Chapter 5: The Healer's Touch, The Patient's Pride

The cold of the stone balcony seeped into my bones, but it was nothing compared to the ice that had formed around my heart. Felix’s retreating back, his swift return to the role of the dutiful younger brother, had been a more effective weapon than any Bloodfang claw. The bond, so vibrant and alive during the fight, now felt like a raw, exposed nerve, throbbing with a pain that was both emotional and terrifyingly physical.

I didn’t remember how I got back to my small room on the outskirts of the pack grounds. The journey was a blur of shadowy corridors and muffled sounds of the pack tending to its wounded. No one paid me any mind. The "help" was expected to fend for herself.

By the time I collapsed onto my narrow bed, the full force of the separation sickness, compounded by the emotional whiplash of the evening, crashed over me. It was no longer just a hollow ache or a dull headache. This was a full-blown assault.

A fever ignited in my veins, sending violent shivers through my body despite the sheen of sweat that coated my skin. My muscles ached as if I’d been the one fighting, and a deep, grinding pain settled behind my eyes, making the dim moonlight filtering through the window feel like a searing brand. Every beat of my heart was a painful thud against my ribs, each pulse echoing Felix’s name with a cruel, rhythmic torture.

Serene was listless, a whining, miserable presence in my mind. 'Hurt. Alone. Need our mate,' she keened, her distress amplifying my own. The primal part of me, the part connected to the bond, screamed for proximity, for the solace that only Felix’s presence could provide. It was a humiliating, degrading need, and I fought it with every ounce of my will.

I tossed and turned, caught in a feverish haze. Images flickered behind my closed eyelids: Liam’s cold sneer, Isabella’s triumphant smile, the brutal efficiency of Felix’s fight, and the devastating emptiness in his eyes when Liam called me "the help." The bond was a relentless amplifier, making every painful memory sharper, every betrayal feel fresh.

Time lost all meaning. It could have been minutes or hours later when I became aware of a new presence in the room. The scent hit me first—bergamot, old books, and the faint, metallic tang of blood from his scratches. Felix.

My eyes flew open. He was standing just inside the door, a silhouette against the faint light, his posture tense. He had changed out of his torn clothes, but he looked exhausted, shadows under his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I croaked, my voice raspy from disuse and fever. I tried to sound angry, defiant, but it came out as a pathetic whisper. I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced me back onto the pillow. The movement made the room spin nauseatingly.

He didn't answer immediately. He just stood there, watching me. I could feel the bond stretching between us, taut and painful. My traitorous body, despite my rage and humiliation, reacted to his proximity. The shivering lessened slightly. The pounding in my head receded from a deafening roar to a manageable throb. It was a subtle change, but to my fever-wracked body, it was a lifeline.

"I heard you were unwell," he said finally, his voice low, as if afraid to be overheard.

"Go away," I managed to force out, turning my face away from him on the pillow. I couldn't bear to look at him. Every glance was a reminder of the balcony, of the perfect synergy, of the betrayal that followed. "I don't need your… your pity."

"It's not pity, Scarlett," he said, and I heard the soft sound of his footsteps as he moved closer. The air around my bed grew warmer, charged with the energy of the bond. My skin prickled with awareness.

I felt the dip in the mattress as he sat on the edge of my bed. My entire body went rigid. "Don't touch me," I warned, but the words lacked any real force. My body was screaming for his touch, the bond overriding my pride in its desperate need for healing.

He ignored me. A cool, damp cloth touched my forehead. The sensation was so startlingly pleasant, so soothing against my fevered skin, that a small, involuntary sigh escaped my lips. I hated myself for it.

His touch was surprisingly gentle. He carefully wiped the sweat from my brow, his movements slow and deliberate. The simple act of care was so at odds with everything I associated with him—the reckless playboy, the conflicted brother. This was someone else. Someone… tender.

Serene, the traitor, purred in contentment. 'Mate cares. Mate heals.'

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block it out. But with my sight gone, my other senses heightened. I could hear the soft sound of his breathing, feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the unique, calming scent of him. The bond hummed, a low, comforting vibration that seeped into my bones, easing the deep muscular aches. The healing was real, tangible. My body, starved for this connection, drank it in greedily.

"Why?" I whispered into the darkness behind my eyelids, the question torn from me. "Why are you doing this? After what he said… after you just… left."

His hand stilled for a moment on my forehead. I felt him take a deep breath. "Because I had to," he said, his voice thick with an emotion I couldn't name. "Because leaving you there on that balcony was the hardest thing I've ever done."

The raw honesty in his words cracked the icy shell around my heart. A single, hot tear escaped and traced a path down my temple into my hairline. He saw it. His thumb, calloused but gentle, brushed the tear away. The contact, skin to skin, sent a fresh jolt of that healing warmth through me. It was agony and ecstasy combined.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The only sounds were our breathing and the frantic beating of my heart. I was losing the battle. The need for comfort, for the pain to stop, was overwhelming my anger and my pride. I felt myself leaning into his touch, my body betraying my mind’s commands.

Then, a log shifted in the small fireplace, cracking loudly. The sound shattered the fragile intimacy.

My eyes snapped open. The haze of fever and the bond’s comfort receded, and cold, hard reality rushed back in. He was here, in my room, showing a kindness that felt dangerous. A kindness that could be taken away as easily as it was given. A kindness that, if discovered, would only bring more trouble upon us both.

I saw the look in his grey eyes—a turbulent mix of concern, desire, and a deep, frustrating conflict. He wanted to be here. But he was also bound by chains of his own: family, loyalty, pack politics. Chains that had already proven stronger than our bond once tonight.

A fresh wave of anger, this time directed at myself for my momentary weakness, surged through me. I slapped his hand away from my face, the movement sudden and sharp.

"I said don't touch me!" I snarled, pushing myself up on my elbows, ignoring the spinning room. The loss of his touch was immediate and punishing. The feverish heat rushed back, the headache intensifying. But my pride was now a shield. "I don't need your secret visits in the dead of night. I don't need your… your conflicted conscience! Get out!"

Felix flinched as if I’d struck him. The concern in his eyes was replaced by a flash of hurt, quickly masked by a familiar resignation. He stood up, his tall frame seeming to fill the small room. The distance between us felt like a chasm, and the bond screamed in protest.

"Scarlett—" he began, his voice strained.

"Get out!" I repeated, my voice breaking. I pointed a trembling finger at the door. "Go back to your brother. Go back to your precious pack. I can take care of myself."

He looked at me for a long, painful moment. I saw the battle raging within him, the Alpha who wanted to command, the man who wanted to stay, and the brother who knew he had to leave. Finally, he gave a single, sharp nod.

"Rest," he said, the word flat and final. Then he turned and walked out, closing the door softly behind him.

The moment he was gone, the full weight of the separation sickness descended upon me again, worse than before. It felt like a vital part of me had been ripped away. I collapsed back onto the bed, the sobs I had been holding back finally wrenching free. I had won the battle for my dignity, but I felt utterly defeated. I had pushed away the only source of comfort in this nightmare, and the price was a pain so profound it threatened to consume me whole.

The bond was indeed a cruel master. It offered a cure that was also the poison. And I was trapped in its vicious, inescapable cycle.