After Luna's Downfall, She Became His Healer

The infirmary was silent except for the occasional drip of water somewhere in the darkness. I lay on a thin mattress, my back a canvas of raw, open wounds that refused to heal. Silver burns—the marks of pack justice. The fever had come hours ago, my body burning from within as much as without.

"Mia."

I thought I'd imagined it—that voice, low and hesitant. Then I felt it—cool fingers brushing against my forehead, pushing damp hair from my face.

"Ronan?" My voice cracked, throat raw from screaming.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, I heard the cap of a jar open, followed by the scent of menthol and herbs. The pack's healing salve—reserved for those deemed worthy of mercy.

"You're burning up," he murmured, his hand now moving to my shoulder, carefully avoiding the worst of the wounds.

I felt the cool touch of the salve against my fevered skin, a momentary relief from the constant fire. My heart stuttered—was this an apology? A recognition of his mistake?

"Ronan," I whispered again, reaching for him despite the pain. "Please listen to me. I didn't—"

"Don't." His voice hardened instantly. "Don't use this moment to lie again."

But his hands continued their work, trembling slightly as they applied the salve to each lash mark. I watched his face in the dim light—the conflict etched into every line, the battle between duty and something else... something I dared not name.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on his task.

"Then don't," I pleaded. "Stop this. Investigate properly. You know me—"

The infirmary door burst open, flooding the room with harsh light. Viviana's nurse stood there, her face a mask of urgency.

"Alpha! Miss Viviana—her condition has worsened. The healer says she needs you immediately."

Ronan's hands froze against my skin. For one heartbeat, I thought he might stay—might choose me, just this once.

Then he was gone, withdrawing so quickly I barely felt the absence until the cold air hit my wounds again.

"I'll return," he said, but we both knew it was a lie.

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone in the darkness once more.

---

A week passed in a haze of pain and neglect. My wounds finally began to heal, though slowly—the silver had done its work well.

I was sitting up for the first time when the pack doctor entered, his expression grave. Behind him stood Ronan, arms crossed, face impassive.

"Miss Montgomery," the doctor began, not meeting my eyes. "I've completed my analysis of Miss Viviana's condition."

Something in his tone made my stomach clench.

"Viviana's wolf is fading," he continued. "The poison you administered triggered a rare genetic blood disorder. Without intervention, she will lose her wolf entirely—and possibly her life."

"That's not possible," I whispered. "I didn't—"

"It's not your fault," the doctor interrupted smoothly. "The poison simply awakened a dormant condition in her bloodline. But there is a solution."

He turned to Ronan, who stepped forward. "You are a genetic match. A bone marrow transplant from you could save her."

"I?" I stared at them in disbelief. "But I'm not even—"

"Not a relative," Ronan finished. "But you're something more. A fated mate genetic equivalent. Your bone marrow could work where others couldn't."

I shook my head, understanding dawning with horror. "No. No, I won't do it."

Ronan's eyes flashed dangerously. "This isn't a request, Mia."

"I'm still recovering," I protested. "The wounds—"

"Are healing," he cut in. "And Viviana doesn't have time to wait."

I looked between them, searching for any sign of compassion. Finding none, I tried a different approach.

"And if I refuse?"

Ronan stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. "Then your family will be exiled from pack lands. All of them. Your parents, your siblings—cast out as rogues with no protection."

---

The extraction room was cold and sterile, lights blinding against white walls. I lay strapped to a table, wrists and ankles secured with the same silver-infused restraints.

"No anesthesia," the doctor explained, preparing a needle longer than any I'd ever seen. "It interferes with the potency of werewolf marrow."

I turned my head away, tears streaming silently down my temples into my hair.

Ronan stood beside me, his hand gripping mine—not in comfort, but to prevent me from thrashing as the needle pierced my hip bone.

"Look at me," he commanded.

I turned to him, searching for any hint of the man who had once promised to cherish me forever.

"Is this what you want?" I whispered as the needle pushed deeper. "To save her at the cost of me?"

His eyes didn't waver. "She needs this."

The pain exploded through me, white-hot and all-consuming. I screamed as the needle scraped against bone, extracting the marrow that was part of my essence.

Through the haze of agony, I watched Ronan's face—and saw nothing but concern for Viviana.

Somewhere deep inside me, something broke. My wolf, once so vibrant and strong, retreated further than she ever had before.

*Protect*, she whispered as she faded into darkness. *Protect us both.*

And then she was gone, leaving me hollow and alone as the needle continued its work.