The Lunar Crest Academy: Marked by The Lycans
Chapter 65: Not Today

Chapter 65: Chapter 65: Not Today

Lorraine’s POV

The moment I saw the blood, a cold panic gripped me.

No. No. No.

The crimson soaked through the front of my shirt like ink spilled across paper, blooming wider with every breath I struggled to take. My fingers trembled as I peeled the fabric back and stared at the gash on my chest, once sealed, now slowly tearing open again like the academy itself refused to let me heal. My knees gave way before I could think, and I collapsed onto the cold bathroom tiles, curling forward, pressing my forehead to my knees.

Is this it?

Is this really how I die?

I had fought so hard to live.

Back at ShadowFang, when they beat me, starved me, treated me like a dog, no, worse than a dog, I still refused to die. I clung to life with my teeth bared, even when I was nothing but bones and bruises.

Here, at Lunar Crest Academy, I’d fought every second. Against the torment. The fear. The humiliation. Against everyone who wanted me broken. Students who wanted me erased. Even against my own wolf, who stayed silent for so long I thought she’d abandoned me.

And now, after everything.... after surviving Selene Ashthorne....

She still won.

Because even in death, her poison lingered.

My vision blurred. The air in my lungs turned thick and heavy, and each inhale sent another wave of pain spiraling through me. I could feel my pulse in the wound, a slow, wet throb that told me the clock was ticking.

I don’t want to die.

Suddenly, a loud bang shook the door.

"Lorraine," Kieran’s voice was sharp, commanding. "Open the door before I break it down."

I didn’t doubt for a second that he meant it.

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself up. Every movement felt like fire under my skin. I yanked my shirt down, adjusting the folds to hide the stain as best I could. My legs barely held me as I unlocked the door.

It swung open.

Kieran stood there, his eyes scanning me instantly. And gods, those eyes. They always saw too much.

"What happened?" he asked, voice low.

I forced a smile. A lie. "Nothing, Kieran. I’m fine."

He stepped closer. His gaze dropped, and his expression darkened like a storm cloud rolling in.

"I can smell the blood dripping down your chest," he said coldly. "Your wound has reopened."

There was no point pretending anymore.

I looked away, ashamed, frustrated, and terrified. My strength was failing me. My body was betraying me.

And for the first time in a long time....

...I didn’t know if I was going to make it.

Kieran didn’t waste another second.

His arms were around me before I could blink, and suddenly I was off the ground, cradled against his chest. I didn’t even have the strength to protest this time. The effort it took just to stay conscious was overwhelming, my body felt like it was shutting down, inch by inch. My breath came in shallow gasps. Every bump of movement as he carried me made the pain flare again, but I bit down on it. Hard.

I wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of him. _{f.re(e) w.e(b)nov el.c.om}

The world spun once, then steadied as he lowered me gently onto the bed, his hands moving with a care that almost made me forget how dangerous he really was.

I stared up at him, heart pounding, not from fear, not from pain, but from the weight of the moment. I could barely lift my arms, but I still reached for him, clutching the fabric of his shirt weakly.

"Do it," I whispered, voice hoarse, raw from everything I had endured. "If.... if having sex with you will actually heal me, then I have no choice at this point. Do it, Kieran."

His eyes locked on mine, something unreadable flashing through them. Rage. Desire. Restraint. A storm of emotions I couldn’t quite decipher.

Kieran didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at me, as as though he was trying to memorize every piece of me, every scar, every broken breath. His gaze dropped to my chest, and I saw the flicker of fury return. Not at me, but at the wound, at what it symbolized. At how close I was to dying.

And then, without a word, he moved.

His hand came to rest on my side, fingers brushing gently over the curve of my ribs, avoiding the bloody tear just beside them. Despite everything, I shivered. His touch was warm, possessive, yet reverent.

His lips touched my collarbone first, the kiss soft and lingering. Then lower, trailing down my shoulder, where another bruise marred my skin. He paused there, kissed the bruise like it offended him.

Every touch sent warmth flooding through my limbs, numbing the pain. Or maybe it was just the distraction of it. Maybe it was the part of me that had always longed to be held like this. To be wanted.

His fingers brushed along my bare waist now, he had pushed my shirt up carefully, reverently, as though undressing me wasn’t just about necessity, but something sacred.

"You’re not even fighting me anymore," Kieran said quietly, his voice rough with restraint.

"I don’t have the strength to," I whispered.

He bent down again, kissed the side of my neck, right where my pulse fluttered, and I gasped, but not from fear. From the heat that bloomed beneath his mouth.

Then his mouth moved lower, to just above the wound. His lips pressed against the bloodied skin, and a strange heat flared there, pulsing outward. It felt like fire, like something ancient and wild had just been awakened inside me.

I arched slightly, my body reacting on instinct.

Kieran growled softly. Not in warning, but something deeper. Something.... possessive. His hand cupped the curve of my waist, grounding me.

"I can feel your body responding to me," he murmured. "You’re close to the edge, Lorraine. But if I take tgis step, there’s no going back."

"I don’t care," I said, though my voice trembled. "Just do it."

His forehead pressed to mine, but he didn’t kiss me. He just held me there, breathing me in.

Then, suddenly, he froze.

His hand stilled. His entire body tensed like a predator in a trap.

"No," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

"I won’t do it." He stood, pulling away from me, breathing hard like he was battling something violent inside him. "Not like this."

Confused, I tried to push myself up, but my limbs were trembling. "What do you mean? You said it would heal me...."

"It would," he said, cutting me off. "But not when you’re half-dead and desperate. Not when you’re only doing this because you feel like you don’t have a choice."

I stared at him, pain and heat and confusion all swirling together. "So you’re just going to let me die?"

"I’m going to find another way to heal you," he said firmly. "You’re not some casualty I patch up with sex, Lorraine. You deserve more than that. And when I do claim you, when I mark you, it won’t be out of desperation. It’ll be because you want me. Fully. Willingly."

Then, quieter: "And because I want all of you... not just your body. I want your soul."

He stood up abruptly, his body still thrumming with tension. I could see it in the clench of his fists, the way his jaw twitched like he was trying to contain the storm still raging inside him. My skin still burned where he had touched me, kissed me. But now, all I felt was cold.

He turned away, jaw set. Then, without even glancing back at me, he pulled out his phone and barked, "Theron."

A pause.

"Summon every healer, doctor, medic, anyone who knows how to wield a scalpel or brew a goddamn salve. I want all of them in my room. Now."

Another pause. His voice dropped, colder than I’d ever heard it.

"If they don’t fix her.... if they so much as hesitate, I’ll take every single one of their heads and send them back to their families in bags. Tell them that."

My breath caught in my throat.

Kieran wasn’t just angry. He was enraged.

For me.

He ended the call and exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. Then, slowly, he turned back to me. His eyes, those burning, crimson red eyes met mine. The fury there was still present, but it was no longer sharp. It was quiet. Controlled.

"I meant what I said," he said, voice softer now. "You don’t get to die, Lorraine. Not like this. Not now. I told you that you are a mystery I am still yet to unravel and I am not letting slip out of my hands till I unravel you"

I wanted to say something, anything, but my throat felt too tight, like words had been stolen from me. I was shaking. From pain. From the heat that still lingered in my bones. From everything I didn’t understand about him. About us.

He walked back over to me, standing standing beside the bed.

His hand touched my cheek, warm and careful, like he was afraid I might break apart.

"You’re not dying today," he said. "Not while I’m still breathing."

There was a knock on the door, three sharp raps.

Kieran stood and strode over to open it. Outside stood a group of healers and medical staff, wide-eyed and pale, clearly having been dragged from their sleep or duties by Theron’s threat.

"Fix her," Kieran ordered, stepping aside. "Or die trying"

They rushed in without question.

And as they gathered around me, speaking in frantic whispers, applying pressure to my chest, injecting something into my arm, I let the darkness start to take me again.