Rhen lowered her onto the bed with controlled precision and stood over her in the flickering glow. Her dark hair spread across the pillow while shallow breaths barely lifted her chest.
In the firelight, she looked less like something dragged from a roadside grave and more like an unknown threat laid out for examination.
That was all she was.
The tether surged through him, heat racing beneath his skin until every muscle locked with restraint.
This wasn’t lust.
Lust was easy. Temporary. Disposable.
This was compulsion wearing the shape of instinct, a foreign pressure grinding against his blood and trying to make possession feel natural.
His fangs pressed against his lower lip. Something inside the tether demanded that he bite her again. Reinforce the connection. Flood her with enough blood to make the command harder to separate from his own will.
He forced his fangs to retract and stepped away from the bed.
Promises came easier when they sounded like orders.
Rhen examined the bruises darkening her skin, the dried blood at her temple, and the exhaustion carved into her face. Her body was still balanced on the edge, barely surviving the crash, the blood loss, and the transformation beginning inside her.
She needed care he wasn’t equipped to provide.
Warmth. Stabilization. Monitoring.
Not more of his blood unless the transition demanded it.
One of the night medics crossed the hallway carrying a basin and clean towels, summoned from the medical wing by the wards.
“Get in here,” Rhen snapped.
The female startled before stepping inside with obvious caution. She wasn’t human, but rank mattered, and Rhen’s temper had earned its reputation long ago.
Smart, he thought when she kept her eyes lowered.
Behind him, Veya’s breathing rasped unevenly through the room, a reminder of how close she remained to death.
Rhen nodded toward the bed.
“Clean her. Stabilize what you can.”
The medic hesitated only long enough to assess the situation before moving toward the mattress. She began cutting away the blood-soaked fabric with practiced hands.
Rhen stepped back.
Then farther.
Distance felt necessary. The tether already held him too tightly, constricting with every uneven breath. He didn’t want to feel it. Didn’t want the intrusive pull tightening whenever someone else touched her.
As the medic slid the ruined jacket from Veya’s shoulders, firelight spilled across the skin beneath it.
The bruises stood out immediately once the blood and torn fabric were removed.
Not injuries from the crash.
Older.
Finger-shaped marks stained her ribs and hips—the unmistakable evidence of repeated violence.
