The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 70

Chapter 70

Sage

Small changes ripple through the pack in the days following the poisoning incident. Wolves still whisper when i pass, but some nod respectfully now. The warriors I saved make a point of greeting me publicly. Their families send quiet thanks through Iris.

But at night, when I’m alone with my thoughts, doubt creeps in like poison. I know who I am now – a healer, someone who saves lives. But what about then? What about the memories that stay locked behind that dark wall in my mind?

“You’re brooding again,” Iris declares, finding me in the garden. “I can practically smell the self-doubt.”

“Wouldn’t you doubt?” I touch a moonflower petal. “Everyone keeps talking about how well I know poisons, how easily I recognized them. What if…”

“Don’t.” She grabs my hands. “Don’t let their accusations make you question yourself.”

“But that’s just it – I don’t know myself. Not really.” The words that have been haunting me spill out. “I know who I am now, but what about before? What if I really did… what if something in me was capable of…”

“Of poisoning your own parents?” Her voice softens. “The same way you just poisoned those warriors instead of saving them? Oh wait…”

But her attempt at humor can’t quite reach the cold place inside me. Because she doesn’t understand – how can I be sure of who I was when I can’t remember?

Sometimes I catch wolves watching me work with the herbs, their eyes following my every move like they expect to catch me adding something sinister. What terrifies me is that I understand their fear. How can they trust me when I don’t even trust myself?

The warriors I saved are healing well, but even their gratitude feels tainted by doubt. “You have a gift,” one told me yesterday. But the way he said “gift” carried an edge – like he wondered what other gifts I might be hiding.

Even my pendant, the only link to my past, feels like a stranger’s token now. Did my parents give it to me? The parents I might have murdered? Or did it come from someone else, someone who knew what darkness lurked in that lost little girl?

The head healer finds me later, poring over ancient texts in the library. “That technique you used,” she says without preamble. “With the moonflower essence. I’ve been researching it.”

She spreads out old scrolls covered in familiar-looking diagrams, “These methods were unique to the northern healing packs. Passed down through bloodlines.”

“I don’t have a bloodline,” I remind her. “I don’t even have a wolf.”

“Don’t you?” She studies me with knowing eyes. “Those packs were different. Special. They didn’t just heal bodies – they healed souls.”

The same scene stirs in my memory — a woman’s voice singing about moonlight and healing. But like always, it slips away before I can grasp it.

1/3

The evening training session with Alaric provides welcome distraction from my churning thoughts. But even here, doubt follows.

“You’re distracted,” he says, pinning me easily. “I can smell your anxiety.”

I try to focus on the defensive move he’s teaching, but his proximity makes it hard to think. Especially when his hands linger on my waist, thumb stroking bare skin where my training shirt rides up.

“What if they’re right?” The words escape before I can stop them. “What if I really did something terrible and just can’t remember?”

He growls, spinning me to face him. “You think I wouldn’t know? That my beast wouldn’t sense darkness in you?”

“Maybe you see what you want to see.’

His kiss steals my breath – fierce and possessive. “I see you,” he growls against my mouth. “All of you. Even the parts you can’t remember yet.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’ve watched you heal everyone who needs it, even those who treat you with suspicion. I’ve seen you risk everything to save lives.” His hands frame my face. “That kind of heart doesn’t come from nowhere, sweetling. It’s bone-deep. Soul-deep. And souls are eternal, even when our memories aren’t.”

He tries to continue the session but my heart isn’t in it. His body pins mine to the training mat easily, our chests heaving from exertion. Despite my dark thoughts, awareness crackles between us at every point of contact.

“You’re still holding back,” he murmurs against my ear. “Afraid of what might happen if you really let go?”

The double meaning in his words makes me shiver. “Maybe I should be.”

He shifts, allowing me to sit up but keeping me caged within his arms. “Tell me what’s really bothering you, sweetling.”

“I keep thinking about how natural it felt,” I whisper. “Identifying those poisons, knowing exactly how to counter them. It was like… like muscle memory.”

“That’s what you’re worried about? That your healing knowledge might have darker origins?”

“Wouldn’t you worry?” I can’t meet his eyes. “What if… what if I learned about poisons by using them? What if somewhere in these missing memories, I really am the monster they think I am?”

“Look at me.” He waits until I do. “The first time I met you, you were helping an injured stranger, remember? No questions, no ulterior motives. Just pure instinct to heal.”

“But-”

“Even at Blackthorn, surrounded by cruelty, you never stopped trying to help others. Never became hard or bitter.” His thumb traces my bottom lip. “That’s who you are, Sage. In your soul, in your bones. For the last time, no missing memories can change that truth. I don’t want to catch you doubting yourself again, do you understand me? If you do, there will be consequences.”

2/3

1 nod, even as a shiver runs through me as I contemplate what those ‘consequences’ might be. I want to believe in myself, believe him. Want to trust the certainty in his steel-gray eyes. But doubt is a poison of its own kind.

“Show me again,” I say with renewed determination, referring to the defensive move we’re supposed to be practicing. Anything to distract from these thoughts.

His eyes tell me he knows exactly what I’m doing, but he obliges. We move together in the familiar dance of training, though every touch carries deeper meaning now. Every time he adjusts my stance, every time his hands linger too long, builds a different kind of tension.

Training ends with a welcome distraction of a very different kind, Alaric zealously proving how many times he can make me come with just his fingers. But later, alone in my room, I study my reflection in the mirror. Violet

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