The air inside the apothecary turned still, as if the world itself held its breath. Even the simmering cauldron at the back seemed to quiet under the weight of the man who now stood before her.
Lucian's silver eyes swept across the room, cold and deliberate. They lingered on every vial, every bundle of herbs and finally, on Selene.
She felt their pull like a physical touch. Beneath that gaze, her heartbeat stumbled. The last time she had seen those eyes, the night sky had been painted red with fire.
"Darius, that will be all, we will take care of ourselves also." Then he looked at the suspicious man that just came in, he scorned at him and walk away.
"Elara," she whispered without looking away from him. "Close the door."
Elara obeyed in silence, her fingers trembling as the latch clicked into place.
Lucian stepped forward. The wooden floor creaked beneath his boots. Every motion was controlled, measured — a predator that had no need to rush its prey.
"It has been a long time, Selene Nightshade," he said quietly. His voice was deeper than she remembered, carrying a roughness that spoke of both power and exhaustion. "Too long."
Her hands rested on the counter, though her palms itched to reach for the pouch of moonstone dust at her belt. "You should not be here," she said. "Not in Hollowshade. Not in daylight."
A faint smile ghosted across his mouth, humorless and sharp. "And yet, here I am."
Elara stepped forward, her pale eyes narrowing. "You bring danger with you, wolf. This place is under protection."
Lucian turned his gaze toward her and Elara flinched as if struck. He did not need to speak for his presence to command silence.
"I come for no blood," he said at last. His eyes found Selene's again. "Not tonight."
"Then what do you want?" she asked. Her voice was steady, though her pulse thundered in her throat.
He studied her for a long moment before answering. "Help."
The word did not fit him. It sounded foreign, strange, almost broken.
Selene blinked, uncertain she had heard correctly. "Help?"
Lucian's jaw tightened. He reached up, unfastened the clasp of his cloak, and let it fall to the floor. Beneath the black fabric, his shirt was torn across the chest, dark with blood. The scent of iron filled the air.
Elara gasped. "You are wounded."
"It will not heal," he said.
Selene's gaze dropped to the wound. The skin around it shimmered faintly, pulsing with dark veins that crept like roots from the center of the injury. It was no ordinary cut. She recognized the pattern, cursed steel.
She took a cautious step forward. "Who did this?"
Lucian's eyes flickered, something old and bitter crossing his face. "A gift from the king's hunters. Silver tempered with witchfire."
Selene's breath caught. "That should have killed you."
"It would have," he said softly, "if I were not already damned."
For a moment, silence filled the room again. The only sound was the faint bubbling of the cauldron and the uneven rhythm of Lucian's breathing.
Selene forced herself to move, pulling her gaze from his face. "Elara, fetch the wolfsbane oil and the binding root. And close the shutters."
Elara hesitated. "Selene..... "
"Now," Selene said, sharper than she intended.
Elara obeyed and vanished into the back room.
Selene turned back to Lucian. "Sit."
He did not move. "Do you trust yourself enough to touch me?"
Her heart stuttered. "Do you trust me enough to let me try?"
Something passed between them, not quite understanding, not yet forgiveness, but a recognition of shared danger.
At last, Lucian sat on the nearest stool, his posture rigid even in pain. Selene approached, the faint scent of ash and forest clinging to him. She had to force her hand not to tremble as she peeled the torn fabric away from his chest.
The wound was deep, edged with faint silver light. Every pulse of his heart made the veins glow brighter. She could feel the curse moving through him, threading itself into his blood.
"You should have come sooner," she murmured.
"I did not think you would help me," he said. "After what I did."
Her fingers paused above his skin. Images flashed behind her eyes, the fire, the screams, the night her coven burned. His pack had done it. His command had sealed their deaths.
"You think a wound will make me forget?" she whispered.
"No," he said quietly. "But I thought it might remind you that I bleed as well."
For the first time, she looked into his eyes without fear. Beneath the cold silver, she saw exhaustion, guilt and something that almost looked like despair.
"Hold still," she said.
She pressed her palms over the wound and began to whisper. The air thickened with the scent of crushed herbs and ozone. Light flickered beneath her hands, pale as moonlight, winding into the curse that coiled within him.
Lucian's muscles tensed. A low growl rumbled from his throat, not of anger but of pain. The veins burned away under her touch, retreating like shadows chased by flame.
The curse resisted, fighting her every word, but Selene did not stop. Her voice grew steadier, her magic answering her will. When she finally drew her hands away, the wound had closed to a faint scar, the silver light fading.
Lucian exhaled slowly. His shoulders sagged.
Selene swayed, catching the edge of the counter for balance. Her vision swam, but she forced herself upright.
"You will live," she said. "But the curse lingers. It feeds on the moon. When it rises full again, it will wake."
Lucian met her gaze, unreadable. "Then I will return."
Elara appeared in the doorway, eyes wide with unease. "You should not stay," she warned him. "The villagers will see your horse. If they find you here... "
"They will not," Lucian said. He rose to his feet, testing his strength. "They would not believe what they saw."
He reached for his cloak, pausing as his fingers brushed the fabric. "You saved me once before, witch. Do it again and I will owe you a debt I cannot repay."
Selene watched him step toward the door, the shadows folding around him.
"I do not want your debt," she said softly.
"Then what do you want?" he asked.
She hesitated. "The truth. Why you came to Hollowshade. Why now."
Lucian's hand lingered on the doorframe. For a heartbeat, his expression softened. "Because the prophecy speaks again," he said. "And this time, it names you."
Before she could answer, he was gone.
The door creaked shut, leaving only silence and the faint scent of iron in the air.
Elara's voice trembled. "He should be dead."
Selene stared at the place where he had stood. "So should I."
The morning light filtered weakly through the shuttered window. Somewhere in the valley beyond, the wolves howled.
And in that sound, Selene heard the beginning of something neither blessing nor curse, but destiny itself stirring from its long sleep.