Chapter 11: The Healing Art
1044words
"I think you have the wrong girl," I said, backing away from the mural. "I'm just trying to survive my first month as a werewolf without getting killed or killing anyone."
Elder Thorne's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Prophecies rarely choose the willing, Ms. Everett."
Before I could argue further, Griffin and Valerian burst into the chamber.
"We need to move," Griffin said tersely. "Dominic's scouts have been spotted near the eastern boundary."
"Impossible," Elder Thorne frowned. "The South Territory wouldn't dare violate—"
"They're being careful to stay outside the sacred ground," Valerian interrupted, "but they're definitely watching for us."
I glanced at the mural once more. Great. Not only was I juggling three hot werewolves and an identity crisis, but now I had a prophecy and stalkers to deal with.
---
Our new quarters were deeper within the temple complex—a suite of rooms surrounding a private courtyard with a small fountain. The sound of water helped calm my frayed nerves as Lucien continued my healing lesson.
"Focus on the energy within you," he instructed, sitting cross-legged across from me. "Imagine it as light flowing through your fingertips."
I tried, I really did, but my mind kept wandering to the prophecy, to Dominic's scouts, to the fact that Lucien's knee was almost touching mine.
"I can't concentrate," I admitted.
"Your mind is too busy," he said gently. "Here, try this." He took my hands in his, and immediately I felt that strange connection again—like an electric current flowing between us.
"Close your eyes," he whispered. "Don't think. Just feel."
I obeyed, letting the sensation wash over me. Warmth spread from my chest to my fingertips, and with it came... awareness. I could sense Lucien's heartbeat, his breathing, the old pain that lived in his bones.
"There's so much grief in you," I murmured, eyes still closed.
His hands tightened slightly around mine. "We all carry our burdens."
"Show me how to heal," I said suddenly, opening my eyes to meet his. "Not just physical wounds. The deeper ones."
Something flickered in his blue eyes—surprise, then vulnerability. "That's not something that can be taught. Even among my family, emotional healing was rare."
"But I felt it earlier. When I touched your heart."
Lucien was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he guided my hand to his chest again. "My sister was the healer in our family," he said softly. "She was twelve when they came. I watched her try to heal our father as he died."
The pain of the memory hit me like a physical blow. Tears sprang to my eyes—his tears, somehow shared through our connection.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking.
"Don't be sorry," he said. "Be present. That's the first step in healing—acknowledging the pain exists."
I focused on the grief I could feel emanating from him, not trying to push it away but simply... holding it. Accepting it. And as I did, something shifted between us. The warmth in my chest intensified, flowing through my arm to where my hand rested over his heart.
Lucien gasped, his eyes widening. A single tear traced down his cheek.
"What did you do?" he asked, voice barely audible.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I just... didn't want you to hurt anymore."
He stared at me in wonder. "For the first time in fifteen years, I can remember her face without pain."
The door opened abruptly, and Griffin stood there, his expression darkening as he took in our position—me with my hand on Lucien's chest, tears on both our faces.
"Am I interrupting?" he asked stiffly.
"Lyra was demonstrating a remarkable healing ability," Lucien explained, his voice still thick with emotion.
Griffin's eyes narrowed. "We need to discuss our next move. The Council wants to meet with all of us."
As Lucien stood to leave, I caught his arm. "You can't save everyone from their pain, you know."
His eyes met mine, filled with a sadness that made my chest ache. "I know," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "But I have to try."
In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to hold him, to somehow absorb the grief he'd carried for so long. Why did his pain resonate so deeply within me? Why did I feel it as if it were my own?
Griffin cleared his throat pointedly from the doorway. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"I'll see you at the Council meeting," Lucien said softly, squeezing my hand before walking past Griffin, who watched him go with an unreadable expression.
When we were alone, Griffin turned to me. "Be careful, Lyra."
"With healing?" I asked, confused.
"With your heart," he replied, his amber eyes intense. "The bond between us is complicated enough without..."
He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. I could feel his concern—and yes, jealousy—through our connection.
"I'm not choosing sides, Griffin."
"Aren't you?" He stepped closer, his presence suddenly filling the room. "What exactly were you doing with Lucien just now?"
"Healing," I said defensively. "He was teaching me."
Griffin's jaw tightened. "And did you need to be touching his heart for that lesson?"
Before I could respond, Valerian appeared in the doorway, his timing impeccable as always.
"If you two are done with your little domestic dispute," he drawled, "the Council is waiting. And they don't look happy."
As I followed them toward the Council chamber, I couldn't help wondering: if I was supposed to heal the divide between territories, who was going to heal the growing divide between my three guardians?
More importantly—why did the thought of choosing between them make my chest ache more painfully than any transformation?
As we walked through the corridor, an elderly Council member discreetly approached me, slipping a folded note into my hand. "About the prophecy's truth," he whispered before quickly walking away. I unfolded the paper to find a single line: "Not all Council members support this prophecy. Someone wants you dead."
