The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 195

Lyra

I press my hands to Mrs. Hadley's forehead, letting my energy seek out the infection that's been ravaging her body for days. The other healers tried traditional remedies—herbal infusions, poultices, even bloodletting—but the fever persisted. Now it falls to me, as always when conventional methods fail.

"Easy," I murmur as she whimpers. "I'm going to help you."

Closing my eyes, I visualize the infection as a dark cloud in her blood. Most healers in our enclave work with their hands alone, but I've always seen illness differently—not just as something to push away, but as something to transform. I don't just channel healing energy; I redirect the sickness itself.

My fingers tingle as I guide the infection, changing its nature rather than fighting it directly. Under my palms, Mrs. Hadley's skin cools, her breathing steadies. When I open my eyes, her face has regained its color, the angry flush of fever replaced by the pink of health.

"It's done," I tell her relieved husband. "She'll need rest, but the infection is gone."

Mr. Hadley clasps my hands in his gnarled ones. "Bless you, Lyra. The elders said if anyone could save her, it would be you."

I feel Kieran's gaze before I see him leaning in the doorway of the small cottage, arms crossed over his broad chest. His expression is unreadable, but I know what he's thinking. I always know.

"You shouldn't exhaust yourself on every case," he says once we're outside, walking between the hidden cottages of our community. Spring sunlight filters through the dense canopy of trees that conceal us from the outside world—from those who would still hunt us if they knew we existed.

"She would have died," I reply simply.

"And you used the unorthodox technique again." It's not a question. "The elders don't approve."

I sigh, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind my ear. "The elders would rather follow tradition than save lives sometimes."

"Tradition has kept us alive for generations, Lyra." His voice softens. "I just worry about you. That method drains you more than the traditional approach."

Before I can respond, a young apprentice healer runs up to us, slightly out of breath. "Healer Lyra! Elder Thalia requests your presence immediately."

Kieran and I exchange glances. Summons from Elder Thalia rarely bring good news.

"I'll be right there," I tell the apprentice, who scurries off.

"Want me to come with you?" Kieran asks, concern evident in his green eyes.

I shake my head. "Better not. Last time she caught you hovering, she threatened to turn you into a toad."

"She can't actually do that," he says, though he sounds slightly uncertain.

I laugh. "No, but I wouldn't test her."

"Not like before," she says, her voice dropping. "These ones don't wear the king's colors. They move in shadow, speak in whispers. They seek something specific."

"What do they want?"

"Information. Locations. Names." She leans forward. "I need you to go to the eastern border. Watch. Listen. Find out what they seek without being discovered."

I swallow hard. I've rarely left our enclave, and never on such a mission. "Why me?"

A smile creases her weathered face. "Because you see differently, child. Your gift doesn't just heal bodies—it sees intentions, energies. And," she adds with a knowing look, "because unlike our other talented healers, you can control your power around outsiders. You don't glow like a beacon whenever you feel strong emotion."

She means Kieran, whose healing energy tends to manifest visibly when he's agitated.

"When should I leave?"

"Tomorrow at dawn." She hands me a small leather pouch. "Protective herbs. Keep them with you at all times."

As I take the pouch, her hand suddenly closes around my wrist, her grip surprisingly strong. "Be careful, Lyra. The omens speak of change, but change can bring destruction before renewal. Something stirs in the kingdom—something that concerns us all."