Elara walked back into the Lion Oasis just as the morning light hit the golden manes of the warriors. She was exhausted, smelling faintly of cold soil and Wolf Alpha, and completely satisfied with her strategic success. The Shadow Wolf tribe was medically stabilized, and Roric's grudging respect had been secured.
She barely had time to appreciate her tactical victory before she was enveloped in a wall of possessive, furious golden muscle.
Alpha Kaelen met her halfway across the den. He didn't speak; he simply stepped in front of her, cutting off her path to the cave, his massive chest heaving. His golden eyes were blazing with a raw, primal intensity Elara hadn't yet witnessed. The air around him crackled with suppressed rage, heavy with his overpowering pheromones.
"Wolf-Scent," Kaelen growled, the sound a low, earth-shaking rumble that demanded submission. He dipped his head and inhaled deeply, his nose tracking the faint, cool scent of Roric still clinging to her clothes and skin. "You carry the scent of the enemy. You spent the night in his shadow."
Elara stood her ground, forcing herself not to flinch. She was tired, but years in the ER had taught her how to deal with aggressive, entitled, and emotionally overwrought men. She had to shut this down immediately.
"Alpha Kaelen," Elara said sharply, planting her hands on her hips. "Rule #7: The medic is neutral territory. I spent the night performing a necessary diagnostic survey on the Shadow Wolf warriors, preventing a potential epidemic that would have spread to your tribe."
Kaelen roared, a pure, wounded sound of territorial fury. "LIES! The Wolf seeks to taint you! He seeks to steal my prize! You are mine, Elara Vance! You will not enter the den of the Shadow-Beast without the Lion's permission!"
He reached out and gripped her shoulders, his claws flexing slightly through the thick fur cloak, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to send a clear, painful message of ownership.
"You belong here! You wear the scent of my rival like a banner of defiance!"
"I wear the scent of professionalism," Elara retorted, keeping her voice level despite the adrenaline spiking in her veins. She fought to keep her eyes steady, meeting the terrifying challenge in his gaze. "And you are currently breaching the truce by laying hands on me in anger. Release me, Alpha. Now. You are acting like a petulant child who needs a nap and a time-out."
The insult—child—was clearly incomprehensible to him, but the sharp command, combined with her lack of fear, seemed to short-circuit his rage. He didn't release her, but his grip slackened slightly.
"I will remove the scent," Kaelen muttered, his golden eyes burning into hers. He leaned in, a clear, primal intent to mark her with his own, overpowering scent.
Nope. Absolutely not.
Elara acted on pure instinct. With a sharp elbow, she jabbed him—not hard, but accurately—in the lower ribs, the spot she knew wasn't protected by muscle. At the same time, she brought her foot down hard on the top of his exposed, un-sandaled foot.
BAM!
It was a purely human, dirty fighting move. Kaelen gasped, his massive body flinching in surprise, the pain catching him entirely off guard. His grip instantly dissolved.
Elara stepped back quickly, putting a safe distance between them.
"Rule #8, Alpha: Hands off the merchandise. I am not property to be scented or claimed. I am a free agent medic. If you violate my autonomy again, I will withhold the pain medication for Torvin and prescribe you a strong dose of severe constipation."
Kaelen stared at her, his face a complex mask of shock, pain, and utter bafflement. No one—no one—in Aetheria had ever struck the Lion Alpha and lived, let alone escaped unscathed. And yet, the tiny human had done so with casual, exasperated contempt.
"You… you struck the Lion," he finally stated, the words heavy with disbelief.
"Yes, I did. It's called self-defense, Alpha. And now, you need to see me immediately in the infirmary, because you are currently running a low-grade fever and your shoulder infection is acting up. The stress from your temper tantrum is impeding your healing. You need a higher dosage of the bitter leaf slurry."
She marched past him, ignoring his stunned silence, and headed straight for the small den where Torvin was recuperating.
The Possessive Prescription
Kaelen followed her, slower this time, his pride warring with the sharp, physical pain in his foot and ribs. He looked less like a glorious Alpha and more like a massive, grumpy kitten who had just been smacked off the counter.
When Elara had finished checking Torvin, she turned her full, professional attention back to the raging Alpha.
"Sit," she commanded, pointing to a clean spot on the rock.
Kaelen obeyed, grudgingly, but he watched her every movement with obsessive focus.
Elara checked his shoulder wound. The infection was contained, but the swelling was definitely increased due to the stress.
"You need rest and cold compression for the shoulder," she informed him, handing him a bowl of the bitter herb slurry. "And you need to accept that I am not a threat to your position. I am a service provider."
Kaelen took the bowl, but didn't drink. His golden gaze was fixed on her, heavy with frustration.
"The Wolf wants you, Elara. He is silent, but he is hungry. I see it in his eyes. He is a thief of power. I will not allow it."
"Then outsmart him," Elara challenged, sitting beside him, lowering her voice. "Roric offered me necessity—the idea that I make him smarter. Zev offered me freedom. You offer me only captivity and anger. That is the weakest offering, Alpha."
She leaned in, her small hand reaching out and—with immense control—gently touching the uninjured side of his massive shoulder. It was a gesture designed to soothe, not command.
"You are the Lion, Kaelen. Your strength is protection. Prove to me that you can protect me from your rivals, not by caging me, but by trusting my judgment. If you trust my judgment, I can make you untouchable. That is superior possession."
Kaelen stared at her, utterly confounded by the mix of physical rebuke and soft, logical appeal. The heat radiating off him was immense, and the raw, vulnerable desire for her approval was clear in his eyes. He wanted to possess her, but he realized that the way he was trying to do it was actively pushing her toward his rivals.
"What must the Lion do?" Kaelen rasped, his possessive roar now reduced to a confused, low purr.
"You will allow me to travel freely to all three territories to monitor the health of all tribes," Elara dictated, her voice firm. "You will allow me to set up a central, temporary infirmary in the neutral zone. And every morning, you will personally bring me the freshest water, not because I am your captive, but because you are my guard against contamination."
Kaelen looked furious, but also strangely satisfied. He was still giving orders, but the orders were serving her purpose. He was still performing service, but under the guise of guarding the asset.
With a grunt of reluctant acceptance, he finally drank the entire bowl of slurry, looking immensely pleased with himself for having maintained dominance while simultaneously agreeing to every single one of her terms.
Excellent, Elara thought, watching him finish the bowl. The cure for jealousy is complicated logistics. Now, let's see how Zev reacts to me setting up shop permanently on the ground.