The air in the throne room was heavy, thick with unspoken tension. Abigail stood at the center of the vast space, her green eyes locked on Callan’s golden ones. His stare was as sharp as a blade, his jaw set, his expression as cold and unyielding as the stone walls around them.
“You’re still here,” Callan said, his deep voice cutting through the silence. He leaned forward in his throne, his fingers curling over the armrests. “I told you to leave.”
Abigail’s chin lifted, defiance blazing in her eyes. “I was summoned to heal you. That’s exactly what I’ll do. Then I’ll leave when I’m good and ready.”
Callan’s wolf stirred at her boldness, but he shoved it down, his expression darkening. “You think I need you? The only thing I need is someone competent enough to do their job without… complications.”
“Complications?” Abigail’s voice rose, the word tasting bitter on her tongue. She took a step closer, her fingers clenched into fists. “Is that what I am to you? A complication?”
Callan rose from his throne, towering over her. “Yes,” he growled. “You’re a distraction. You think I don’t feel it? This… bond.” He spat the word like it was poison. “It’s clouding my focus. I don’t need a mate. I need a healer who knows her place.”
Abigail’s heart twisted at his words, but she refused to let him see the sting. Instead, she squared her shoulders and met his piercing gaze head-on. “Well, lucky for you, I don’t need a mate either,” she snapped. “So don’t flatter yourself, Your Majesty. I’m here to do my job, not ‘play house.’”
Callan’s golden eyes flashed, and for a moment, Abigail thought she saw something else in his expression—a flicker of doubt, or maybe regret—but it vanished as quickly as it came.
“Good,” he said coldly, stepping back. “Then we understand each other. Do your job, and stay out of my way.”
Abigail’s lips pressed into a thin line. She was angry—angrier than she had been in a long time—but beneath that anger was something she didn’t want to name. Disappointment? Hurt? She pushed it aside, her voice icy as she replied, “Trust me, staying out of your way won’t be a problem.”
Despite Callan’s rejection, the bond refused to let them stay apart.
Abigail spent her days in the infirmary, her hands busy with salves and poultices, but she could feel the pull of the bond like a tether, tying her to him. And no matter how much she wanted to ignore it, it only grew stronger.
It didn’t help that Callan’s health continued to deteriorate. The symptoms were unpredictable—one moment he’d seem fine, the next he’d collapse with pain or fever. The palace healers were baffled, their remedies offering only temporary relief.
“His Majesty needs you,” one of the council members told Abigail one evening, his tone urgent. “Whatever this is, it worsens when you’re not near him. We don’t know why, but—”
“I’m not his keeper,” Abigail interrupted, her voice firm even as her chest ached at the thought. “I’ll do what I can to help, but don’t expect me to solve everything just by standing near him.”
Yet even as she said it, she couldn’t ignore the truth. Whenever she was in Callan’s presence, his condition seemed to stabilize. His breathing grew easier, his posture less strained. It was as if her presence soothed the chaos in his body.
One evening, Abigail entered Callan’s chambers, summoned yet again by the council. She found him standing by the window, his broad shoulders tense, his hands gripping the ledge as he stared out at the darkening sky.
“I don’t need you here,” he said without turning around.
Abigail crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Tell that to your council. They seem to think otherwise.”
Callan let out a low growl, turning to face her. His eyes were shadowed, the golden hue dimmed by exhaustion. “They’re fools. They think bringing you here will fix everything.”
“Maybe it will,” Abigail said softly, surprising even herself with the quiet vulnerability in her voice.
Callan stiffened, his jaw tightening. “No. You being here just makes everything worse.”
“Why?” Abigail asked, stepping forward. “Why are you so determined to push me away? Do you hate the bond that much?”
“I hate what it does to me,” Callan said, his voice raw. “It makes me weak. Dependent. That’s not who I am.”
Abigail’s chest tightened, a lump forming in her throat. “You think accepting me will make you weak?”
Callan turned back to the window, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know who I’ll be if I let it take over.”
For a moment, Abigail didn’t know what to say. The vulnerability in his words tugged at something deep inside her, but she shoved it down, refusing to let herself feel it.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” she said finally, her voice hardening. “Because I’m not staying. As soon as your condition improves, I’ll be gone. You don’t have to worry about me getting in your way.”
Callan didn’t respond, but his grip on the windowsill tightened, the tension in his shoulders visible even in the dim light.
As the days turned into weeks, the tension between them only grew. Their fiery exchanges became a routine, each one ending in the same unresolved frustration. Yet no matter how much they fought, neither of them could deny the truth: the bond wasn’t going away.
One night, as Abigail tended to Callan after another episode of pain, she caught him watching her. His golden eyes held a flicker of something she couldn’t quite name—something that made her chest ache.
“Why do you even care?” he asked quietly, breaking the silence.
Abigail froze, her hand hovering over the cloth she was using to cool his forehead. “What?”
“Why do you keep helping me?” Callan asked, his voice softer now. “After everything I’ve said… everything I’ve done. Why don’t you just leave?”
Abigail swallowed hard, her throat tight. “Because I made a vow to help those in need. That’s who I am.”
Callan’s gaze softened, just for a moment, before he turned away, the tension creeping back into his voice. “Then do your job. And don’t let the bond fool you into thinking this means anything.”
Abigail’s heart ached at his words, but she didn’t let it show. She stood, gathering her supplies and walking toward the door.
As she left, she glanced back over her shoulder, her voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside her.
“You’re right. It doesn’t mean anything. Not to me.”