Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother novel Chapter 45

Chapter 45: Chapter 45

Elara’s POV

The silence pressed against my eardrums like deep water.

Cassian pushed himself up on one elbow. Slow. Careful. He looked down at his thigh—the thigh that moments ago had been a ruin of severed muscle and nicked artery and spreading blood.

There was nothing.

Smooth skin. Unmarked. As though the wound had never existed.

His fingers traced the spot where the gash had been. Pressing. Testing. His face cycled through confusion, disbelief, and something close to awe.

“What—” He swallowed hard. Looked at Riley. Looked at me. “What happened to my leg?”

Riley couldn’t speak. She had one hand clamped over her mouth, the other still gripping the blood-soaked field bandage that was no longer needed. Tears kept falling, but her eyes were wide. Not with grief anymore. With absolute shock.

Everyone was staring at me.

I could feel it—the weight of all those gazes like physical pressure against my skin. Knights, physicians, the wounded men on their cots who had turned their heads despite their pain.

All looking at the woman with the hollow, trembling hands.

“Elara.” Cassian’s voice was rough. Quiet. “Did you do this?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

Moonlight?

My wolf stirred. She was coiled tight inside my chest, radiating warmth but also something I’d never felt from her before. Caution. Protectiveness.

I don’t know, Ela. Her voice was a low hum against my thoughts. That light—it came from you. From us. But I’ve never felt anything like it.

What was it?

A long pause. I don’t know.

That was the most frightening answer she could have given.

“I don’t know,” I said aloud, admitting it to Cassian and the room. My voice came out thin. Unsteady. “I don’t know where this white light came from. I just—my hand started glowing, and I—”

I looked down at my right palm. It looked ordinary now. No light. No warmth. Just skin, slightly pink, faintly trembling.

Riley finally lowered her hand from her mouth. She stepped closer. Reached out with careful fingers and touched Cassian’s leg, her touch filled with marvel.

“This isn’t possible,” she whispered. Her voice had the fragile quality of someone whose entire understanding of the world had just cracked down the middle. “For a werewolf—instant regeneration of a severe wound like this is impossible. It should take extensive healing draughts at minimum. A long period of recovery.” She set his leg down. Stared at me. “You did this in moments. With your hands.”

I had no answer. I had nothing except exhaustion and a growing hollow ache behind my sternum that made it hard to draw a full breath.

Then I heard it.

From across the room. A wet, gurgling cough.

My head turned before I’d made the decision to look, driven by an irresistible urge.

Ben Thompson.

He lay on a cot near the far wall. A knight fighting a massive chest wound. His hair was darkened with sweat. His chest was wrapped in Riley’s field bandages, but the white fabric was already soaked through, fresh crimson blood steadily seeping out. Each breath he took produced a terrible, bubbling sound.

His eyes were open. Fixed on the ceiling. The look on his face wasn’t pain anymore. It was resignation.

The urge pulled at me again.

Not a thought. Not a decision. A pull. Deep in my chest, like a hook behind my ribs drawing me forward.

I took a step toward him.

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