The Heartbroken Luna's Choice Banish Love novel Chapter 173

Chapter 173 

Third Person’s POV 

She followed up by dusting a layer of black salt over the perimeter of the wounds to insulate the residual aura, preventing the cuts from reopening if his emotions spiked during the night. 

Finally, she brought out a dark healing salve. 

The paste smelled of pine resin and wormwood. She used the pads of her fingers to spread the medicine along the edges of the gashes, avoiding the deepest parts and pressing only into the jagged flesh and burn marks. This allowed his natural healing to stabilize rather than letting it flare up into a feverish mess. 

Cassian’s back muscles corded slightly, but he didn’t make a sound. 

Trista reminded him in an even voice, “These two gashes reached the muscle. Don’t release your pheromones for the next couple of days, and avoid hot water. Wait until the burn marks fade.” 

She pulled her hand back, making no move to linger. 

Suddenly, Cassian turned around and caught her wrist. His grip wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to stop her in her tracks. 

He stared into her eyes, his voice dropping to a low rasp. “Do you actually care about me?” 

Trista found the question bordering on the absurd. 

She let out a dry, mirthless chuckle. “Compared to Samantha, does my ‘care‘ really even matter to you?” 

The emotions Cassian had been struggling to keep down flared back to life at her words. 

The mating bond–that unsevered cord in the depths of his chest–pulled tight. Instinctively, he reached out, hooked his arm around her waist, and yanked her close, pinning her firmly against his lap. 

The sudden proximity forced his pheromones to leak out. 

The familiar scent hit Trista’s senses; her body stiffened reflexively, but she didn’t immediately pull away. 

Cassian looked down at her, interrogating her again. “Trista, can you just talk to me like a normal person for once?” 

Trista forced herself to remain detached, acting as if she were ignoring her body’s physical reaction to him. 

She spoke with clinical precision, reverting back to the tone she used when treating his wounds. “You have injuries on your back. You shouldn’t be straining yourself, or-” 

Before she could finish, Cassian silenced her with a kiss. 

It was sudden, but not frantic. 

One hand was clamped on her waist while the other cradled the back of her head, locking her within the sphere of his presence. 

The kiss was aggressively dominant, yet it carried that undeniable pull inherent between mated wolves. It felt like a confirmation–a desperate test to see if she would still respond. 

Their lips met, and their breathing quickly spiraled out of rhythm. 

Pheromones intertwined in the small space. Her mind screamed to resist, but her body was already instinctively adapting to his touch. 

Her struggle wasn’t violent; it was more of a hesitant, pulled–apart confusion. 

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