Game of Thrones (Amica and Deckard) novel Chapter 64

Chapter 64

Deckard

rightfully

“A wild thorn werewolf mating with a dragon blood werewolf creates disaster if they are wrongly ected. But when they are righ connected, they make fire–a beautiful, consuming fire that lights the way and burns their adversaries.

Be careful, Alpha,” Martha warns as she pulls out a potion and begins applying it to Amica’s pale, lifeless facr

“Help me remove all her clothes,” she instructs, her voice firm. “You will be the one to apply this over her holy

I glance around the room, “Everyone, leave us!” I command, and Bela and the servants scurry away without hesitation.

Mary remains rooted in place, her arms crossed, defiance written all over her face.

“Mary, please wait outside. I’ll call you back in soon,” I say, softening my tone. She hesitates but eventually steps out of the

Hurn back to Amica, Learefully remove her clothes, revealing her Trail, pale body and all i fecel is gu

all the pain I’ve caused her

She looks so fragile, so undeserving of all

1 dip my hands into the oily

y potion and begin spreading it over her cold skin, Fach touch feels like an apology I can never yoke,

Martha’s eyes kept boring into me, before she finally seaks. “Why is it so difficali for you to help her, Alpha! Do you despise her sa mnox li that you’d rather let her fade away than accept her as your mair!”

Her accusation stings, but I don’t respond, Instead, I focus on the task at hatsl, willing Amica’s warmili to return beneath my touch.

“You need to realize who you’re talking to, woman. That one could cost you your head” Esmap, Her meddling questions are the last thing I need nicht now

Martha a stiffens but lowers her gaze. “I apologize, my Alpha. Please don’t take offense at my words. They come only from concern for her well- being. If she survives this, it’s imperative that she never endures such strain again?

-Shut up and do your jobs” 1 bark, dismissing her attempt at explanation.

What the hell is wrong with her! Does she think I’d insentionally harm Amica! Why can’t she just focus on fixing the mess instead of pointless concerns!

I glance down at Amica’s frail form, pale and almost lifeless beneath my hand. It’s not just Martha’s words that unsettle me–The inah is Eve failed her in ways I can’t even begin to excuse.

What’s so hard about lying beside her every night Why have I let her sleep alone in this cold bed, day after day! The rage I felt last night—when I discovered her connection with her ex–has blinded me. And then there’s Mary…

I’ve spent too much time with her, let her distract me from what matters.

No, it’s worse than that. I cheated.

The thought burns through my

mind like wildfire. Amica doesn’t deserve this, not from

The.

Yes, I’m fully to blame for this, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make in right.

After I finish massaging her with the oil, Martha hands me another potion to administer orally, I carefully tilt Amica’s head, managing to get a small amount into her mouth while the rest spills down her chin

Manha prepares several more potions and gives me strict instructions to administer them at intervals. She then wraps Andra securely in a blanket..

“If you will, my Alpha, provide a place for me to rest so I can check on her periodically until her conditions stabilizes,” Mandia says, almost pårading.

“You can stay right here in this room!” I offer without hesitation.

She shakes her head firmly. “Oh no, that is your role. Alpha. You are the only one who can make her letter. Her recovery depends entirely on you

“What do you mean?” I demand, irritation flickering in my voice.

“I mean this is between you and your wolves,” she explains calmly but resolutely. “I cannot interfere any further. Whatever healing she needs now can only come from the bond you share. I will stay nearby, but I cannot remain in this room with you both.”

Chapter 61

“Okay. Bria will prepare a room for you” I say cunly.

Martha nods. “Also, we do not need to turn up the heat in the room or close all the windows. That will not make her better. I’d advise allowing proper ventilation to come in”

Her calm explanation 1 feels like an undoing of everything Mary had set up, but for some reason, it works. I don’t have the energy to question it

anjaliore.

I call out to Bria to escort Martha to her room, and once they leave, I turn on the air conditioning to make Amica more comfortable.

A voice interrupts my thoughts, sharp and accusing.

“So, I’m guessing you don’t need my help anymore?” Mary says, her tone laced with irritation.

I tum slightly, keeping my composure. “You’re undoing all the care I provided with that old woman’s–what was it–fetish nonsense,” she continues, her complaints grating

I don’t have the patience for her rants.

“I will call you

you when we need your attention” I say, keeping my voice calmly but but leaves no room for argument.

Mary left the room quietly, and I didn’t feel even a shred of guil By now, she should be sensible enough to recognize when her antics cross the line

It imitates me how she sometimes acts as if we are

lovers. We are noi.

The only reason I tolerate her is because of this lingering feeling that I owe her something. But I’ve been clear–blunt, even that she shouldn’t expect anything romantic from me. I gave her a choice long ago: if my terms didn’t suit her, she was free to leave. Yer, she chose to stay, and often wonder why

Sometimes, late at night. I think about her motives–about why she sticks around when I can’t give her what she clearly desires. She plays it off like she’s fine with the arrangement, but I see through her. She’s aching for something more, something I’ll never offer

That’s the truth of it. Every woman dreams of love and belonging, of being someone’s first choice. And as much as I wish she’d find a mate who could give her that, she doesn’t seem interested.

It’s almost as if she’s waiting for the impossible–for something I’ll never give

There’s nothing I can do to change Mary’s mind. She’s an adult. She knows what she wants, and I have no energy left to argue about it

As for m

me, I don’t expect to receive what I’m incapable of giving

The truth is, I don’t know what love feels like–especially the kind that’s mutual, where two hearts beat for each other in perfect sync.

Lately, though, I’ve been feeling something I can’t quite explain. And no, it isn’t love.

I don’t love Amica.

The way my chest tightens when she walks into a room and effortlessly commands every gaze–it isn’t love

The searing ache I felt when I discovered she’d fled my castle to return to her pathetic excuse of an ex wasn’t the pain of a rejected lover.

And when I smashed my fist through the glass, and she rushed to fetch a towel, her hands trembling as she cleaned my wounds–despite my anger directed at her–that wasn’t love either.

It couldn’t be