The angry welts on Julian's back made my stomach churn with conflicting emotions. Part of me—the part that remembered his coldness, his neglect, his choice of Natalie over me and Violet—felt a vindictive satisfaction. But another part, the healer in me, couldn't help but wince at the raw wounds left by Genevieve's punishment.
"Sit," I instructed, pointing to the sofa.
Julian complied without argument, his usual arrogance tempered by pain. I kept my distance, unsure of how to proceed. The air between us crackled with unspoken tension.
A knock at the door saved me from having to break the silence.
"Enter," Julian called, his voice tight with discomfort.
A young servant girl stepped in carrying a small wooden box. "Dr. Thorne sent this for the Alpha's wounds," she explained, her eyes carefully avoiding Julian's bare torso as she handed me the container. "He said to apply it generously to prevent scarring from the silver."
