Possessed Wolfless: From Rejected to Vengeful Lycans' Queen-Chapter 11: The scent of Tobacco

Renar was preparing to leave his office when the door swung open. A black-haired girl rushed in, breathless, her gaze locking onto him.

"Sir, the woman... you'll be needed there."

"Me? Why?"

Renar stepped out at once, the girl following close behind.

"The surgery went well. The baby is safe too."

He stopped abruptly. The girl widened her eyes, nearly bumping into him. He wanted to ask more but held back, choosing instead to find out for himself later.

Before resuming his steps, he pressed a phone into her hand. She blinked in confusion.

"Arsy, it's hers. The battery's dead. Leave it be and just keep it safe for now. And... about what I asked earlier?"

Arsy paused, then her expression shifted as she recalled something.

"Ah, I did a background check. There's another Ashcroft family in the capital. Their daughter is in the Lykon Society too. Should I call her?"

Renar frowned. Could that be why Lethia sought refuge in Brookwood? Was she trying to find her family in the capital?

He couldn't be her guardian forever, yet something gnawed at him—this woman felt surrounded by danger, and something told him the source was closer than she realised.

His fingers dragged over his brow as if that alone could piece his thoughts together.

"Call her and tell her to meet me first."

Renar finally gave his instructions and rushed toward Lethia's operating room, leaving Arsy behind.

Though it was already past working hours, Arsy quickly followed orders without hesitation.

Upon arriving at the observation room, Renar was immediately greeted by the lead surgeon, who provided a briefing on the operation's progress.

He explained the bizarre turn of events—the moment Lethia's fetus suddenly regained its heartbeat and the tear in her womb began healing on its own slowly.

In the end, they only had to close the external wound on her abdomen.

According to the surgeon, it should have been impossible. Lethia had suffered severe blood loss, and the antidote they administered should have made it impossible for the fetus to survive.

Even if this had happened to someone with a wolf, saving the baby would have been highly unlikely.

Some of the werewolf staff even confirmed that there were no signs of a wolf awakening inside Lethia—she was still wolfless.

"So, you need me to check if she has some kind of hidden superpower?" Renar raised an eyebrow, to which the surgeon simply nodded.

Renar sighed as he prepared to enter the OR. He found their assumptions about his abilities amusing.

His power allowed him to enhance the body's natural cell regeneration and improve blood circulation by channeling his energy through his touch.

While it sometimes let him sense a patient's energy, he wasn't a psychic who could magically determine whether someone had supernatural abilities.

But Renar couldn't complain too much about people's assumptions regarding his power—he was the one who kept it shrouded in mystery.

The less people knew about what he was truly capable of, the better.

Besides, that very mystery was what made him valuable—and what kept the money flowing into this hospital.

He stepped into the operating room and placed his hand on Lethia's abdomen, just above the stitched wound.

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

'This will take a while for the scars to fade,' he thought.

Closing his eyes, he focused. Lethia's blood flow was steady, her fetus's heartbeat strong and unrelenting.

Then, there was a sudden surge—an energy so potent it almost felt like an electric shock. His fingers twitched, and he instinctively pulled back, startled.

His gaze shifted to Lethia's face. Even under anesthesia, she didn't look lifeless. There was color in her cheeks, an odd vitality that shouldn't have been there.

He had sensed something changed, compared to when he had eased her cramps earlier—but this... this was different. This energy wasn't just unfamiliar.

It was too strong for someone wolfless.

No—there was still no wolf inside her. But something had shifted, something new at the core of her being—perhaps her soul?

Whatever it was, he was grateful that she and her baby had survived.

Renar exhaled and stepped out of the operating room, pulling his mask down as he approached the lead surgeon.

"There's no hidden wolf in her. She's still wolfless." His gaze flicked between the surgeon and the staff, all of whom were waiting for his next words like they were expecting some grand revelation.

"And there's no hidden superpower either," he added, tone flat. "Let's just call it one of those miracles the Moon Goddess grants to pitiful souls."

The staff exchanged unimpressed glances, immediately losing interest in the conversation.

"Well, since she's from the countryside, maybe their holy Moon Goddess actually exists there."

The comment earned a round of mocking laughter from the staff, but Renar only smirked.

"Either way, we'll take her blood for research purposes. And you'll be her attending doctor, Ren," the head surgeon announced.

"Why should I? I wasn't the one who operated on her." Renar frowned.

"And we're not the ones who want to deal with those countryside folks. You said you'd take responsibility."

"What I meant was that I'd handle her administrative issues later. Since when does a plastic surgeon end up treating a stabbing victim?" Renar shot back.

"You're not just a plastic surgeon, though." The head surgeon's smile was all too pleased as he clapped Renar on the shoulder. "And judging by how fast she's healing, she'll only need attention on her scar—which, let's be honest, is exactly your area of expertise."

With that, he turned and left, leaving Renar standing there, jaw clenched as he watched Lethia being prepped for transfer to the ICU through the observation window.

'Looks like I'll get another rant about how much she should pay her debts.' 

A quiet chuckle escaped him as he thought about all the unusual things he'd done tonight.

And something told him this was just the beginning—his days were about to get a whole lot louder and messier.

With a sharp breath, he peeled off his sterile gown and tossed it into the bin, his movements rough—almost as if hoping the chaos of the night would disappear with it—Not bloody likely.

***

The sharp, deliberate sound of leather shoes echoed through the corridor, each step heavy with urgency.

He halted before the door, drawing in a deep breath before knocking—then pushing it open without waiting for permission.

Inside, the man who signed his paychecks sat reclined, facing the wide window that overlooked the bustling cityscape.

The back of the boss' chair was to him, a lit cigar resting between his fingers, its smoke curling into the air despite the high-end ventilation system designed to keep the room breathable.

The thick scent of tobacco still lingered, sharp and pervasive.

His fingers fidgeted against the digital tablet in his grasp, eyes flicking to the window's reflection—where he could see his boss sitting motionless, eyes shut. A clear sign that the man wasn't to be disturbed.

Too bad.

"Sir, we have a problem."