我洗碗时在厨房要了我

Chapter 129  Slaughtered like Monsters

Despite a hot soak and a massage from Janette, Ophelia was still exhausted. Her thighs trembled when she descended the stairs in search of her husband. The ground floor had been cleared and cleaned, with many of the injured moved to a proper makeshift hospital.

"T-the windows should be open to let in fresh air, a-and don't let the fireplace die," Ophelia instructed Janette to pass on the message, as Cora was in the other hospital.

The smell of healing herbs and disinfectant filled the air, mingling with the unmistakable musk of injured werewolves. The majority of injuries had healed from their supernatural abilities and the beds were less frequented, yet the quiet groans and grunts were unmistakable.

"Have the chefs c-cook a hearty vegetable stew without dairy, b-but plenty of meat," Ophelia continued, listing down what she hoped to help them with. "Then, an easy dessert on the stomach, perhaps her famous fruit cake and—"

"Luna?" a voice murmured in confusion. "Have you come to see us?"

Ophelia paused, turning to see a man with bandages around his eyes reaching for the air. She clasped her palm around his, feeling his tight squeeze. "Is there anything you need to soothe your discomfort?" Ophelia softly asked, kneeling by his bedside to hear him properly.

"Your presence alone is enough, Luna," he spoke with a voice that carried the weight of gratitude. "You mustn't be here, Luna, the air is sick and—"

"M-my people are injured," Ophelia said. "If not here, w-where should I be?"

The wounded warrior released a soft exhale, his crackled lips pulled into a slight grimace. Ophelia realized just smiling must've been a pain to do.

"And if possible," Ophelia turned to Janette. "Make sure the nurses are applying balm to the mouths when they aid them in drinking."

"Yes, Luna," Janette stated with a grin as she carried out the role.

Suddenly, a shadow towered over the two ladies. Ophelia felt the shift in the air before she heard it.

"Alpha!" A chorus of addresses and proper greetings filled the large wooden room, accompanied by the shift of fabric.

"Stay in bed and rest well, don't move," Killorn instructed all of them. His voice was tense and authoritative, a man in true control. His shoulders squared, and his posture radiated power, every movement a testament to his prowess as a warrior. His eyes, a deep shade of amber, bore a mix of irritation and concern as they settled on Ophelia.

Ophelia slowly released the soldier's hand and tucked his blankets higher upon his body. She rose to her feet and faced him, her expression unwavering despite his intense glower. "Ophelia," his tone rumbled like distant thunder. "What are you doing out of bed?" Killorn harshly whispered into her ears, his arm snaking around her waist, yanking her against his hard body. "Did I not tire you out enough?"

Ophelia snapped her head up, cheeks stained red at how brazen he always behaved. By now, she should've been used to it. "My people need me."

"Oversee the kitchen, then," Killorn groaned, pulling her out of the room. "I-I want to help," Ophelia said as he closed the door behind them. She flinched against the biting cold of the wind, ignoring his narrowed gaze. Her silver hair caught the light, shimmering like moonlight under the brilliant sun. "Your place isn't in the front lines, my dear wife," Killorn deadpanned. "I respect your dedication, but your safety is crucial, not just for our pack, but for me."

Ophelia touched her stomach, his attention immediately snapping to the spot. She glanced to the ground. "It's n-not like I'm pregnant."

Killorn pressed his lips together. "I do not mind. I want to keep you to myself a little longer."

Is that why he could never keep his hands to himself? Even now, Killorn rested his palms behind her spine, his thumb and forefinger twirling with the ends of her hair.

"That r-remaining bottle of blood," Ophelia began, her voice dropping to the smallest octave. "Have we located it? I-is there a way to slow down the m-monster attracted to my scent?"

"Reagan is working on it. We decided to not enlist the magician tower for help, else it'd raise the suspicions of the royal family," Killorn said. "A-and where is Reagan?"

"Making his rounds in the hospital first, but I suspect Layla is already in the library doing her part," Killorn continued.

An idea came to mind, one that Ophelia was certain he'd allow. "T-take me to the library then."

A pleased, affectionate smile curled upon Killorn's mouth. He bent and pressed a chaste kiss on her forehead, his passion lingering for a brief moment. "Allow me the pleasure, my wife."

- - - - -

Layla was nowhere to be found, but her books were sprawled open on the desks. Ophelia insisted she didn't need a guard as Killorn left, leaving her to do her thing. She diligently read through the textbooks that Layla had focused on. Time flowed helplessly to Ophelia's tenacity. She flipped through the pages, hoping, begging for there to be a solution. Janette came in occasionally to check in on her, offer food and dinner, and replace torches. Ophelia ate diligently, but couldn't tear her attention away.

At a certain point, Layla joined in, the two ladies gathering books on various subjects. Soon, the piles of unread books matched the stack of finished ones. The moon hung high in the sky, pouring in a pale cast upon the shelves, but the multiple-lit candles remained flickering. "Still nothing?" Layla asked, slumped in her chair and huffing in exhaustion. She stretched her sore limbs, peering over at Ophelia flipping a page impatiently. How long have they been in this room already?

"Look at this," Ophelia stated, pointing to the last book in the stack. "Monsters roamed the land long before the humans ever did. During a full moon, they are the strongest, much like werewolves. In the ancient days, people believed the monsters poured out from the moon, for they were always seen on the horizon when the planet was at its lowest." Layla released a soft hum at the statement. "Yes, it's something I learned in my history classes. You know, if werewolves weren't able to transform into humans, they'd be slaughtered just like monsters."

Ophelia pressed her lips together. She felt like there was a piece of the puzzle missing. If only she could place her finger on it. "Let's call it a night," Layla said. "Your husband will have my head if I lock you in here with me."

Ophelia blinked, surprised that he hadn't come to fetch her. She thought he'd storm his way inside and demand for her to rest. She rose to her feet and bid Layla good night, then headed to her room. There, she found the bed empty, and the fireplace just stoked.

Ophelia was lost in her thoughts. Something about that passage she read lingered in her mind. A possible solution? She flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what it could be. Suddenly, the writings on the pillars of the bed intrigue her.

Language of the ancient gods, Killorn once told her, and Ophelia could read some of it. She rolled over, recalling that they were blessings for an heir. Her eyes grew heavy, just as she began to read a few of them out loud, as if bewitched by the scriptures. The idea was funny to her, for she had never once studied them.

Yawning, Ophelia began to slowly fall asleep. In her daze, she could feel a strong, masculine presence dipping into the bed beside her. His large arms wrapped around her body, pulling her closer.

"Killorn?" she mumbled, drifting into dreamland.

"Sleep well, my sweet wife," he whispered, kissing the crown of her head.

Ophelia sunk deep into the darkness, as her heart tugged upon his loving words. The prayer on their bed rang in her mind, the very last thing she thought of. Suddenly, a revelation dawned on her—she could understand some of the blessings.