Ten Years Later, I Hold the Alpha’s Antidote

Ten years ago, my pup was tortured to death by a mutant wolfsbane strain. Right in the pack hospital's ER. I held her small, rapidly stiffening body. A dead, desperate cold seeped into my very marrow. Her high-and-mighty Alpha father did it. He personally ordered the pack’s only vial of pure antidote away. Just to save his childhood sweetheart's daughter. And that precious little girl? She just brushed against some silverweed in the garden. A mild allergic reaction. That was it. That day, I took a silver dagger. I carved the unforgettable mate mark right out of the flesh on my nape. Then,I plunged into the hellish world of lethal toxicology. Ten years later, I am the top toxicologist in the Northern Territories. The only one who can crack mutant wolfsbane. Today, the High Lycan Council handed me an emergency commission. A royal mandate. They promised me the Council’s highest honor and a massive twenty-million-dollar bounty. But when I skimmed the name on the commission, I gripped my vial hard. That name. That face. A top-tier Alpha in the Council's inner circle, radiating pure, feral dominance. I could never forget him. It was carved into my bones. I ripped off my lab coat. I slammed the file against my partner Marcus’s chest. "I'm not taking this job."