"He paid for your treatment and left—said there was an urgent pack gathering he couldn't miss." The healer paused, a note of weary advice creeping into her voice. "He specifically asked me to tell you he arranged for a caretaker from the omega quarters, so you can focus on recovering. Little one, no matter how angry you get, you can't gamble with your own life. If that wound had been just a little to the side, you could've lost your eye. Even wolf healing has its limits."
Smashed it over her own head?
Lyra's pupils contracted sharply. Her fingertips went ice-cold, trembling, and even the healing liquid seemed to turn frigid against her skin.
Every word the healer spoke landed like a stone against her chest, leaving her frozen to the bone.
Then, softly, she laughed.
It was a hollow, desolate sound. Tears slid down her cheeks and dropped onto the pale linen healing gown, blooming into small damp spots.
So that's what she was to him. Hysterical. Fragile. Unstable. Just another emotional Omega who couldn't control herself.