2. Death's Curse

I stood up and went about my normal duties for the day, and when it was time for lunch, I made my way to the kitchen to grab whatever little scraps I could get.

Not a day goes by without someone finding fault with me.

And I just let them.

Today, it’s Lina.

“Move, witch,” she sneers, shoving her shoulder into mine as we pass near the communal kitchens.

I stumble and fall. The tray I’m carrying crashes to the ground, porridge and metal clattering across the path.

My knees hit the dirt, pain jolting up my legs. Around me, laughter bubbles.

“Oh no,” Lina croons, hands on her hips. “Did I bump you too hard?”

“No,” I mumble quickly, eyes on the ground. “It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Of course it was,” she snorts.

I gather the mess with shaky hands—I’ve gotten used to these kinds of shows already.

I even flinch when she leans in close, like I’m afraid she’ll slap me.

She doesn’t. She’s already bored.

She spins away with her friends, their cruel laughter fading as they head toward the training grounds.

I straighten slowly, slipping my hands into the sleeves of my frayed cloak as I walk down the stone path toward the edge of the pack’s main grounds.

My stomach is empty—again—but I ignore the ache.

Hunger is nothing.

I’ve gone without more important things.

Love.

Safety.

A name.

I made my way back to my room—if you can call it that—to take a break. It was an old storage shed near the edge of the territory.

Nobody uses it anymore, which makes it perfect for me.

The wood is splintered, the roof leaks when it rains, but it’s mine.

My space.

I sit with my back against the wall, arms wrapped around my knees.

I could’ve hit Lina earlier. I could’ve done worse.

But I didn’t.

I used to protest in the past, always fought back even though I knew I’d be outnumbered.

But Riven taught me that being docile was better.

I’d save myself a beating and, at the same time, get them to lower their guards against me.

A sharp knock jerks me out of my thoughts.

Before I can stand, the door creaks open, and a servant pokes her head in.

“You. The Alpha wants to see you.”

Of course he does.

I sigh and push myself up.

My stomach aches, but I shove the hunger down.

This could be important.

More information to gather.

Hunger can wait.

Alpha Oswald doesn’t look at me when I enter the war chamber.

He stands near a table, examining a map, flanked by two guards and an alchemist in grey robes, holding a flask made of obsidian glass filled with something dark and viscous.

“Good. You’re here,” he says.

I stand silently. I’ve learned not to speak unless I’m spoken to.

“She’ll do,” he says, like he’s picking out a spoon.

I say nothing.

The alchemist steps forward and hands me the flask.

“Drink it,” the Alpha says.

I take a deep breath and swallow.

It hits my throat like acid. A second later, the pain blooms—hot, sharp, unforgiving.

I fall to my knees, clutching my stomach, coughing.

Blood hits the floor.

The alchemist doesn’t react. He simply crouches down to examine the blood.

“Fascinating. Rapid onset. Coagulation delayed,” he mutters, scratching notes onto a worn slate.

Alpha Oswald hums. “Field-ready?”

“Easily.”

They keep talking like I’m not choking on my own blood in front of them.

Like they hadn’t just attempted to murder a person.

But then again, it wasn’t the first time they’ve used me as a test subject.

When the worst of the pain fades, I push myself up against the wall.

My limbs are shaking, and my head’s spinning, but I make it out of the room without collapsing.

No one helps me.

They never do.

But that’s okay.

They also don’t notice when I linger.

And that means I can listen.

I can hear everything in this place.

My senses are sharper than theirs. Always have been.

I don’t know why. Maybe it’s part of the curse. Maybe it’s something else.

But I can hear even the tiniest whispers across the building if I focus just right.

Even now, through the pain, I pick up the whispers just beyond the training hall.

Excited voices. Soft laughter. Most of it is low, secretive.

But one name keeps surfacing.

Lucan.

Alpha Oswald’s son, who by ranking should currently be the Marshal, and his brother the next alpha. With his brother late, that makes him both now.

But instead of having titles and getting trained to lead the pack, he’s been away for years, living in seclusion. Since the mysterious incident that earned him exile—or “training,” depending on which side of the lie you prefer.

I focus my hearing on the guards out in the yard to piece together what’s going on.

“Lord Lucan’s returning?”

“No way. I thought he left for good.”

“They say he’s been training in seclusion. Something about temper issues.”

“Or trauma,” a third voice adds. “I heard he lost control once and—”

Someone clears his throat, and they all scramble around. Probably their superior.

I tune into another conversation, though I can’t quite place the voices—they sound noble.

“He's really coming home?”

“Yeah. Alpha Oswald summoned him back.”

“I thought he was staying in exile?”

“He was. But apparently, he’s getting worse. They say if he doesn’t find his mate soon… he won’t survive the next rut.”

Mate?

Now that’s interesting.

“Well, whoever she is, I feel sorry for her,” someone muttered. “Lucan’s a beast.”

“Think he’ll take over soon?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. Our Alpha's getting old. And Lucan’s not the soft type.”

I move down the hall, still holding my ribs. My head throbs. Every step hurts.

From another corridor, I catch giggles.

“I’m going to wear my mother’s velvet dress when he arrives.”

“Shut up. You believe everything you hear.”

“No, I swear! My cousin’s mate is on the Omega council. He’s already assigned to Lord Lucan’s personal staff.”

“I thought Alpha Oswald sent him away,” one of them whispers.

“He did. Some kind of isolation training after… you know. That incident.”

My ears prick, hoping to catch something useful.

Lord Lucan disappeared when I was ten, right when my life turned to ash.

I never had a full grasp of why he had to leave. Apart from rumors, no one seemed to know the real reason. And no one talked about it.

Now that he's returning, I was hoping to hear the full story… but I’m disappointed as the other girl brushes it off.

“Doesn’t matter. He’s coming back now. And guess what else? He’s looking for his mate.”

A pause.

“You’re joking.”

“I'm not. They’re throwing a welcoming hunt. He’ll be here before the moon cycle ends.”

“If he’s looking for a mate, it’s probably one of us,” another chimes in.

“He won’t want someone weak.”

They giggle again.

I press my hand to the wall, steadying myself.

They all think he's coming to find his mate… but knowing Alpha Oswald, there’s probably more to it.

Preparing poisons, importing arms, and summoning the strongest Alpha alive can’t just mean romance.

Lord Lucan’s return signifies something deeper.

And I need to find out what it is—before it ruins my mission.