Chapter 4

 Willa

"In three days' time, we shall hold the official public mating ceremony of future Alpha Travis Keene and Lady Darcy Bell!"

The announcer's words echoed in my skull for three straight days.

Now, the bass from the festival speakers outside rattled the cabinets of the pack clinic. They were celebrating. The entire Silvermoon Pack was out in the courtyard getting drunk on ale, toasting to the future Alpha who had thrown me away like garbage.

"Hold still, Leo," I murmured gently, dabbing antiseptic onto the young boy's scraped knee.

The pup whimpered, his small hands gripping the edge of the metal examination table. "It burns, Dr. Willa. Is future Alpha Travis really mating with the mean lady today?"

I froze. Even a six-year-old child knew about my humiliation.

"Yes," I said quietly, taping fresh gauze over his skin. "He is. But that does not concern us. We just need to get you healed up."

Maya walked into the trauma bay holding a stack of fresh towels, her face tight with anger. "You do not have to be here, Willa. The Alpha is still stuck on the northern borders, and the council basically declared today a pack holiday. You can go home. I will cover the ward."

"And give them the satisfaction of thinking I am hiding?" I tossed the soiled cotton into the biohazard bin. "No way. I am the head physician of this pack. I have a job to do."

"They are literally turning your humiliation into a spectator sport out there," Maya argued, dropping the towels onto a chair. "I heard the elders laughing about it near the banquet tents. They think you are pathetic for staying in town."

"This isn't new." I washed my hands in the stainless steel sink, scrubbing the soap violently into my skin until it burned. "I survive. I've always survived. That is what I do. Travis Keene does not get to break me."

The clinic door chimed loudly.

Arrogant footsteps clicked against the floor.

I did not even have to turn around to recognize the suffocating scent of vanilla perfume.

Darcy.

She stood in the doorway of the trauma bay, already wearing her ceremonial gown and dripping in diamonds. Two large pack guards stood directly behind her as personal escorts.

"Well," Darcy purred, her eyes scanning the sterile room with open disgust. "Isn't this domestic? The little stray playing nurse while the real wolves celebrate."

I dried my hands slowly with a paper towel. I turned to face her, keeping my chin level. "This is a sterile medical environment, Lady Darcy. If you are not sick or injured, you need to leave."

Darcy laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "Watch your tone, stray. By midnight tonight, I will officially be your Luna. You will bow when I speak to you."

"Until midnight, you are just a councilman's daughter taking up space in my emergency room," I replied flatly. "What do you want?"

Darcy's smile vanished. "I spilled wine on my ceremonial slippers. The maids are busy with the banquet preparation. Get on your knees and clean them for me."

Maya gasped quietly from the corner.

I stared at Darcy. She was entirely serious. She had come all the way to the clinic on her mating day just to crush what little dignity I had left.

"No," I said.

Darcy took a step forward, her eyes narrowing as her guards shifted their posture. "I do not think you understand your position, Willa. Travis threw you out like the trash you are. You have no rank. You have no protection. If I tell you to scrub my shoes, you will do it."

"Are you deaf?" I crossed my arms over my chest. "I said no. Take your slippers and your guards, and get out of my clinic."

"You filthy little bitch," Darcy hissed, raising her hand to strike my face.

I braced myself, refusing to flinch.

Before her hand could connect, a terrifying, blood-curdling roar shattered the air.

"What was that?" Maya whispered, turning pale.

"That is not a Silvermoon wolf.”

Five massive men suddenly barged through the double doors. They were enormous, over six and a half feet tall, drenched in rain and mud, their eyes completely pitch black with wild predator instincts.

Lycans. The Royal Guard. The most lethal warriors on the continent.

The sheer weight of their Alpha-grade aura crashed into the room, forcing Darcy and her two guards straight to their knees.

I gripped the edge of the counter to keep my own knees from buckling.

"Where is the physician!" the lead Lycan bellowed, his chest covered in fresh, dark blood.

Dr. Aris, the senior pack doctor who usually spent his days hiding in his administrative office, stumbled out into the hallway. He was shaking violently. "I... I am the doctor! What is the meaning of this intrusion? This is Silvermoon territory!"

The lead Lycan grabbed Dr. Aris by the throat and slammed him against the wall with one arm. "Clear the main operating table. Now."

The other guards rushed in carrying a heavy, reinforced stretcher. They slammed it onto my main treatment table.

I stepped forward, my medical training instantly overriding my fear.

The man on the table was built like a mountain, wearing shredded black military armor. His skin was deathly pale, drenched in cold sweat, and the veins along his arms and neck were pulsing with a thick, unnatural black color. Dark blood leaked continuously from a jagged wound on his throat.

When I looked at his face, my blood ran cold.

Sharp, dangerous jawline. Brutal, regal features. A silver crown tattoo etched into the side of his neck, right above his pulse point.

Callan Dacre.

The Supreme Alpha. The High King of all werewolf territories.

"He is dying," the lead guard snarled, releasing Dr. Aris and turning his lethal gaze toward the rest of us. "He was ambushed at the border. The venom is spreading to his heart."

Dr. Aris stumbled over to the table. He took one look at the black veins webbed across the King's neck and scrambled backward, his hands trembling uncontrollably. "That... that is synthetic Wolfsbane! It is a dark chemical compound. There is no cure for this! It is fatal within minutes!"

"Save him!" the guard bellowed, unholstering a silver blade. "Or I will slaughter every single wolf in this clinic!"

"I cannot!" Dr. Aris cried out, cowering against the glass cabinets. "The venom is already in his bloodstream! If I touch it, it will spread faster! He is already dead!"

The guard raised his blade toward the doctor.

"Stop!" I yelled.

The Lycans snapped their heads toward me.

I walked straight past the trembling doctor up to the operating table, looking down at the dying King.

The black venom was crawling up his neck, inching closer to his heart monitor, which was beeping in a rapid, dying rhythm. Dr. Aris was a coward, but he was right about standard medicine. Conventional wolf treatments could not extract synthetic wolfsbane from royal blood.

Possessing rare botanical remedies was strictly restricted by pack law, but I was not going to let a man die on my table.

I turned to Maya. "Go to my private locker. Bottom shelf. Bring me the locked steel box right now."

Maya's eyes went wide. "Willa, no. That is forbidden. If the elders find out..."

"Bring it right now or he dies!" I ordered.

Maya scrambled out of the bay.

The lead Lycan stepped into my space, towering over me, his heavy chest heaving. "What are you doing, girl?"

"I am saving your King," I said, looking him dead in his pitch-black eyes. "Now step back and give me room to work."

The warrior bared his fangs, but slowly retreated two steps.

Maya ran back into the room, shoving a small metal box into my hands. I unlocked it instantly. Inside, resting on velvet, were three dried purple roots.

Moonroot.

Darcy gasped from the floor. "You filthy witch! You keep illegal dark botany in our clinic!"

"Shut up, Darcy!" I snapped, without looking at her.

I threw the roots into a stone mortar and began grinding them violently. The room filled with the acidic scent of crushed herbs and ozone.

The King's heart monitor began to flatline, emitting a solid, terrifying beep.

"He is seizing!" Maya yelled.

"Hold him down!" I commanded the Royal Guard. "He's going into shock!"

The guards slammed their hands onto Callan's shoulders, chest, and legs, pinning his thrashing frame to the metal table.

I scooped the ground purple powder into a metal dish. I needed a binding agent to activate the root. Saline would neutralize the properties, and water would dilute it. It needed living wolf blood.

Without hesitating, I picked up a sterile scalpel from the tray and dragged it across my left palm.

Maya gasped.

I squeezed my fist tight, letting my blood drip directly into the purple powder. It hissed upon contact, smoking slightly as it transformed into a thick paste.

Callan's body bucked violently against the guards. His eyes snapped open, glowing a fierce, terrifying gold, and a feral roar tore from his throat.

"Hold him!" I yelled.

I scooped the paste into my bare hands, pushed past the guards, and leaned directly over the King. I slammed my blood-soaked hands directly over the gaping, poisoned wound on his neck.

Callan screamed. The black veins along his neck bulged, turning dark purple as the paste forcibly drew the synthetic venom out through the tissue. Boiling heat radiated against my palms, burning my skin, but I pressed harder, using all my strength to seal the extraction.

"Fight it!" I shouted, staring directly into his glowing golden eyes.

 "Fight the poison!"

His large hand suddenly shot up.

His fingers locked around my wrist with crushing strength, trapping my hand against his neck.

The heart monitor flickered, then resumed a steady, rhythmic beep. The black veins on his chest receded, fading back into healthy skin as the paste turned completely pitch black, absorbing the poison entirely.

Callan's chest heaved with deep, ragged breaths. His seizing stopped.

The High King was alive.

I sagged forward against the table, gasping for air, completely exhausted. My hands were stained with black venom and my own blood. I tried to pull my arm back, but Callan's grip on my wrist remained unbreakable.

He slowly turned his head toward me.

He slowly dragged my wrist down, lifting my bleeding palm toward his face, and pressed his mouth directly against the cut on my hand.

His warm lips brushed my skin, licking away the blood.

"Mate," Callan rasped.