Chapter 29
Elara's POV
The metallic tang of blood coated my throat as I knelt beside Derrick, my hands already moving before my brain caught up. Three parallel gashes tore through his left thigh—deep, ragged, still pumping crimson with each heartbeat. The fabric of his expensive slacks hung in shreds, soaked dark and heavy.
"He... he's going to die, isn't he?" Martha's voice cracked somewhere behind me, high and thin with terror.
I didn't answer. Couldn't waste breath on reassurance when I needed to focus on keeping him alive.
My fingers found the pressure points I'd learned in another life—another body that could tear through enemies without breaking a sweat. Now these weak, trembling hands had to be enough.
The white tablecloth ripped easily under my grip. I worked fast, wrapping it tight above the wounds, pulling until Derrick's breath hissed through clenched teeth. The makeshift tourniquet held. For now.
"Elara..." His voice was barely a whisper, face chalk-white against the dark leather booth. Sweat beaded across his forehead, plastering gray hair to his temples.
I grabbed a crystal decanter from the bar cart—some expensive whiskey I couldn't pronounce. The amber liquid splashed over torn flesh and Derrick's back arched, a strangled sound ripping from his throat.
"Sorry," I muttered, not really meaning it. "This is going to hurt worse."
The alcohol burned away surface bacteria, bought us minutes. My hands moved on autopilot, clearing debris from the wounds—splinters of wood, bits of fabric, things I didn't want to identify. Each motion precise, economical. Like field dressing a kill.
Except this wasn't a hunt. This was...
What the hell was this?
"Where did you learn that?" Martha's question cut through my concentration. I glanced up to find her staring at my hands, eyes wide and glassy with shock. "You're just a... you're seventeen."
I tore another strip of linen, layering it over the first bandage. "Books."
"Books." She repeated the word like it was foreign. "You learned emergency field medicine from books?"
My chest tightened—not fear, just the familiar burn of overexertion. I forced air through my constricted airways, counted breaths like I'd done a thousand times before. In. Out. In. Out.
Don't let them see weakness.
"You'd be surprised what you can learn when people underestimate you." The words came out sharper than intended, edged with bitterness I couldn't quite suppress.
Derrick's hand suddenly gripped my wrist—weak, trembling, but insistent. "Elara... thank you."
I froze. Stared at his fingers wrapped around my arm, pale and vulnerable. When had anyone in this family ever thanked me? When had they ever looked at me with anything other than pity or contempt?
The gratitude in his eyes was worse than the earlier disdain. At least disdain I understood.
"Don't." I pulled my hand free, busied myself checking the bandages. "You need a real doctor. This is just temporary."
"But you saved—"
"I stopped the bleeding. That's all." I stood too fast, head swimming. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving behind bone-deep exhaustion and the phantom ache of overused muscles this body didn't have.
Vivian huddled in the corner where I'd last seen her, arms wrapped tight around her knees. Her perfectly styled hair hung in tangles, mascara streaked down both cheeks. She looked small. Young. Terrified.
She looked at me like I was something dangerous.
Good. Maybe now they'd think twice before—
"Elara." Martha's voice was different now. Calculating. "You just... you killed that thing. With a kitchen knife."
I turned slowly, met her gaze head-on. "It was a cleaver, actually."
"You know what I mean." She took a step closer, heels clicking on blood-stained tile. "An Omega who can't even shift, taking down a fully transformed werewolf. That's not normal."
"Nothing about today is normal." I moved toward the door, every muscle screaming protest. My lungs felt like they were full of glass shards, each breath a careful negotiation. "I need to go."
"Wait—"
"Derrick needs a hospital. Call someone you trust." I paused at the threshold, looked back at the wreckage of the private dining room. Overturned furniture. Shattered glass. Blood pooling on expensive hardwood. "And maybe figure out who wants you dead badly enough to send hired killers."
"You think this was planned?" Derrick's question was barely audible, but the fear in it rang clear.
An image of the dead werewolf flashed in my mind, a picture of desperate hunger that had driven him to take such a risky job. Not Wild Hunt. Not professional. Just some desperate rogue willing to kill for cash.
"This wasn't random." I met Derrick's eyes. "Rogue werewolves don't attack prominent families in public restaurants unless someone's paying them very well. So yeah. Someone planned this."
Martha's face went even paler. "But who would—"
"That's your problem to solve." I grabbed the doorframe for support, legs threatening to give out. "I came back for my inhaler. That's the only reason I was here. The only reason you're still alive."
Silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken questions.
Vivian finally spoke, voice small and shaking. "Mom... she's right. Someone hired them. Someone who knew we'd be here today."
"Which means someone knew about our lunch plans." Derrick's jaw clenched. "Someone close enough to know our schedule."
I watched understanding dawn across their faces—the paranoia, the suspicion, the sudden realization that their comfortable world wasn't as safe as they'd believed.
Welcome to reality.
"Before I leave," I said quietly, "I want to know something."
Three pairs of eyes fixed on me.
"Why you?" I gestured to the carnage around us. "Why go after your family specifically? What did you do?"
The question hung in the air like smoke.
Martha and Derrick exchanged a look—the kind of silent communication that came from years of marriage and shared secrets. Derrick's throat worked, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"Tell her," Vivian whispered. "She saved us. She deserves to know."
"Vivian—"
"Tell her." My cousin's voice cracked. "She killed someone to protect us. The least we can do is be honest."