Serana smelled blood before she reached her door, and her eyes widened. She rushed in, only to freeze in place and curse when she found Elayn on her rug, bloodied and bruised and pale.

Without a second thought, she leant down to gather the werewolf woman in her arms, growing more concerned when she didn't fight the hold. She set her down gently over the covers and stood back, wringing her hands, wondering what she was to do now. She'd smelled Vingalmo on the werewolf as soon as she picked her up, and cursed again when she realized she had given the woman poor advice. Certain members of her father's court would certainly leap at any opportunity they could to spite him by harming his daughter's new pet. Of course it would be dangerous for Elayn to wander freely.

Stupid. She'd been stupid. This woman was her responsibility and where had she been? Burying herself in her books because it was easier than trying to address the many things going wrong in her life.

But that was neither here nor there, it was time for action and so she would act. After a few moments thought, she realized she would need help and rang the bell that would summon the humans her father kept as servants; chattel all the same to him. She waited until there was a soft knock at her door and opened it.

There stood a young woman, one of Serana's favorites even if it were dangerous to have them. Her name was Leta, and she had been born in the castle. Her eyes went from flat resignation to concerned curiosity as she looked around Serana at the woman on the bed.

“She's new,” Leta said quietly.

“My father's idea,” Serana said, letting a little of her irritation with him bleed into her voice. It was a relief to see sympathy on another's face, even if only fleeting and fearful. “One of my father's courtiers found her,” she went on. “Gather water and bandages.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

While Leta went about her mission, Serana went back to the bed to examine the woman lying there. Her arms were bruised with hand-prints, her neck viciously torn. The blood still pulsing weakly from her wounds and Serana found herself digging her nails in her palms to resist its call. It wasn't as though she hated her nature, but it seemed wrong to thirst for someone who was so clearly incapacitated.

She was rescued from having to consider her disgust too closely by Leta's reappearance. The girl hauled a bucket of steaming water and a pile of white cloth that she set on the bed. “Do you need help, miss?” she asked, eyes cast down to the floor.

“Thank you, but I can handle it from here,” she said, and the girl made her exit.

Serana started by tearing away the tattered threads of Elayn’s collar so that she could bathe the skin there with a damp cloth. As she edged closer to the gashes there, the woman stirred and groaned in discomfort. Serana shushed her, brushing her shaggy hair back from her face, and continued on.

Once the most concerning wound was dealt with, Serana bound her neck in clean rags and set about cleaning the other, less severe injuries littering the werewolf's body. Whoever she had been, she was clearly a fighter; Serana found cuts and bruises that seemed days and weeks old.

She found herself… Almost distracted by the other woman's body, even though she knew she shouldn't. A hard life had left her with lean sculpted muscle under tawny, weather-worn skin that was still soft to touch. She wondered if Elayn traveled very much, how much of the world she'd seen. She wondered if she had stories to share.

A knock at her door broke her from her thoughts and she rose to answer it, wiping her hands on a cloth as she went. “Good evening, father,” she said softly, stepping back to allow him entry to her room.

“My beautiful daughter.” He leaned down to kiss her forehead. “How fares your new toy?”

She gestured to the bed, keeping her eyes low. “Not well. She was taken, and left here for me to find.”

Lord Harkin studied the werewolf on the bed for a moment before he leaned forward and inhaled through his nose. “Ah, Vingalmo,” he sighed. “Always so careless. You should be more careful with your toys, daughter mine.”

“Yes father,” she intoned, burying her irritation at the understanding that there would be no punishment for her father's upstart courtier.

He turned back to her, she could see it in the way his fine shoes pointed toward her. “Your mother has been missing a long time,” he said suddenly. “You spend much time in her laboratory.”

“It passes the time,” she admitted, hiding her frown. Where was he going with this?

“She wrote many things in her books,” he said. “You haven't found anything to say where she might have gone?”

“No father,” she said.

“Very well. Good night, daughter mine.”

After he was gone, Serana noticed that the door latch he had held was bent, crooked. She wondered at that.