The decision she had made in the council chamber no longer felt uncertain.
If she left this territory, there would be nothing here holding her back.
Nathanie had already taken several strides away when he slowed.
For a second, it seemed like he might come back.
Instead, he half-turned, his expression distant. “You’re a healer, Adriana. It’s not that bad. You can treat it yourself, can’t you?”
Not that bad?
Only moments ago, he had insisted it was serious.
Or maybe seriousness depended on who was hurt.
A quiet laugh almost escaped her. In his world, some wolves bled gold. Others barely registered.
The memory that surfaced next made her throat tighten.
Years ago, during one lazy summer evening in the Alpha manor, she had sliced her finger while cutting fruit in the kitchen. It hadn’t even broken skin properly—just a thin red line across her nail.
Nathanie had reacted as if she’d been gravely wounded.
He had lifted her onto the couch, scolded her for being careless, and insisted on cleaning and wrapping the tiny cut himself. He had hovered for the rest of the night, refusing to let her move.
Back then, she had believed that kind of care meant forever.