Mark of the Lycan Queen

Chapter 7. Wronged

My body tensed as the Lycan King's hands suddenly began unbuttoning my dress from behind. Panic surged through me, and I instinctively tried to move away, but his voice cut through the air, firm, and commanding.

“Stay still," he sternly ordered, his words laced with a warning. "Or you will only get hurt."

Something came over me. It wasn't fear, I know.

Despite the discomfort and unease churning inside me, and the urge to pull away, my legs remained frozen in place, as if his words held some inexplicable power over me – a spell, maybe.

Or perhaps, I was simply too afraid to endure more pain at the moment.

Still, I stood.

My eyes involuntarily shifted to the bed, returning to the bloodstained sheets as the Lycan King continued to undo my dress from behind.

With a swift motion, he slipped the dress off my shoulders, but he didn't let it fall. It hung there, suspended in mid-air, as if frozen by the intensity of the moment. Even though I couldn't see his expression, I could picture the look of contemplation shoved with something deeper in his eyes as he took in the sight of the bandage.

Probably gobbled by my blood now.

Just as he reached to undo the bandage, I hastily pulled myself away from his touch, spinning around to face him while clutching my dress tightly. I couldn't risk exposing myself further, not now, not ever.

He might have been curious to see the wound, but the bandage covered most of it, securely wrapped around my torso. Removing it would lay my breasts bare.

He must be an infernal bastard to not have considered that.

With a raised brow, he watched me, and a hint of surprise flashed across his face. Nervously, I looked up, meeting his intense gaze.

"What do you want?" I managed to ask, trying to convey it as a challenge despite my trembling voice, barely above a whisper. Yet, it was enough to make him understand that I wouldn't accept his actions unquestioningly.

He observed me for a moment as if searching for something in my eyes. Then, with a slight nod, he spoke, his voice low and measured.

"When did you sustain such a wound?"

How dare he pose such a question?

I was beginning to fume internally with resentment as the flashes of the dark hellish night flared in my mind. The worst part was that he just stood there like some blameless person after the likes of him destroyed my home!

And here he dared to ask as if it wasn't obvious.

“You want to know, huh?” I said even with the lingering fear residing within me. “Well, it was the very night you and the likes of you attacked my pack like we were some wrongdoer that ought to be swabbed away," I said with bitter anger. “You killed my family!”

It was only natural I’d be this resentful.

But what effect would it have on such an undead monster?

The intensity of his gaze didn't waver but something else in his eyes did, and after a moment, he turned and left the room without a word. His departure left me standing there, shaken yet strangely relieved.

I couldn't fathom his intentions or what his sudden interest in my wounds meant, but one thing was clear—he held the answers to questions I had yet to ask.

In a matter of seconds, I hastily pulled my dress back up, attempting to secure the top button and hold it together as best I could. With a deep breath, I turned my attention to the bloodstained sheets, intending to get rid of them.

I hated so much the sight of them.

But before I could act, the door swung open, and the two ladies from before entered the room in a hurry. One of them, with wide eyes, noticed the bloodstains on the bed, while the other rushed towards me, concern etched on her face. She was older.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice filled with worry.

It was the first time I heard this one speaking and she seems to have an accent.

I took a breath, trying to steady my emotions. "I'm fine," I replied, but a hint of frustration crept into my voice.

Her brow furrowed as she reached out, wanting to make sure I was truly okay. “Are you sure? You're bleeding,”

But the frustration within me boiled over, and I snapped, "I said I'm fine!" I yelled, feeling the pain searing within me.

I was hurting.

Both ladies were startled at my outburst, and the one near me withdrew slightly, her expression shifting to one of surprise and apology.

“I-I'm sorry," she stammered, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean to intrude or upset you. I was just worried."

What got into me?

Guilt mixed with my frustration as I realized I had taken my anger out on them. Without saying a word, I swiftly made my way to the bathroom, leaving the room in a flurry of emotions.

Frustration overwhelmed me as I leaned my weight against the bathroom counter. My head hung low, and I couldn't help but feel wronged.

Wronged.

How long do I have to endure this?

With a sudden surge of emotion, I slammed my hand on the counter, the sound reverberating through the space.

If I were home, I would run to the Brook to release my pain for the Goddess to hear.

“It's only just a dream,” I mentally told myself, recalling a phrase my mother often used when things went wrong.

Though I'm not a child anymore, I desperately wanted to believe that everything was just a dream and that this nightmare would soon be over, as if it never happened.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to calm myself, my gaze shifting up to meet my reflection in the mirror. My face was stained with tears, weariness etched into every line and crease.

I drooped my face to the sink, turning on the tap, I splashed cool water onto my skin and gently rubbed my hands over my face, trying to soothe the weariness and sweat.

Slowly, I slipped off the cream-colored dress, allowing it to hang loosely around my waist. I needed to take off the bandage and find a way to clean the blood stains. With trembling hands, I began to unwrap the bandage, unwinding it carefully, revealing the large scars.

Just as I removed the final strip of bandage, a calm knock resonated from the door and I instinctively turned towards the sound, my heart skipping a beat.

With mild hesitation, an unfamiliar face stepped into the room, her features adorned with a gentle smile. She appeared to be in her late twenties, with long black hair cascading down her shoulders.

"May I come in?" she asked softly, her voice filled with warmth.

The gentleness in her words took me by surprise.

For a moment, I hesitated, unsure of whether to allow a stranger in, or perhaps I was the stranger here. However, something in her demeanor put me at ease, and I nodded, granting her permission to enter.

She stepped closer, her eyes filled with kindness as she regarded me. "My name is Leona," she introduced herself. "I was told you needed some assistance."

I nodded, though not quite sure if I did so. I only felt my head move a little. "Yes, I could use some help," I replied, my voice laced with weariness.

Leona approached me calmly, her hands reaching out to assist – she was, I dare say, remarkably gentle, if that's even possible.

"Let me take a look at your wounds," she offered in a soothing tone.

Hesitating for a moment, I finally nodded, allowing her to examine the raw, fresh marks on my back. Leona's fingers glided lightly over my wounds, her touch surprisingly soothing. I observed her through the mirror, my expression pensive as she assessed the damage.

“What are you called?” she asked softly, breaking the silence.

I swallowed lightly, a bit of apprehension flooding over me. "Tahlia," my voice barely above a whisper.

Leona smiled. "Tahlia," she repeated softly. "It's a lovely name."

Not knowing how to respond, I remained silent, my gaze shifting back to the mirror.

She seemed to have sensed my hesitance. "I'll help clean you up," she offered, her voice reassuring. "And then I can apply some treatment to the wound and put on a fresh bandage."

A flicker of uncertainty in my eyes as I slowly turned to face her. Not like I could do them myself even if I chose to.

Leona met my gaze and smiled. "Don't worry, I'm a medic. You're in good hands."

Her words calmed my apprehension, and I nodded, allowing her to proceed.

And for the first time here, I wasn't too edgy.

After the thorough clean-up, Leona led me back into the spacious bedroom, where the bloodstained sheets had been replaced with fresh ones.

The room felt more serene.

"It's okay," Leona reassured me, her voice filled with understanding. "Why don't you lie down on the bed? It'll be more comfortable for you, and I can attend to your wound properly."

I nodded, too tired to even think for myself. With cautious steps, I made my way to the bed and gently laid myself down as instructed.

Leona moved closer, her hands gentle as she reached behind me to pull down the robe I wore, exposing my wounded back. I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself, but they flared open upon hearing the door pushed open.

Tensing up, I caught a glimpse of the Lycan King, and in an instant, I shot up from the bed, hastily covering myself.

Our eyes met briefly, and while I couldn't decipher the exact emotions reflected in his expression, it was clear that something new had stirred within him – but then, something else joined, a flicker of suspension and anger in them.

Peril.

It came quickly and just then he made a move to take a step forward, but Leona swiftly stepped in front of him, halting him in his tracks.

"Archibald," Leona called out, her voice steady and firm. "It's best if you wait outside."

Archibald?

That came to be his name. But how come she could address him as so and not Alpha or My King or whatever the hell Lycans call their leader?

I waited for him to get riled by her words but he just stood still for a moment, his gaze flickering between me and Leona and after a pause, he finally nodded, his presence regal and controlled.

Without saying a word, he turned and exited the room, leaving behind a lingering tension that hung in the air. I watched his departure, curious she could pull that off without being charged.

And as the door closed behind him, I let out a breath I had been holding.

Leona turned back to me with a gentle look on her face, her expression quickly transitioning to a sense of guilt, as if she blamed herself for his intrusion.

“Sorry about that,” She said softly, closing up to me.”I had no idea he would walk in now.”

Although she said those words, my hands still held the robe to my skin like they were some kind of shield. Hesitantly, I gradually unstiffened, my hand prying from the robe and I nod lightly. “Uhm,” I mumbled understandingly.