The Lycan King's Healer
The Lycan King’s Healer – Chapter 7

Cathy

“Aldrich?!” I yelled out as he relinquished, a mass of muscle collapsing heavily to the ground.

I watched in horror as the noble prince, war general, and experienced soldier fell unconscious on my floor. He had spent most of his adult life in war, probably combatting the most notorious generals and warriors, but passed out in my living room onto my daisies.

“Shit,” I muttered as I rushed over to him. He inflicted wounds during the battle, but they were shallow—he was able to kill all three of them within a minute. But something weakened him, something worse than shallow gashes. Something I was not aware of.

As my brain reeled over what it could be, I realized I was afraid of him dying.

Theo skittered over and helped me move Aldrich, who morphed into his human form. We managed to drag him then lift him onto my bed, not caring that his b***d stained my sheets. I flinched at the familiar sight of him in bed and tried to forget the last time I saw him in this state.

This made me hesitate for a moment before undressing him. Theo silently helped, and I was, as usual, was very impressed by him. His calmness projected, easing me a bit, the panic in me lessening. He was very mentally strong—he must get that from his father.

Sometimes, it surprised me how alike they were.

I ripped through his black shirt to examine the wound on his stomach. It was shallow, bleeding but the flow of it was already ebbing. Nothing compared to the scars on the rest of his body, or the gashes he had received in war. His body was decorated with past wounds.

My eyes wandered from the scars to the body beneath the scars. His muscles were hard and bulbous, and he was still visibly very strong. Absentmindedly, my hand brushed along his abs next to the wound. B***d was smeared over them, but they were still eye-catching. My thoughts inevitably flashed back to my wedding night briefly, and my breath hitched.

“Mommy, what’s wrong? Why is your face red?” Theo worried, and I felt his eyes on me.

“Nothing,” I insisted, bowing my head to hide my blush. I should not be thirsting over the man that locked me away for years—sure, he had sexy abs, but he was still a monster. I shook my head, snapping myself to present day. Years after he indirectly killed me. Plus, there was no point in fantasizing about our wedding night. I was the only one who remembered it.

I sent Theo for our medical aid supplies and some water. I took a closer look, seeing everywhere on his body was riddled in scars. I still hated him. But no one knew the price he paid, the god of war bringing them peace with a painful cost. They appeared to be inflicted by an array of weapons; bullets, swords, even daggers.

There was something darker than a scar on his abdomen. I ran my hand over it, observing it out of morbid curiosity. I furrowed my eyebrows when my palm felt wet and took a closer look—it was not healed.

A darkened, wrinkled piece of his skin was oozing black. A thick, poisonous looking slime. I then realized he did not faint because of his minor injuries tonight—a former wound had been torn open.

***

After cleansing his wounds and dressing them with the proper bandages, I put Theo to sleep for real this time. I, however, did not sleep—one, Aldrich was in my bed, and two, I needed to know what the black ooze was.

I sifted through my books of witchcraft and pharmaceutical medicines, looking backwards. I could replace the form of poison if I searched through antidotes. A part of me begrudgingly did it, reluctant to replace the answer.

As the night dragged on, I became more aware of the fact that I did not know why I was researching this. Why did I care? I poured a glass of wine with some relaxing herbs and tried to ignore the questions directed at myself.

Around 4 AM, I finally found it.

The poison was an ancient curse from the vampire world. Once a person is infected, it will ceaselessly continue to attack the body. It weakens your bones and shrinks your b***d cells, like a hand of death slowly squeezing its fingers around your insides.

My heart dropped as I read: No matter how strong a warrior is, no one can survive it for more than three years.

Aldrich would be dead in three years.

I pretended the dread I felt was because I was the one who wanted revenge on him—not some stupid poison.

I sighed to myself, thinking about the scars. He was a monster to me, but a hero to everyone else. Unfortunately, the man I loathed was also the best general the village had ever been protected by. If vampires attacked, I’d rather someone be warding them off so that my son remained safe. If I let him die, it would be the demise of the kingdom.

He was too important to kill myself. This poison was maybe a form of indirect revenge, a form of karma. And he seemingly suffered a lot of pain in the war. Perhaps he suffered enough, at least physically. That didn’t mean I couldn’t mentally or emotionally torment him, even if I did heal him. The best revenge was keeping his son away from him, and if I never revealed that he was his son, he would be a childless father. In the dark, I smiled to myself at this. I could not think of a torture more wicked.

Before I changed my mind, I walked over to my bed. Sleeping, he looked peaceful. In that moment, he looked more like Theo than ever before.

When I doused the medicine on his tongue, he frowned at the bitterness and clamped his mouth shut.

I laughed to myself, surprised at the sound of any form of joy emanating from an interaction with him. But it was too funny. Even the god of war does not like the taste of bitterness upon his tongue.

That would be enough of my civic duty. I moved him from my bed and dragged him to the front door, heaving him onto the grass. I left him underneath the willow, and he looked like a sleeping prince from a fairytale. He would be in better hands than me soon, and he was not my responsibility. Why had he come here in the first place? Why did he bother to protect us?

Despite the questions raging through my mind, I didn’t care. They were not enough to make me forget that I’d lost my life because of him.

Just because I did not want him to die, did not mean I would let him rest in the cottage he made me decompose in.