Poisoned for Eighteen Years

POV: Bronislava "Slava" Ignatova

The metallic doors of the skimmer crashed open, letting in the biting mountain air.

My body was burning from the inside out. The dark blood anchor spell that hit our engines was now tearing through my veins, making my joints lock and my head spin in dizzying waves.

Vaelin didn't let any of the guards touch me. He wrapped his heavy obsidian fur cloak around my bare, shivering shoulders, scooped me into his broad arms, and carried me straight into the Citadel's private sanctuary.

The air inside smelled of dried lavender and bitter herbs. Three elderly physicians dressed in white robes waited around a dark velvet couch, bowing their heads as Vaelin set me down. He didn't step back. He stood right behind me, his vast, bare chest casting a warm shadow over my trembling frame.

"Do not strip her," Vaelin growled softly, his voice vibrating through the stone floorboards. "Touch only what you must."

The lead physician, Dr. Kaelia, raised a slender silver testing needle. "Your Majesty, to find the source of the dark spell, we need to test her blood."

"I will hold her," Vaelin said flatly.

Before the doctor could move, Vaelin leaned over the couch. His large, warm hands slid beneath the heavy fur mantle, gently lifting my bare back against his hard chest. His palms spread across my ribs, his long fingers anchoring me tightly against him.

His bare skin was blistering hot against mine, sending an electric shiver straight down my spine.

"Stay still, Slava," he whispered near my ear. His hot breath fanned across my neck, making my pulse race for a reason that had nothing to do with fear.

Dr. Kaelia pulled back the edge of the fur mantle, exposing my shoulder, and pressed the silver needle against my skin.

The moment the metal touched me, my blood let out a loud, sickening hiss. A plume of foul black smoke curled into the air, and the silver needle instantly melted into liquid ruin.

The physicians gasped, stumbling backward in horror.

"Goddess above..." Dr. Kaelia whispered. "This isn't just a fresh spell. Her body is full of Night Spindle Root laced with liquid silver."

My chest heaved as I looked up at the doctor. "What... what does that mean?"

Vaelin’s hands tightened around my waist, his muscles turning to iron behind me. "Speak, Kaelia."

"It is a slow poison, child," Dr. Kaelia said gently, her eyes full of pity. "Given to you daily in small doses for years. It was made to rot your wolf from the inside out, keeping you weak, sick, and helpless."

The room seemed to tilt beneath me.

Eighteen years. Every single morning in the cellar, Matrena had given me a cup of herbal tea, smiling with her blind eyes, telling me it would help my weak heart.

It wasn't medicine. It was an execution. They had been poisoning me every single day while I scrubbed their floors.

A broken sob tore from my throat. Tears of bitter rage spilled down my cheeks as my body began to shake violently.

Vaelin didn't offer empty words. He simply pulled me tighter against his bare chest, wrapping his heavy arms around my shoulders and burying his face in the notch of my neck. His heat absorbed my shivering, anchoring me against the crushing weight of the truth.

"They kept you weak because they were terrified of what you are, Slava," Vaelin growled into my neck, his deep voice thick with a dark, possessive anger. "They knew that if your blood ever woke up, it would destroy them."

His thumb gently wiped a tear from my cheek. The simple touch sent a wave of heat straight through my core. I was broken and bleeding, yet wrapped in the arms of this lethal Tsar, a sudden, forbidden spark ignited between us.

Dr. Kaelia cleared her throat nervously. "My Lord... there is more. Someone holds a master vial of her blood right now. And they are using it to track her heart."

Before Vaelin could answer, the heavy iron doors of the sanctuary were thrown open with a loud crash.

Commander Nikolai rushed into the room, holding a black imperial scroll, his face pale as death.

"Your Majesty!" Nikolai shouted, his breath coming fast. "The High Council just broadcasted an emergency decree! Lord Volkova and Matrena have activated the ancient Blood Claim ritual! They say Slava belongs to their pack... and if you don't hand her over by midnight, the spell will stop her heart from eight hundred miles away!"