All Chapters of THE ALPHA'S ASSASSIN MATE: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Lyra's pov The war council meets at dawn. That gives me one night, one chance. Aziel will drink from the silver cup I polish every evening, the one he keeps on the desk in his private study. I measured the hemlock three times. Clear liquid, no scent, death in less than an hour. I labeled the vial myself: small blue dot on the cork. Foolproof.I slip through the side corridor, tray balanced on one hand, heart loud enough I swear the guards can hear it. They don’t look twice. I’m just the quiet girl who brings his late tea.The study door is ajar. Firelight spills out.“Come in, Lyra,” Aziel calls before I knock. He always knows it’s me. Footsteps, maybe. Or scent. Wolves.I step inside, set the tray on the low table. The cup is already there, waiting. I pour from the small kettle, steady, steady. My sleeve hides the motion as I tip the vial. One drop. Two. Enough.He’s standing by the map wall, back to me, shirt half unbuttoned from the day’s heat. Shoulders tense. I’ve watched those

LYRA'S POVi dont know what time it is. maybe the sun is up, maybe it isnt. the windows are still shuttered tight, heavy velvet keeping the world out. the fire is nothing but ash now but the room is warm, too warm, thick with the smell of us. sweat and cum and bite marks and broken rules.im on my stomach across his lap, cheek pressed to the bearskin, wrists still loosely tied with that damn belt. my whole body feels used and perfect and wrecked. every muscle trembling. thighs sticky. pussy throbbing like a second heartbeat. i can feel his cum dried on my skin, fresh leaks still sliding slow outta me every time i shift.aziel is behind me, chest to my back, one arm banded under my tits holding me close. his other hand is between my legs, lazy, possessive, two fingers just resting inside me like he owns the space. he hasnt moved them in forever. just keeping me full, keeping me his.his mouth is at my ear, breath hot, voice gravel and smoke“still breathing little wolf?”i laugh, but

Aziel’s povThe heavy oak doors explode open so hard they slam against stone.i dont even flinch.im sitting in the high-backed alpha chair at the head of the war table, lyra straddling my lap, both of us bare as the day we were born. her back to my chest, thighs spread wide over mine, my cock still half-hard and buried inside her. her head is lolled against my shoulder, lips swollen, neck covered in fresh bites. my arms are locked around her waist like ill never let go.tarian storms in first, face purple, eyes wild. behind him the entire council pours in: orlan stone-faced, the three border lords, two generals, half the fucking palace guard. every single one of them freezes the second they see us.“what the fuck is this” tarian roars, voice cracking with rage “alpha aziel you degenerate bastard”i dont move. just tighten my grip on lyra’s hips and roll slow inside her once, deliberate. she gasps, pussy fluttering around me, and i feel her get wetter instantly.“morning tarian” i dr

Lyra’s POV* I counted every drop like prayers.Thirty vials. Thirty names. Thirty deaths I carried in my apron pocket like stones.I started at moonrise.Tarian was first because I wanted him to know. I walked straight into his war room, no hood, no disguise, just the servant dress he always sneered at. He looked up from his maps, victory-drunk, wine already in his hand.“Back for scraps, little girl?” he laughed. “Your alpha’s chained like a dog tonight. Run along.”I smiled sweet, poured fresh wine from the decanter he kept for guests. Three drops of clear hemlock slid in without a ripple.“To your health, High Commander,” I said, voice soft.He raised the cup, mocking. “To dead packs and broken wolves.”He drank deep. I watched his throat work, watched the smug die in his eyes when the first cramp hit. He clawed at his neck, wine and foam spilling red across the maps of my childhood home. He tried to scream my name but only blood came out.I leaned close so the last thing he

Lyra’s pov “Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!” I wake up screaming it, because my skin is literally boiling off my bones and every heartbeat feels like a war drum made of broken glass.The door damn near explodes off its hinges.Mira is first, barefoot, nightgown twisted, eyes huge. “Lyra?! Lyra, what the hell, talk to me!”I try to answer and all that comes out is a rasp that sounds like death eating gravel. My tongue is sandpaper. My vision is swimming.Serna barrels in right behind her, healer bag already open, vials clinking. “Move, move, move! Gods, you’re on fire. When did this hit?”“Five seconds ago,” I wheeze, trying to push up on my elbows. My arms fold like wet parchment. “Or maybe last night. Or maybe I’m just dramatic. Fuck if I know.”Kaelin skids in, slams the door so hard the iron latch rattles. “Okay, nobody panic, but your lips are literally blue and your fingernails look like you dipped them in ink. That’s. Not. Normal.”I lift one trembling hand in front of my face. Yep