nostalgia flooded me. Memories danced through my mind of her returning from the mountains, cheeks flushed from the fresh air, gathering herbs and crystals with childlike glee. Back then, she would storm in, ready to raid the cupboards, filling up on chips and popcorn before I could coax her into something more nutritious.
“Do you have any chips?” she asked, an eager glint in her eyes.
I shook my head, regretting not stocking up on snacks during my last trip to town. Instead, I retrieved a couple of microwave meals from the fridge. “How does lasagne sound?”
“Like heaven,” she replied, shrugging off her coat and hanging it up by the door. She sank into a chair, her exhaustion apparent. She rolled her neck back and forth, cracking with each attempt to ease the tension built from hours of chopping and mixing. An impulse surged through me, my hands longing to knead the knots from her shoulders and soothe the tightness etched along her spine.
Forcing myself to focus, I unwrapped the lasagne, puncturing holes in the foil before placing it on a plate. The hum of the microwave reverberated around us, a comforting background noise that contrasted with my racing thoughts. Turning around, I caught her removing her boots, her small, tired movements igniting a rush of warmth in me and a desire to relieve her weariness.
“Want a glass of wine?” I asked, leaning back against the counter to divert my attention.
“Yes, please,” she replied, gratitude tinged with exhaustion lighting her features.
I poured two glasses and set them on the table just as the microwave dinged, snapping me from my reverie. I plated up our meals, feeling a deep satisfaction wash over me as I watched her finally eat something substantial. Even if it was just a microwave meal, it was a meal I had prepared for her. The wolf inside me rumbled contentedly. I had ensured she received nourishment.
After a few mouthfuls, Seraphina set down her fork, her brow furrowing with an intensity that pulled my attention. “I couldn’t tell you earlier, but this illness—it’s definitely the work of dark witchcraft.”
Her voice was steady yet laced with a tension that pulled me further into the gravity of the moment. I leaned forward, eager for clarity. “Tell me everything.”
With a deep breath, she continued, “It’s true what I told the packmates about seeing something like this at Selina’s boutique when her products were infected. That was Marissa, Selina’s sister. She infected Selina’s products with dark magic.”
A chill sliced through the warmth of the kitchen, leeching away our comforting atmosphere.
“But it’s more than that,” she pressed, her determination cutting through the tension. “I sensed this blend of dark magic a couple of months ago when the Black Moons invaded the Shadow Moon Pack. Marissa worked with a Black Moon witch. Their magic felt precisely like this.”
“Are you saying you can identify this dark magic as belonging to the Black Moon Pack?” I asked, urgency coloring my tone.
Her expression deepened. “Think of it like tasting wine—distinguishing the grape by its aroma, its flavor, the way it clings to the glass.” She swirled her deep red wine thoughtfully. “Each type of magic carries unique identifiers. This one feels like an oil slick against my skin. This particular blend is identical to the aura of the Black Moon witch. I’m convinced that the traitor responsible for this illness is someone colluding with them—a traitor who has been here all along.”
Anger washed over me, tightening my chest, and I could hardly breathe. “I need you to stay focused on treating the illness,” I insisted, trying to shake off the weight of her revelation. “I’ll investigate the connections between the illness and the traitor.”
The gravity of her words anchored me in a brooding silence as I contemplated the task ahead—rooting out this threat. Seraphina wolfed down her food and finished her wine long before I did. Her exhaustion became more pronounced, and I urged, “You need to rest.”
“I should wash up,” she said, though her voice was sluggish.
“Go to bed,” I ordered, forcing myself not to imagine her lying down, her midnight-black hair spilling out across the pillow. She shot me a grateful look before heading upstairs.
The following day, Seraphina returned to the infirmary, pouring her energy into treating the packmates once more. Her efforts began to bear fruit. As we hoped, her treatments proved effective, even for those most gravely afflicted.
With each day that passed, I silently thanked the goddess for Seraphina’s return. Without her, our pack’s situation could have spiraled further into chaos. Only a few of our Silver Moon warriors—David, Harry, and Neave—had fallen ill. But with only twenty strong warriors to guard our borders against the likes of the Black Moon Pack, I couldn’t afford to entertain thoughts of more warriors being bedridden—a weakening that I suspected the traitor desired.
I had begun investigating the origins of the sickness. The first two sufferers of the illness had unfortunately passed away two days before Seraphina returned. The conversation with their surviving loved ones was difficult and yielded no leads. Harry, one of the Silver Moon warriors had been next to exhibit symptoms. I met with his brother in an attempt to try to piece together some common denominator between the three cases, but I came up infuriatingly empty.
Each day only deepened the sickening feeling that someone within our midst wished our pack harm. I could almost feel the dark magic as Seraphina had described it—an oily residue that clung to my skin and never quite vanished.
That, combined with my protective instincts, compelled me to check in on Seraphina at the infirmary far more often than necessary. With no solid leads to pursue regarding my investigation, my visits became my favorite part of each day.
It was uplifting to see the improvements among the packmates—those who had suffered mild cases had returned home with full health within four days. Meanwhile, the most seriously afflicted gradually regained consciousness, receiving teas that continued to stave off the sickness.
After a week of treatment, however, it became apparent that the remaining patients—Harry, David, and Neave—would need to remain in the infirmary. Seraphina determined their symptoms worsened whenever she reduced their doses. I couldn’t help but admire her as I watched her toil, amazed by her growth. She had become not only stronger but also kinder and more resilient through the trials.
I had sought to win Seraphina’s favor, hoping to mend our relationship. Yet she continued to distance herself from me, even going so far as to call me “ Anatch —Uncle.”
Instantly, I was taken back to those weeks after her nineteenth birthday, when I’d tried to deny our mate bond. In my foolishness, I had suggested that she address me as Anatch to try to distance myself from her and what I’d decided were inappropriate feelings. Now, each time she uttered that name, it felt like a cold blade piercing my heart, a sickening reminder of my past choices. I longed to hear her call me by my name and feel the intimacy wrapped around each syllable. Desire thrummed through me at the thought of how she would moan my name, a possessive heat spiraling within me.
Every day seemed to bring fresh reminders of my role as her protector—her “caring Anatch .” I couldn’t shake the jealousy that brewed within me as young males gravitated toward her. David, now recovered enough to take short walks around the infirmary, inevitably found his way to Seraphina’s herb station. I watched as he bent over her work, helping her pick the delicate flowers she needed for her teas, his large hands awkwardly gentle against the fragile buds.
Since when had the Silver Moon warriors developed an interest in herbs and crystals? Their attention should have been on their recovery, not lingering around my Seraphina.
“Tagiu,” Harry remarked, admiring an ashen-blue crystal that caught the light. I knew the young warrior had little interest in ores; he was more inclined toward fighting and woodworking. Yet here he was, faking fascination as he leaned closer to her, asking, “And what’s this one?”
“That one is ivis. The crimson color is believed to help quicken the connection the curative has with one’s blood,” she explained, her voice smooth and informative.
“Remarkable,” he said, but I could see the admiration in his gaze wasn’t for the gem but for her.
Determined to shield her from their lingering presence, I strode in, letting my alpha authority radiate from me like a shield. My wolf rumbled jealously. I couldn’t bear watching these males hover around Seraphina.
David paled as I approached, muttering, “I think I’m going to go lie down.” He made a hasty retreat to his bed, his gait confirming Seraphina’s constant teas were helping his health. Harry followed suit, ducking back to bed without a word, leaving Seraphina and me alone in the relatively quiet room.
She crossed her arms, glaring at me with those brilliant green eyes. “Might I ask why you’re here again?”
“Is it a crime for an alpha to check in on how his packmates are healing?” I shot back, frustration rising in my chest.
“It feels counterproductive for an alpha to scare them off like you just did.”
“I only encouraged them to get the bed rest they need,” I countered, my anger roiling within me, fueled by the scents of the young men still lingering in the air around her.
“Part of their improvement means being active and engaged in their recovery,” she argued, her voice steady yet sparking with annoyance. “You’re hindering my treatment with your interference.”
Not knowing how to refute her perfectly reasonable logic, I growled, “Look, the packmates haven’t always been your biggest supporters. I don’t trust them around you. Is it a crime for me to check in on you?”
Even before I finished speaking, I could tell I had crossed a line. Fury ignited in Seraphina’s eyes, bright and fierce. With swift decisiveness, she grabbed my arm and marched me out of the infirmary, her grip firm and unyielding.
“Let’s talk about this somewhere private,” she insisted, pulling me into the supply closet, the double doors shutting behind us with a soft click.
Inside the dimly lit space, the scents engulfed us: the peppery bite of kulvitch mingled with the sweet, honeyed aroma of Seraphina’s skin and the soft notes of palliks. The air was thick with herbal fragrances, a testament to her hard work, but it was her presence that was truly intoxicating.
Turning to face me, she declared, “I can handle anyone harassing me. I don’t need you to protect me, Anatch !”
A wave of her magic erupted around her, forming a barrier that pushed me back. The intensity in her eyes burned like fire, capturing me. I was mesmerized by the strength radiating from her—pride mixed with my growing anger. Yet beneath it all, the sharp pang of rejection cut deeper. She confined me to the role of guardian, ignoring the truth of what we really were. Frustration churned in my gut. I wasn’t her uncle. I was her mate .
As her magical barrier dissipated, a rush of conflicting emotions coursed through me. I took a cautious step closer, captivated by the fierceness and strength in the lines of her face.
“You’ve always been able to handle yourself,” I observed, my voice low, wanting to express how much that strength meant to me. I held back the deeper truth that her resilience was one of the many things I loved about her. Instead, I added, “Your strength is one of the many things I admire about you.”
She bit her lip, uncertainty flickering momentarily in her expressive green eyes. “Tyler, this isn’t right—”
“Why not?” I took a step closer, compelled to erase the distance that felt like an aching void. I searched for the right words while inhaling the sweet scent of her. “Because that’s exactly what it feels like to me—right.”
I lifted a hand, tentatively brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. My fingers lingered against her skin, and a shiver ran through her. “Seraphina,” I murmured, my voice low, “Every time I’m near you, I feel like I’m right where I should be.”
She tilted her head, searching my gaze in a way that left me breathless. “Tyler, stop—”
But her plea faltered, the weight of the moment pressing down on us, leaving her momentarily speechless. The emotions pulsing between us thickened the air, making it impossible to think straight. I could see the conflict swirling in her eyes, her desire battling against her fears. “Just tell me,” I urged, my voice a whisper. “Tell me you don’t feel this, too.”
For a moment, I feared she would, but her gaze dropped to my lips. The delicate silence hummed with tension, and the world outside became a distant whisper. The barrier between us slipped away, leaving only the raw truth of desire behind.
Seraphina’s eyelids drifted half-shut as she leaned in, evoking memories of how she’d looked at me in her bedroom years ago. I inhaled deeply, the sweet temptation of her presence drawing me closer. Goddess, help me. I couldn’t resist this anymore. The restraint I had clung to snapped, and I surged forward, claiming Seraphina’s mouth.
Her lips were soft and warm against mine, igniting a furnace in my chest. My wolf roared to life, demanding more contact with her. I felt her shiver beneath my touch, and despite her restraint, a spark of energy surged between us. My fingers cupped her cheek, pouring every unspoken feeling into this moment.
Though hesitant at first, Seraphina’s kiss transformed from a gentle pressure into something more. Her hands crept up my back, fingers burrowing into my shirt, finally surrendering to the undeniable pull between us. I relished the feel of her hands on me, daring to deepen our kiss. My tongue sought hers, and she met my passion, opening to me fully.
The warmth of her body pressed against mine stirred an overpowering ache. I was intoxicated by our connection. It felt as if the heat of our kiss had reforged the mate bond that tied us together, a bond crackling with renewed strength. But a persistent voice in my mind urged me to look into her eyes again. I pulled back slightly, needing to see her expression, to find my want mirrored in her eyes.
As our lips parted, I murmured, “This is so right, Ilak .” The word mate was suffused with reverence and the newly burning hope in my chest.
But before I could savor this newfound connection, her expression shifted. Defiance shadowed her features, and a flicker of something deeper danced behind her eyes—fear and regret. “We are not mates.”
The words fell from her lips as if they were forged in stone, resonating painfully in the enclosed space and fraying the invisible thread that had just been restored.
I searched her eyes for any hint of the desire we had just shared, but all I found was a resolute determination that sent chills down my spine. The wonder of what we could have been crumbled, leaving only echoes of desire swirling around me as she stepped back.
I wanted to reach out, to pull her back into my arms, but the weight of her rejection held me in place. She strode past and through the doors, leaving me empty and aching for the warmth of her presence. I dragged her lingering scent deep into my lungs—a bittersweet reminder of all I’d lost, of a bond that had flared with life only to be extinguished again.