Breena raised an eyebrow at the King, her tone laced with a sharp edge.
“My King, you already put your body to use?
Perhaps you took the wrong woman to bed and simply weren’t in the mood.” Dronti narrowed his eyes at the girl, who seemed to be subtly mocking him.
He certainly hadn’t felt any emotional connection during the act, but he had still performed exceptionally well—as he always did.
The core issue remained unchanged: he was still completely unable to achieve climax.
Dronti had undergone every conceivable medical checkup, blood test, and scan at top hospitals, yet specialists continuously insisted that nothing was biologically amiss.
His reproductive system was entirely healthy.
It baffled him how this girl’s hands had brought him to the brink of release so effortlessly during their first session.
Was it a matter of soulmate compatibility?
He instantly brushed the thought aside—how could a shiftless wolf be his soulmate?
Besides, he didn’t believe in such superstitious bonds, nor did he want one.
Taking a slow step forward, he leaned down until his pale grey eyes bored directly into hers.
“Perhaps you are the right woman.
I would be more than pleased to test that theory with you.” Breena detested the way he used his eyes whenever conversation turned intimate.
Somehow, those piercing grey orbs triggered an unwelcome reaction deep within her body, and she despised herself for it.
He was her family’s sworn enemy, and she was here to dismantle his life piece by piece.
She refused to let a pair of dangerously captivating eyes distract her from her revenge.
“I am not interested, my King,” she replied firmly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“And I will not allow you to use me as a sexual experiment.
I am your personal healer, and I intend to focus strictly on my duties.” “Then use a different set of herbs today,” Dronti demanded, his voice low and commanding.
“I pay you to deliver results.” Breena stood her ground, holding out her palm.
“Pay me upfront then, your Highness.
You haven’t paid me a single cent, and after how you acted earlier, I refuse to perform any further treatments without advance payment.” Dronti looked at the stubborn healer, an amused glint in his eyes.
“You know money is no object to me.
Besides, don’t patients typically pay after receiving treatment?” “I am not a conventional physician, and I refuse to operate on credit with you, your Highness,” Breena countered smoothly.
“You are a cunning man.” Without a word, Dronti reached into his sweatpants pocket, pulled out a thick leather wallet, and tossed it into her hands.
“Take it all and get to work.
Just ensure I reach a climax.” Breena opened the wallet, eyeing the stack of high-denomination bills that was more than enough to cover a full year of her services.
She quickly averted her gaze as Dronti unceremoniously lowered his sweatpants, sat back on the edge of the bed, and brazenly began stroking his length right in front of her.
Refusing to look down at his crotch, Breena took a precise stack of cash from the wallet, slid it into her handbag, and placed the wallet back on the nightstand.
“I only took my monthly fee as we previously agreed,” she said calmly.
“I do not take what isn’t mine.” “Just don’t accuse me of withholding payment later,” Dronti muttered, gesturing impatiently toward his lap.
“Now get to work.
I need that release.” Breena took a step back, shaking her head.
“Since the mixture I used previously failed to produce a lasting effect, I need to prepare a different herbal remedy.
However, I do not have those specific ingredients on hand.
I will need to return to where I usually harvest them.” Dronti sat up straight, his brows pulling together.
“And where is that?” Breena had a life outside this isolated estate—a life in the human region.
She attended university there, ran a reputable herbal clinic, and had human patients who relied on her daily.
“In the human city—the very place your men abducted me from,” Breena answered, looking him dead in the eye.
“Furthermore, I have university lectures to attend.
I assume our agreement doesn’t forbid me from keeping my personal obligations, does it, your Highness?” Dronti considered her words for a moment before responding casually.
“It does not.
You are free to manage your personal affairs during the day, provided you return here every evening.
You will reside at this villa until I secure an heir, as agreed.” He then looked down at her hands.
“You could still try treating me without the herbs today.
Perhaps it was the touch of your hands that produced the result, not the plants.” Breena recoiled, a bright flush rising up her neck.
“No, your Highness!
That is not a standard medical procedure, it is…” She caught herself before uttering the word.
“A handjob?” Dronti finished smoothly.
He reached out, wrapping his fingers gently around her chin to hold her in place.
His warm breath brushed against her lips as he leaned in.
“If a handjob is what triggers my physiological response, then it qualifies as treatment.
Wouldn’t you agree, little healer?” His logic was frustratingly sound, but she refused to let him manipulate her into intimate contact.
“It is not, and I assure you it was purely the medicinal properties of the herbs at work.
I ask that you permit me to travel to the human territory to gather the necessary ingredients, your Highness.” As she spoke, Dronti studied her face closely, his gaze lingering on the delicate contour of her cheekbones and the depth of her eyes.
Startled by his intense scrutiny, Breena asked, “Is there something on my face, your Highness?” Dronti paused, a faint shadow crossing his features.
“You simply look familiar…
as though I have seen you somewhere before.” Breena’s heart skipped a beat, a cold sweat breaking out across her spine.
Had he recognized her?
Did he realize she was the surviving daughter of the Alpha couple his wolf had slaughtered years ago?
Suppressing her panic, she cleared her throat and offered a dry response.
“Many people share similar facial features, my King.” Dronti looked at her with lingering suspicion.
“Your features are hardly common.” Before she could press the matter, he released her chin and dismissed the topic entirely.
Standing up, he pulled his trousers back over his hips and adjusted his waistband.
“I will allow you to leave tomorrow,” Dronti said, his tone turning businesslike.
“However, Franco, will accompany you at all times to ensure your safety.” “No, my King!” Breena protested, her voice rising in objection.
“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself.
I have no desire to walk around with a bodyguard like some high-profile figure.
I don’t need that kind of unwanted attention.” Dronti’s expression hardened into an absolute mask.
“The moment you became my personal healer, you ceased to be a nobody.
You will comply with my security protocols.
Either Franco accompanies you as your bodyguard, or you do not step foot outside this villa.
Is that clear?” Breena swallowed hard.
Freedom was everything to her, and the thought of being shadowed everywhere felt dangerously close to imprisonment.
She tried one last angle of defense.
“Is he expected to follow me into my university lecture halls as well?
Surely not.” “Every single place,” Dronti replied coldly, leaving no room for negotiation.
“No exceptions.” Breena took a deep, steadying breath, reining in her frustration.
“Very well, your Highness.” “Good,” Dronti said, turning toward the door.
“You may leave tomorrow morning.
But remember—you are to be back at this estate no later than six in the evening.
And do not make things difficult for Franco by attempting to give him the slip.” With that final warning, the King exited the room, the door clicking quietly behind him.
Breena stared at the door, her eyes narrowing with resolve.
She would do whatever it took to maintain her independence—and she would make sure this Franco regretted every second he spent trying to follow her around.