My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 168

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Irina

The healer snipped the thread, and the sound felt like a gunshot in the quiet room.

I sat there, slumped in that hard wooden chair, feeling the pull of the fresh stitches against my ribs. It was a dull, thrumming ache now, not the white-hot fire of the blade, but it made me feel heavy. Old. I looked down at my hands, stained with my own blood. I felt stupid. I was the Queen of Valdris, a woman who had outmanoeuvred high lords and survived Aldric’s cold bed for two decades, and here I was, getting stitched up by a man who smelled like wet dog and antiseptic in a room that looked like a bird had exploded in it.

The healer didn't say a word to me. He did his final rounds, checking the tension of the bandages, his fingers rough and clinical. When he was satisfied, he gave a short, jerky nod to Fenris and Sera.

"It's fine," he said, his voice a dry rasp. "The blade missed the vitals. The body just needs time to knit the meat back together. Keep her still."

Fenris gave a single, tight nod. He didn't thank the man. He just stood there watching the healer pack his bag. The man bowed—first to the Alpha, then to his new Luna—and scurried out of the room like he was afraid the stone walls might swallow him.

Then it was just us. The three of us—four if you count the girl— sitting in the wreckage of my pride.

I let out a long, ragged breath and leaned my head back against the chair. My neck felt like it was made of dry sticks.

"You should have just finished it," I said. My voice was thin, scratching its way out of my throat. "Why the hell are you keeping me alive? To watch me rot in a guest wing?"

Sera didn't answer. She was standing near the edge of the bed, her eyes raw and red-rimmed. She looked relieved, which was the most annoying part. She actually looked like she cared if I stopped breathing. Fenris was the one who reacted. He let out a short, dry scoff and crossed his massive arms over his chest.

"We both know you don't mean that, Irina," Fenris said. "You have too much spite in you to want a grave. You would find a way to argue with the dirt."

I stared at him for a heartbeat, then looked away toward the dying fire. He wasn't wrong. Why would I want to die? Why would I want to just cease to exist while everyone else was out there enjoying the fullness of it? People were getting drunk, getting fucked, eating warm bread, and I was supposed to just be a memory? No. I wasn't built for the grave. Not yet.

Sera took a step toward me, her hands twitching at her sides.

"I am honestly sorry for what they did to you, Mother," she said. Her voice was shaking, and she looked down at the blood on the floor. "They weren't supposed to go that far. It was supposed to be an extraction. Yvara promised me she wouldn't draw blood."

I looked at her, and the disgust rose up in my throat like bile. The apology felt like a slap. Before I could tell her exactly what she could do with her guilt, I saw Fenris reach out. He tapped her lightly on the side, a grounding touch. Sera’s head snapped toward him instantly.