(Quinn's Perspective)
As we arrived at the place where Luca and Casey were meant to marry, he told me to stay in the car and went to talk to Kimmy and Derek. I think he knew Cale's car was soundproof, so he got in. Cale spared no expense in making sure his fleet of cars were bullet and soundproof so no wolf could hear his operations or meetings—or worse, he wouldn't get attacked and lose pack members unnecessarily. He was building an army. Every strong fighter was valuable to him, which was rare for a psychotic tyrant to care whether people lived or died, but definitely smart.
I was annoyed when Luca got in the car because he clearly didn't want me to hear anything. When he got out, Kimmy and Derek stayed in the car, and Luca opened my door, held out his arm, and looked at me expectantly.
"Come," he said softly, his tone so different from the harsh leader I had come to expect.
"What are you doing?" I asked, narrowing my eyes as I crossed my arms.
"You don't have to pretend," he said bluntly, his voice low enough that even Kimmy and Derek, who were now in the car, wouldn't hear. "I know you're still hurt. You've been pretending to be fine, sitting like a proper lady when I can see you're in pain. Stop it."
His words annoyed me but, mostly because he was right. I had been pretending. The silver-inflicted wound on my stomach wasn't just painful—it was debilitating. Every movement, every breath, felt like I was being stabbed all over again. And sitting upright with my legs crossed, wearing these ridiculous heels? It was torture. But I'd been too stubborn to let anyone, least of all Luca, see that.
"Come on," he said again, his tone softening just a fraction. "Lean on me." His gentleness disarmed me, and without thinking, I placed my hand in his.
The fleeting contact electrified the air around us, the warmth of his touch lingering longer than it should have. His fingers tightened around mine briefly before he released me and guided me towards the secluded area where he had prepared what I assumed was a medical setup.
Inside, Luca gestured for me to sit on a small cot.
"Luca, what's going on? Why are we out here?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair before fixing me with a look that made my knees weak—not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of it. "Undo your top," he said, his voice quiet but firm.
My heart lurched, and a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. What the hell is happening? Anxiety tightened my chest, but I forced myself to stand tall—or as tall as I could manage in my current state.
"Excuse me?" I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest like a shield.
"Relax," he muttered, rolling his eyes like I was the one being unreasonable. "I need to check the wound."
Against my better judgment, I sighed and began unbuttoning my top, each movement slow and deliberate, my hands shaking slightly.
Beneath the fabric, the wound was an angry red, the edges swollen and raw. The faint traces of silver still lingering in my blood made it slow to heal, and the pain was a constant, gnawing reminder of my vulnerability.
Luca's expression darkened as he crouched down to inspect it, his fingers hovering just above my skin. For a moment, I thought he might actually be concerned.
"Damn it, Quinn," he muttered, his voice a mix of frustration and something else I couldn't quite place. "Why didn't you say anything? This isn't healing the way it should."
"Because it's none of your business," I shot back, trying to sound defiant despite the vulnerability of the moment.
"It is my business," he said sharply, his eyes locking onto mine. "Stay still," he instructed. His eyes, golden flecks shimmering under the dim light, met mine for a fleeting second before he turned away to grab a vial of something iridescent.
"What's that?" I asked, my voice wavering between curiosity and suspicion.
"A concoction," he replied, his voice calm yet firm. "Our seer made it. Silver blade wounds don't heal properly without traditional medicine."
I stared at the vial in his hands. The liquid inside swirled like molten silver. "Your pack's seer? Isn't that... against protocol?"
Luca's lips curved into a faint, almost amused smile. "Healing you is worth breaking protocol."
The air thickened between us. I should've argued, but his tenderness in handling the situation silenced me. Instead, I watched as he uncorked the vial and poured the liquid onto a clean cloth. He knelt before me, his movements deliberate and careful, as though I were made of glass.
"This will help neutralize the silver. Hold still. This might sting," he murmured, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. Before I could brace myself, he pressed the cloth gently against the wound on my stomach.
I hissed in pain, but his free hand lightly brushed over my wrist, steadying me.
"Breathe," he whispered, his touch grounding me as the seer's concoction seeped into the wound.
Time seemed to slow as he worked, each touch deliberate, each movement precise. His hands, rough from years of training and fighting, felt unexpectedly tender against my skin. When he finished, he reached for a fresh bandage and began to redress the wound. His fingers brushed against my bare shoulder as he adjusted the strap of my torn top, and I shivered involuntarily.
"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.
"No," I replied, barely louder than a whisper.
His gaze lingered on me, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had shrunk to just the two of us. Slowly, carefully, he leaned in, his breath warm against my cheek. His lips hovered inches from mine, giving me just enough time to pull away if I wanted to. But I didn't.
When our lips finally met, it was a whisper of a kiss, soft and unhurried, as though he feared breaking me. My heart thundered in my chest, the gentleness of his touch unraveling me completely. His hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone as though memorizing every inch of me.
He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine for any sign of regret. Finding none, he pressed another kiss to my lips, this one lingering a moment longer. His other hand grazed my shoulder, his fingers trailing down to hold my top. He leaned forward, placing a tender kiss on my bare shoulder, the warmth of his lips igniting a spark beneath my skin before finally putting my top on.
"Luca…" I breathed, but whatever I was about to say was lost as he pressed one final kiss to my lips, softer than the last.
"We should go," he said, his voice tinged with reluctance. He stood and extended his hand to me once more, his touch steadying me as I rose to my feet.
As we walked back to the venue's main entrance, his fingers brushing mine with each step, and as we looked around the place, we started discussing how to put our plans in motion. Cale would never know what hit him.