The Fever
By the time the sun bled behind Lycanthra's jagged peaks, Isabella's chamber reeked of ash, iron, and fear.The Blood Plague had taken root swiftly—far faster than any healer had anticipated. Her skin burned cold, her veins darkened like spilled ink beneath pale flesh, and her breath came in shuddering waves.
Mira knelt beside her bed, a bowl of glowing silver liquid trembling in her hands. "The elixir is ready. Wolfsbane distilled under the new moon. It should—"
"Should," Calen cut in sharply, pacing near the door. "You said that twice already."
The healer did not answer. Her trembling fingers brushed Isabella's wrist, checking for a pulse that flickered like a dying ember. "She's not responding," Mira whispered. "The poison—no, the plague—it's too… foreign."
Calen's jaw clenched. "Then make it familiar. She carries our Alpha's mark. There must be something of us in her blood."
"Perhaps," Mira murmured, "but the plague was born of shadow. No light of the Moon will cleanse it."
The silver bowl slipped from her grasp, shattering across the floor. The wolfsbane within hissed, its glow fading to black smoke. Isabella stirred weakly, her voice a rasp:
"Don't… let them see me like this."
Mira pressed a damp cloth to her forehead. "Rest, my queen."
But Isabella's eyes flickered open—glowing faintly crimson. "The Moon cannot heal what the Blood has cursed."
And in that instant, far beyond Lycanthra's borders, Ryan felt the echo of her pain like a brand across his chest.
The Bond's Cry
He dropped to his knees in the snow, claws digging into the frozen ground.It started as a whisper—her heartbeat stuttering in his skull—then a burning ache that tore through his veins.
She's dying, his wolf hissed, voice vibrating with fury. Our mate is dying and you sit here playing at pride!
Ryan snarled, his breath misting in the cold. "She is not my concern."
Liar.
"I said—"
Liar!
The beast's roar rattled through his bones. For days he had kept it caged, silenced behind discipline and rage, but now its fury burned hotter than any command.
Every time she gasped for breath, he felt his lungs seize. Every tremor of her body sent a shiver through his spine.It was the curse of the bond—when one suffered, the other bled.
He rose to his feet, chest heaving. "It's the plague," he muttered. "Her people brought it. Let them deal with it."
The wolf laughed, a sound like cracking stone. You can smell her fear even from here. You can hear her pulse fading. Tell me, Alpha—how many more breaths will she take before it stops?
Ryan staggered forward, gripping his head. The world spun. He could see flashes—her chamber drenched in pale light, Mira weeping silently, Calen shouting orders—then darkness again.
His heart pounded. "Stop it."
You could stop it, the wolf replied, calm now, almost pitying. But you won't.
The silence that followed was worse than mockery.
The Failing Cure
Back in the Citadel, Mira gathered every remedy known to Lycanthra.Moonwater. Crushed silverleaf. The breath of frost serpents.
None worked.
Each attempt seemed only to feed the fever. The veins along Isabella's neck turned black, her lips tinged blue, her voice fading into murmurs of names long dead—her mother, her people, her home.
King Darius stayed at her bedside, his once-regal form now shadowed by guilt and exhaustion."I brought this upon her," he said, his hand trembling as it brushed her hair. "The Blood Plague… it should have ended with me."
Calen bowed his head. "Your Majesty, if she dies—"
"She will not," Darius interrupted, his eyes flashing crimson. "Do you hear me, wolf? She will not."
The healers exchanged nervous glances. No one dared to tell him the truth.
In the quiet, Isabella stirred again. Her voice, faint but steady:"Father… tell me the truth. How many are gone?"
Darius hesitated. Then, softly, "Too many to count."
She nodded weakly. "Then I must live. For them."
Her father gripped her hand tighter—but when he looked down, the dark veins were already spreading toward his wrist.
He withdrew, trembling.
The Breaking Point
The night bled silver over the forests where Ryan wandered.He hadn't slept. He hadn't eaten. The bond's pulse had become unbearable—a constant rhythm of pain.
Every throb was a reminder that she was slipping away.
This is your doing, his wolf whispered. You claim to be Alpha, yet you let your mate die alone.
Ryan's teeth bared. "I am not bound by fate."
Then why does it hurt?
He turned on the voice, snarling into the darkness. "Because she's mine!"
The words tore from his throat before he could stop them—and once spoken, the forest seemed to still.For a long time, he said nothing. Only the wind moved, brushing through the black pines like a sigh.
Then Ryan straightened, his eyes blazing gold. "Enough running."
The wolf smiled inside him, triumphant. Finally.
He shifted, bones cracking, fur spilling across his body as the beast took shape—a creature of shadow and fury. Then, without another thought, he leapt into the night, racing toward the faint, dying heartbeat that called him home.
The Silence Before Dawn
In the Citadel, the healers had begun to lose hope. Mira whispered prayers to the Moon, Calen stood at the door with sword in hand as though he could fight death itself, and Darius wept silently beside his daughter's bed.
But as the first rays of dawn brushed the horizon, a strange wind stirred through the chamber—cold and wild, carrying the scent of pine and storm.
Isabella's fevered body stilled.Her lips parted, as though sensing something beyond the veil of pain.
The wolves lifted their heads. Every one of them felt it—the tremor of power, the return of the Alpha.
And miles away, Ryan ran faster, the bond blazing in his chest like fire.
He was coming home.