Nine Therians and Their Only One Queen novel Chapter 9

**When She Opened the Door to the Life She Was Afraid to Live**
by Nora Vale Kingsley

**The Marshal Flustered**

“Your battlefield is the wider world, not a tiny grill. It doesn’t matter if you can’t barbecue—I’ll take over that duty from now on.”

Emma’s words poured out like a soothing stream, gradually dissolving the knot of frustration that had been tightly wound in Calum’s chest.

Her gaze drifted downward, landing on the angry red welt at his waist.

Concern etched itself across her brow, deepening the lines of worry. “Your waist got burned. Does it hurt?”

The simplicity of her question touched a hidden part of Calum, something he didn’t often allow himself to feel.

He glanced down at the fist-sized patch of crimson skin and shook his head, forcing a smile that felt more like a mask than a reflection of his true feelings. “Ms. Tibarn, I’ve got thick skin. It’s nothing.”

His voice softened, revealing a vulnerability he rarely displayed. No one had ever taken the time to care about his injuries before. At the tender age of ten, he had followed his father into war, enduring wounds that far surpassed this minor burn—broken bones, pierced organs, shattered mech armor, and the relentless pressure on his mind that threatened to push him over the edge. Yet, throughout those harrowing experiences, no one had ever bothered to check on him.

“It’s not nothing. If you don’t treat it, it could blister,” she insisted, her tone firm but gentle.

She guided him into the living room with a quiet authority. “Sit still. I’ll put some medicine on it.”

From a small storage box adorned with intricate designs, she retrieved Silas’s leaves, expertly crushing them between her fingers before applying the cool paste to his burn. “Lift your shirt a little.”

Some areas of the burn remained hidden beneath the fabric, and her hands, now smeared with the healing paste, made it awkward for her to touch his clothes directly.

As her gentle fingers brushed against his waist, Calum felt his heart race, a fluttering sensation that sent a jolt through him. “Okay, Ms. Tibarn.”

With a deep breath, he pinched the scorched edge of his shirt and hesitantly lifted it. The fabric rolled upward, unveiling the angry red burn beneath, and above it, the firm contours of his abs and the unmistakable cut of his Adonis belt, stark and defined.

Emma leaned closer, forcing herself to focus on the wound. Her warm fingertips, now coated in the cool salve, glided carefully over his injured skin. The soothing sensation immediately eased the sting, yet to Calum, her touch ignited a fire within him that was far more intense than the burn itself.

She was so close—close enough for him to see the delicate curve of her lashes and to catch the faint, sweet fragrance of her hair. If he tilted his head just slightly, their lips would meet.

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