The Doctor

Allora forced herself to calm down.

Forced her breathing to slow.

If she fought him, he would take her back to the frozen hell of his castle.

If she argued, he would only get angrier.

She had one chance.

A different kind of weapon.

Her body.

Her touch.

Her seduction.

She softened in his grip, tilting her head just slightly.

Her lips parted.

Her breath shuddered.

"Malec…" she whispered, letting just the right amount of vulnerability slip into her voice.

His grip faltered.

She lifted her bound hands slightly, brushing her fingers against his chest.

Slowly.

Softly.

She could feel his heartbeat beneath his tunic, the rapid pounding that betrayed his fury and his desire.

"I don't want to fight," she murmured, her voice low and breathy.

Malec's jaw clenched.

She moved closer.

Her body pressed against his, molding to the heat and hardness of him.

"You're always so tense," she purred, trailing her hands down his chest.

His breathing hitched.

"Allora—"

She silenced him with a kiss.

Soft at first.

Then deeper.

Malec groaned, his fury unraveling as his hands moved from her wrists to her hips.

She kissed him harder, nipping at his lower lip, teasing.

His self-control snapped.

With one swift motion, he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her toward the tents.

Their travel was delayed that night.

Allora lay breathless, tangled in soft furs in Malec's tent.

Her body ached from his relentless hunger.

Her skin burned where his hands had claimed her.

Malec lay beside her, his arm draped over her waist, holding her possessively against him.

He was deep asleep, his breath slow and even.

He looked…

Peaceful.

And that?

That was her victory.

Because as long as he was content, sated, satisfied…

She was safe.

For now.

As she lay there, staring at the ceiling, she knew she had one option left.

She had to play the game.

She had to be obedient.

At least—

Until she got to the Capitol.

Then she would disappear.

Gone forever.

She closed her eyes, stealing her resolve.

She could do this.

She could—

Her body shivered.

A sudden wave of heat washed over her, her skin burning from the inside out.

Her breathing became shallow.

Her chest tightened.

Something was wrong.

Was it…?

A fever?

Her stomach twisted with dread.

The last thing she needed—

Was to be weak.

Allora couldn't afford to get sick.

Not now.

Not when she was so close.

So she did what she had to do.

She pretended to be fine.

She slept as much as possible, conserving energy.

She avoided Malec's gaze, afraid he would see through her.

And when he finally noticed her exhaustion, she played her best card.

"What's wrong with you?" Malec had asked that morning, watching as she rubbed her temples tiredly.

Allora sighed dramatically.

"It's my period."

Malec's brow furrowed.

"Period of what?"

She blinked at him.

Then smirked.

"Oh, you really don't know about human reproductive cycles?"

Malec crossed his arms, watching her carefully.

"Explain."

Allora stretched lazily, leaning back in the saddle.

"It's a cycle that female Canariae go through when the uterus lining sheds and we bleed for a few days."

Silence.

She glanced at Malec.

His tan eyes had widened slightly.

"You… bleed?"

"Yes."

"For days?"

"Yes."

"And you survive?"

She grinned.

"Of course."

Malec looked genuinely horrified.

"That's unnatural," he muttered.

Allora fought the urge to laugh.

"It's part of the mating cycle," she added with an innocent shrug.

Malec's expression darkened.

She watched as he processed this information, his jaw tightening.

She could almost see his mind working.

And then, just as she expected—

"Do you need a healer?" he asked gruffly.

Bingo.

"No," she said quickly. "It's normal. It happens every month."

Malec exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as if he deeply regretted asking.

"Tch. Canariae are truly strange creatures," he muttered.

"I could say the same about Awyans," she shot back playfully.

He ignored her, deep in thought.

And for the rest of the journey, he seemed…

Preoccupied.

Malec didn't care about Canariae reproductive cycles.

He never needed to.

Canariae and Awyan couldn't produce offspring together.

At least, that's what was always believed.

But now, with Allora in his care, so different from the others…

He found himself curious.

What if she was different in other ways?

Would her body react differently to him?

Was she even the same species as the other Canariae?

Would his bloodline have any effect on her?

He frowned, glancing down at her sleeping form.

Her body was hot, her breathing slow.

He had taken in many Canariae in his lifetime.

Captured them. Trained them. Sold them.

But never had he seen a female so lethargic.

He would have to ask the nobles in the Capitol about their experiences with female Canariae.

Not many kept them as more than pets.

But some did.

And Malec wanted answers.

The grand gates of the Capitol came into view as the party rode into the city.

The streets were bustling, lined with tall stone buildings and market stalls.

The smell of roasted meat and spices filled the air.

But Malec barely noticed.

His attention was on the sleeping Canariae in his arms.

She had barely stirred since morning.

He tightened his hold on her.

Something wasn't right.

As Malec dismounted, cradling Allora in his arms, he heard a booming voice call out.

"Ah! There's my favorite cousin!"

Malec groaned internally.

King Surion.

Malec barely had time to brace himself before the King approached, grinning broadly.

"What took you so long? You're usually so—"

The King stopped, noticing the dark-haired Canariae in Malec's arms.

"Oh?"

Malec's eyes flickered with warning.

"Don't wake her," he muttered.

The King raised a brow, clearly amused.

"Oh, my. Since when do you care if a Canariae sleeps?"

Malec gritted his teeth.

"She is mine."

The King chuckled.

"Yes, yes. I've heard. The infamous dark Canariae that escaped you. Twice."

Malec's jaw tightened.

The King's grin widened.

"I can't wait to hear all about it," he teased.

Malec ignored him and started walking toward the castle.

"She doesn't look well," the King noted.

Malec stiffened.

Because he was right.

"What's wrong with her?" the King pressed.

"I don't know," Malec admitted, his tone flat.

The King blinked, slightly surprised at the honesty.

Malec never admitted uncertainty.

Not about anything.

"Shall I send for a physician?" the King offered.

Malec hesitated.

Then nodded.

"Bring him to my chambers," he ordered before walking off, carrying his Canariae away.

The King watched his cousin disappear into the castle.

His grin faded slightly.

Because for the first time in years—

Malec looked…

Worried.

He glanced at a nearby servant.

"Fetch the physician," he ordered.

Then, quietly to himself, he murmured:

"Fascinating."

Allora awoke to heat.

It burned under her skin, a slow, suffocating fever that made her limbs feel like lead.

She tried to sit up, but her body wouldn't cooperate.

Her head throbbed, her vision swam.

But none of that mattered.

She was in the Capitol.

She was so close.

She just needed to stay conscious.

She just needed to—

"You're awake."

Malec's deep voice pulled her from her haze.

She turned her head, blinking through the dizziness.He stood at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, tan eyes darkened with something unreadable.

"You've been sweating all night," he said gruffly.

Her throat felt dry.

"It's just the heat," she muttered.

Malec's jaw tightened.

"You have a fever."

"It'll pass."

"You need a physician."

"No."

Her answer was instant.

Too fast.

Malec's eyes narrowed.

"That wasn't a request, little dove."

She gritted her teeth.

"I said no, Malec."

A flicker of dangerous amusement crossed his face.

"I don't remember asking for your permission."

Her heart pounded as she tried to sit up, but her arms trembled under her own weight.

Malec sighed.

"You can barely hold yourself up, and yet you fight me at every turn," he muttered, shaking his head.

Then he turned toward the door.

"Let him in."

Allora's stomach dropped.

A tall, elderly Awyan physician entered, clad in deep blue robes, his silver hair tied neatly back.

His sharp eyes swept over her with clinical interest.

"This is the Canariae?"

"Yes. See what's wrong with her," Malec ordered.

The physician nodded and stepped forward.

Allora immediately recoiled.

"I said I don't need help!" she snapped, trying to push herself away.

Malec's brows furrowed.

She looked… afraid.

"I'm only here to examine you," the physician said calmly.

She flinched away from his hands, her breath coming out in short, panicked gasps.

Malec had seen her fight guards, spar with soldiers, even bite him when she was defiant.

But this?

This was different.

This wasn't anger.

This was fear.

"Enough," Malec commanded, stepping forward.

His hand gripped her jaw gently, forcing her to look at him.

"Why are you acting like this?"

Her breathing was ragged, sweat dripping down her temples.

"I don't need a doctor," she whispered, voice trembling.

"Then why are you shaking?"

She didn't answer.

Malec narrowed his eyes.

"Let him do his job."

She jerked her face away, glaring at him.

"I said no!"

Then, with a burst of energy, she lunged from the bed.

Or…

She tried to.

Her legs buckled instantly, sending her crashing to the floor.

Malec was on her in seconds, lifting her effortlessly back onto the bed.

"Enough," he growled. "You're making it worse."

Her breath hitched, her chest heaving.

"You don't understand," she muttered.

Malec's gaze darkened.

"Then explain it to me."

She shook her head weakly.

The fever was getting worse.

Her mind swam, her body betraying her.

She wasn't sure when she started muttering—

But Malec heard every word.

"Covart-Virus… I have to go… before it's too late…"

Malec stilled.

What?

"Eron… I have to save him… I promised… I have to go back…"

His stomach twisted.

"Who is Eron?" he demanded.

No response.

Just more whispered pleas.

"I have to get home… Eron… Eron's waiting…"

Malec's entire body tensed.

Eron.

The name tasted wrong in his mouth.

Another Canariae?

A family member?

A… lover?

His blood burned.

He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her just slightly.

"Who is Eron?" he demanded again.

Her fevered eyes fluttered open just slightly.

She stared past him.

"I have to go… before it's too late…"

Malec's jaw clenched.

So she was still trying to leave.

Even now.

Even after everything.

He felt a sharp, twisting sensation in his chest.

He wasn't sure if it was anger.

Or something far worse.

The physician finally spoke.

"Her body is fighting something foreign," he said carefully.

Malec turned to him, his eyes narrowing.

"Foreign?"

The physician nodded.

"She isn't reacting like normal Canariae do. Her symptoms are… different."

Malec's stomach dropped.

Different.

Because she wasn't from here.

Because she wasn't like the others.

And because she had been hiding something.

His eyes flickered back to her, her body burning up under the weight of the fever.

"Let it run its course," the physician finally said.

"If she is strong enough, she will survive. If not…"

He trailed off.

Malec's chest tightened.

No.

No, she would survive.

She had to.

His little dark Canariae wasn't allowed to die.

Not when she still belonged to him.

Not when she was his.

As the physician left, Malec sat on the edge of the bed, watching her.

Her face was flushed, her body trembling slightly.

Even now, she was muttering about leaving.

Even now, she was dreaming of escape.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration boiling inside him.

She wouldn't stop.

She would never stop trying to leave.

Unless—

Unless she had no reason to.

Malec's tan eyes darkened.

If she wouldn't accept that she was his…

Then he would make her.

Malec had never felt fear before.

Not like this.

Not the kind that clawed at his chest, that made his breath short, that made him feel utterly powerless.

Not the kind that made him terrified to lose something.

Someone.

Her.

Allora's breathing was shallow, her skin burning under his touch.

Her lips parted, but her words were no longer clear.

Just soft, fevered murmurs.

"Eron… I have to get back… before it's too late…"

He gritted his teeth, frustration and something more dangerous rising inside him.

She was still dreaming of leaving him.

Even now.

Even while she was dying.

He couldn't let it happen.

He wouldn't.

Malec wasn't a healer.Malec's forehead pressed against her chest, his bloodied hand gripping hers tightly.

"Come back to me," he murmured against her skin.

Her breathing was still weak, her body too still.

His jaw clenched.

Just a night ago, she had been writhing beneath him, her breath hot, her moans sweet, her body moving against his in perfect rhythm.

She had been so alive.

So defiant.

So beautiful.

And now?

Now, she was barely hanging on.

His throat tightened.

"Damn you, little dove," he whispered, his eyes closing briefly.

"You make everything so difficult."

He gritted his teeth, his free hand gripping the sheets.

"Why is it so hard to hold onto you?"

No matter how tight his grip, she always slipped through.

Like a wild bird, fluttering against its cage.

Desperate to escape.

Would he ever be able to tame her… without crushing her spirit?

His chest ached at the thought.

He didn't want to break her.

But he would rather see her broken… than gone.

Rather see her rage at him, fight him, hate him—than not see her at all.

Because if she died…

If she left him forever…

Then there would be no world worth living in.

And he would follow her.

Even into death itself.

He wasn't a physician.

He didn't know what she needed.

But he knew one thing.

He knew that the only cure for —the sickness plaguing the Canariae—was in his blood.

That was a huge advantage his kind had over hers.

And now…

It was the only thing that might save her.

"Damn it," he growled.

With one swift movement, he pulled out his dagger.

And without hesitation—

He slashed his palm open.

Deep.

The dark red blood pooled instantly.

Dripping. Spilling.

His heart pounded as he grabbed Allora's fragile wrist.

She didn't even react as he sliced her skin, her own blood mixing with his.

Then—

He pressed their wounds together.

Their blood merged, his heat sinking into her.

It wasn't the way the antidote was usually given.

It wasn't filtered, processed, or measured.

This was raw.

This was reckless.

This was desperate.

But she was his.

And he wasn't going to let her slip away.

Not in the dark.

Not without him.