Chapter 5: Time for your medicine

Yara’s POV

By the time night fell, the thought would not leave me, circling no matter how hard I tried to push it away.

Something was wrong with the medicine.

I never said it out loud and barely let myself think it clearly, yet the image of Miso lying still on the floor kept returning, sharp and unwanted, forcing its way back into my mind again and again.

She had never behaved like that before.

She had lived in this house her entire life, eaten the same food, drunk the same water, slept in the same corners for years.

Nothing in her routine had changed, nothing except that bowl.

The conclusion pressed closer each time I tried to avoid it, tightening around my chest until breathing felt heavy and deliberate.

Someone had tampered with the medicine.

No other explanation made sense, and every time that thought reached its end, Daniel’s face rose in my mind.

I pushed it away immediately.

No, not him.

Even forming the suspicion felt like betrayal.

I wanted proof, certainty, anything solid enough to stand on, because I could not accept it and I would not.

Daniel loved me. I repeated it silently, clinging to the words like a vow.

Even if he had been unfaithful, even if he had lied to my face, that did not mean he would do this.

Cheating was not the same as poisoning someone. Betrayal was not the same as wanting them broken or dead. He would never hurt me like that.

We had built a life together. Ten years without screaming fights or cruelty, without the kind of hatred that rotted people from the inside. He had accepted me with the child I carried from my former mate, claimed him as his own before the pack, and after we .were bound, we brought another child into the world together.

He had been gentle with me, patient and protective.

When I lost my sight, he became my guide. When my wolf went silent, he stayed. When the pack questioned my worth, he stood in front of them and claimed me as his mate.

Those memories wrapped around my fear, fragile but comforting, and I told myself that even if something in him had changed, even if something had cracked, he would never choose this.

He would never slowly break my body while smiling at me.

The thought was unbearable.

And yet.

The night passed without a single sound meant for me.

No knock came at my door.

No familiar footsteps slowed outside my room.

The house remained quiet, too quiet, as if I did not exist within it at all.

I lay there, eyes closed, listening to the empty hours stretch and thin, telling myself not to read meaning into it.

Daniel was busy. He always was. An Alpha’s duties did not end with nightfall.

Still, the silence pressed in. I counted the hours the way I used to when I was blind, measuring time by the faint shifts of air, the distant creak of the house settling.

This was not new. I had woken alone like this countless times before, drifting in and out of that heavy, unnatural sleep, convincing myself that love did not always look like presence.

Now, lying there awake, the memory of those nights felt colder.

If he cared as deeply as he claimed, would he really never check. Not once.

Dawn arrived slowly. Pale light crept across the floor, brushing the edge of the bed. I shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Miso curled against my side.

She stirred first.

A faint twitch of her ear.

A sluggish lift of her head.

Her movements were slow, as if her body resisted waking.

The sight made my breath catch. I had woken like that too many times to ignore the similarity. The same weight. The same fog.

When she finally opened her eyes, she looked at me, confused but alive.

Relief hit me so hard it hurt.

I pulled her into my arms and pressed my face into her fur. My shoulders shook as silent tears spilled out, soaking into her coat.

I held her tightly, as if letting go might make her disappear again.

I pulled her against my chest and held her there.

My hands were shaking, and before I could stop it, tears came.

I kept my face pressed into her fur and stayed quiet, breathing her in, making sure she was still warm and alive.

I did not loosen my grip, afraid that if I did, something would go wrong again.

Who would do this.

The question repeated in my mind, unanswered and exhausting.

I stayed like that for a long time, until the fear dulled into something steadier.

I could not wait for answers to come to me.

If someone was drugging me, they believed I was unaware. They believed I was helpless. That belief was dangerous, but it was also useful.

I wiped my face and forced myself to think clearly.

I would pretend nothing had changed.

I would sleep when they expected me to sleep, swallow what I was given or make it look like I had, and listen carefully to what was said when they thought I could not hear.

I would watch who came and went and I would find the truth.

My mind reached for the explanation that hurt the least.

Judy had motive, jealousy and desire and resentment, and she had access.

It was easier to imagine her crossing this line than to imagine the man I had built my life around doing this to me, so I held onto that belief carefully because if Judy was responsible, then Daniel could still be who I believed him to be.

I was not ready to let that go.

The belief barely had time to settle before it cracked.

When I woke later that morning, the room felt wrong before I even opened my eyes.

The air carried a scent that did not belong, sharp and unmistakable once I focused on it.

Daniel, fresh and close, not a lingering trace from the hallway.

I kept my body still and listened instead.

Judy was still in the room, moving softly as she straightened things, and her scent filled the air, woven so tightly with Daniel’s that it made my lungs ache. 

My wolf reacted instantly, a sharp surge of anger that snapped through me and sent my pulse racing, because the smell told me everything I did not want to know, that they had just been together. My chest tightened as if something heavy had lodged there, and I stayed exactly where I was, frozen, knowing that if I moved even an inch, I would react in a way I could not take back.

The door opened again not long after, and this time Daniel came in. His footsteps were calm. The bed dipped when he sat beside me.

“Yara,” he said. “Time for your medicine.”

I stirred and played my part, letting my eyelids flutter like they were heavy, turning my face toward his voice. He lifted my head and pressed the bowl to my lips himself.

“Drink it,” he said, calm and firm, leaving no room to refuse.

The smell hit me first.

Before, when my senses were dulled, everything had blended together, bitter herbs, heat, liquid. Now it didn’t. My wolf stirred weakly, not rising, but alert enough to recognize something wrong. The scent wasn’t just medicinal. There were herbs in it that shouldn’t have been mixed, sharp and faintly metallic, plants meant to suppress, to weaken, not to heal.

A low, urgent warning rolled through me, my pulse spiking as panic flared hot and fast, and I forced my face to stay slack and my body loose even as my heart began to race out of control.

As he guided the bowl, I let the rim rest against my lips and took a small swallow. I coughed lightly after, just enough to make it seem difficult, and he adjusted his grip, watching my face instead of the bowl.

Judy came in while it was still raised. I heard her stop near the door, then move closer. Daniel turned his head toward her, his attention shifting just long enough for me to tilt the bowl. I let the rest of the liquid spill out through the open window and into the flower pot beneath it. The sound was soft, lost under Judy’s voice.

I brought the bowl back upright and swallowed once more, empty this time.

Daniel turned back to me and studied my face. I kept my eyes half closed and my breathing uneven, like the effort had drained me. He took the bowl from my hands at last and stepped away.

I stayed still, breathing uneven, pretending to sleep. The room went quiet, but the feeling did not ease. My skin prickled, my wolf uneasy, and the thought wouldn’t leave that I was being watched, that there were cameras hidden somewhere in the walls. I didn’t dare open my eyes to check.

I let the tension drag me toward sleep anyway.

When my awareness returned, it did so suddenly, like my mind snapped awake before my body followed.

Something felt wrong.

I didn’t open my eyes. I stayed still and listened. More than that, I paid attention to the air around me. I had learned to do that when I was blind. I could tell when someone was nearby just from the way the room felt.

Someone was standing beside my bed.