Chapter 2: The Perfect Crime

Jasmina just finished putting on her servants uniform when her door burst open. Two guards she didn't recognize came in and started dragging her out.

"What….."

One of them backhanded her across the face. "Shut up, murderer."

They hauled her through the corridors, past servants pressing themselves against walls, past elders emerging from their rooms in nightclothes.

Jasmina tasted blood, and she guessed that it was from her split lip, but the guards didn't slow down.

When they get to Damoew's chamber, they threw her to the floor close to the bed.

He lay on the bed, with his eyes open and glassy. His lips had turned blue. His skin looked gray. And lastly he looked.

Dead.

Jetstar Clonstrong stood beside the bed, his face grave. "Search her quarters quickly."

The guards left immediately. Jasmina stood there frozen, staring at Damoew's body. The mate bond was gone—she'd felt it sever yesterday—but seeing him like this made something crack open inside her chest anyway.

He'd been cruel. He'd rejected her. He'd ordered their child killed. So why should she care. But Jasmina couldn’t just help it. And only moon goddess can bear her within this kind of case.

Because who would believe a rejected and abandoned almost Luna mate. A now pronounced omega that should be working as a servant. A loser that’s has once beeen framed of using black Magic.

Within seconds the guards returned, one of them holding a vial. "We found it under her mattress, Elder."

"I didn't…" she started.

"Save it." Jetstar took the small vial from the guard. "This is a pure extract Wolfsbane. It might be filled up, but even a little drop enough to kill an alpha in minutes." He exhaled before continuing. “And the Alpha just dead from wolfsbane poisoning. Meaning you killed him with a drop from this vial.”

Jasmina shook her head. "That's not mine. I've never seen…."

"Your hands," Jetstar interrupted.

She looked down. There were purple-black residue stained her palms and fingertips. The same color as a wolfsbane poison.

Her stomach dropped. She'd gone to sleep with clean hands.

"I don't remember," she whispered. "I went to sleep and I don't…"

"I will just gather out enough evidence before concluding, even though there already two in front of me. You will be given fourteen days," Jetstar said. "That's how long until your execution. We'll investigate, hold a proper trial, and follow protocol. But if you're guilty, Jasmina, you'll burn for this."

Hardy Armstrong appeared in the doorway, leaning on his staff. He looked older than he had yesterday.

"What about the child?" he asked quietly.

"He or she dies with her," Jetstar said flatly.

"That's pack law," Hardy agreed, but his voice cracked. "A murderer's bloodline cannot continue."

Jestar signaled the guards with his hands. The guards moved towards Jasmina and clamped silver chains around her wrists and ankles.

The chains burned her skin immediately, raising blisters that wept clear fluid.

She bit back a scream, as silver was bad to werewolves, it weakens them, cutting them off from their wolves. The pain was instantaneous and constant.

As they dragged her toward the dungeon. In the hallway, she caught sight of Arlene. The new Luna wore a white mourning dress, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed into her hands. Other pack members surrounded her, offering comfort, and patting her shoulders.

But when Arlene looked up, just for a second, Jasmina saw her smirk devilishly for a second before it disappeared.

Then Arlene was sobbing again, collapsing against Hardy's chest. "She killed him. She killed my mate. How could she?"

"We'll get justice," Hardy promised, stroking her hair. "I swear it."

Jasmina wanted to scream that it was a lie, that Arlene was acting, that something was horribly wrong.

But the guards yanked her forward and she stumbled, her chained ankles making it impossible to keep her balance.

The dungeon smelled like cops and blood, water was dripping somewhere in the distance.

The guards threw her into a cell at the end of the corridor and shut the iron door. Immediately the lock clicked, their footsteps started faded.

Jasmina collapsed against the wall, her chains clinking. The silver burned worse every second, sending waves of agony up her arms and legs. Her wolf was quiet now, too weak to respond.

She pressed her hand against her stomach. "Hold on," she whispered. "Please hold on."

Hours passed. Maybe days. Time meant nothing in the darkness. Guards came twice to check on her but didn't speak. They slid moldy bread and stale water through the bars, then leave.

Jasmina forced herself to eat, because her baby needed food, even if she didn't want it.

On what she thought was the second night, she remembered a flash of memory that didn't quite fit.

Damoew's neck. When she'd seen his body, there had been something on his neck. A mark that seems like it was scorched into his skin like a brand.

She'd only seen it for a second before it faded, but the circular shape with symbols looking like magic was burned into her mind now.

Jasmina pulled herself up using the cell bars. The silver burned her palms but she held on anyway, staring through the small window at the top of the dungeon wall.

Few days until execution. If that mark was real, if she hadn't imagined it, then someone had used magic on Damoew.

And also wolfsbane don’t leave brands, why didn’t she think of that before. Now she needed proof that what happened to the Alpha was magic and it wasn’t her.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor again. And within seconds Theo Walstrong appeared outside her cell, carrying a plate of food that actually looked edible.

"Eat quickly, if I get caught I will be in trouble," he said quietly, sliding it through the bars.

Jasmina stared at him. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because someone needs to," Theo said. "And because I know what it's like when the its decided that you're guilty even before the trial starts.”