Lyra's POV
Alaric zips the bag open, and the smell it gives off isn't the same scent of herbs or ointment I had always perceived.
It's different.
This is a different kind of treatment, I suppose, and also different drugs.
He turns to me. "You're still here?"
"It's time you did what exactly?" I ask.
He grunts. I wonder what should be kept secret about treating Cassian. I've been on most of these sessions, and so, it doesn't feel right that I have to excuse him on this one.
"You're stubborn as hell."
I clench my fists. "You don't say that to me."
"Too stubborn to listen."
"Lyra, you have to leave. Just as he says." Cassian comes in.
"Just leave."
Alaric stops whatever he's doing as he waits for me to leave through the door. I hate that he has to win this. And I'm still inside the room, waiting for him to give me info, even if it's the tiniest.
Just tell me what it is," I say.
"This final treatment," Cassian's words come out weak like he is fading along with his breath.
"Your final treatment… There's a final treatment for you?"
Alaric sighs, gets back to the box and starts taking out objects like scissors, cotton wool and other substances in small jars I can't have any idea of. He places these items on the table beside the bed. When I think he is done bringing out all of his stuff, he brings out a small clay plate.
His eyes shoot at me. "You're not supposed to stay here as this isn't for you."
"I know it isn't for me, but–"
"Cassian." He pats Cassian who seems to be falling asleep. "Tell her."
Cassian has a hard time forcing his eyes open. When he manages to sit up, I notice his face has suddenly become swollen.
"It will buy more time," he says between breaths. "More time before I become feral."
The state of his body keeps fluctuating, all these the perks of the curse I suppose. He can be in any condition at any moment. I always remind myself I can never get used to this.
"Okay, yeah."
"Yes, go." Alaric lights the tiny wool in the small clay plate he's brought out from the box.
And the smell of dead grass intensifies in the room as I step out of the room, sneezing without control of myself.
Outside the door, I look through a small hole beside the doorknob. I won't give up trying to see how he copes.
Cassian's eyes are shut, but I can tell how he feels. It's all about the pain thriving through his veins. He always tries to hide it, and that would be because he hates to portray himself as a weak Alpha.
But the look on his face… it can't be all about the pain in his body, but something more?
He could endure through it and not flinch or let his eyes produce tears because of it, but the tears always flow.
It is something more.
One of his darkest scenes, obviously his darkest memory, begins to recall itself to me.
He storms out of his parents' room, his hands shaking like he comes in contact with a live wire, his teeth chattering as cold sweat slicks down his face.
"Father…" he calls out, unable to complete a sentence.
The gammas who act as guards in the palace rush to meet him, but he still can't put out words to them.
"They are… They are on the bare floor… Blood." His fingers dig into his thick hair, brushing through it, and walking down to scratch his face.
His reaction draws attention from everyone around the Alpha's palace. At that time, his father, Henry, was the Alpha. The pack elders who stand outside come inside the main hall to see him in that dreadful state.
That is when they see blood stains on his shirt.
"One about your parents?" one of the elders asks him.
But he can't speak.
They get into his parents' room.
What they find is a grim scene. Blood covers the floor like a replacement for the tiles. His parents' pulse? None of that exists.
They are gone, lifeless on the cold floor.
I've seen this event unfold as my father is the beta of the pack—second in command to the Alpha. I am there, even though I am much younger than him.
I might have been a little above ten.
Now, looking at him lying on the bed, succumbing himself to Alaric's treatment with clenched teeth, makes me realize the event of his parents' death is the root of the pain that must be tearing him apart. Not the scissors used on his body, not the needles used for acupuncture, nor the effect of the curse itself.
All of these suck.
Alaric pulls off his gloves, and places them on the table. He is done.
He comes to the door, and I quickly stand upright, turning my eyes away from the small hole at the door.
He pulls the door open. "Lyra… You've been crying?"
"Oh…" I wipe my palms across my face.
I don't realize tears leave my eyes.
"Those tears are just useless." He sighs, shaking his head. "If you had convinced him enough into performing the blood moon ritual, using that human's essence as his cure. All these years wouldn't have been needed."
I nod. I can't be offended that he blames me.
I take Cassian as my responsibility.
"I know… I know, but how is he?" I stand by the doorpost observing Cassian from the distance, scared to hear bad news.
"He has a few more days to stay normal, and after that… hmmm."
"After that, then what?"
"His time of sanity will be reduced to just an hour a day. The rest for the feral state."
"How many days does he have before that?"
"Maybe five, maybe a week."
He leaves, giving me no room to ask more eager questions. Soon after, one of the maids comes in to clean the mess on the floor—spilled substances from the bottles, and the used hand gloves from the table.
The maid finishes the cleaning and it is just Cassian and I. I lie beside him. Finally.
My hand is caressing his chest as I feel his warmth, a broad smile unable to escape my face. He tries to smile but stops, slightly raises his head above the bedsheet.
"Elara…" He jerks up to sit, his feet now touching the floor. "She's close."
"What? That human?"
"She's close."
I see the agitation alive on his face, and I can't help but notice that it has never been so with me. It's a crazy expectation as though the source of his life is just a few steps away from his door.
"Elara!" He raises his voice a bit, his gaze focused on the door.
"She's not here," I tell him.
But he's too convinced. "She is."
I can't hear any footsteps close to the door.
"Her scent of vanilla… It's all over my nose."
I feel like erasing her from his mind.