Why Does The Protagonist Fall Ill In Pale Horse, Pale Rider?

I’m about to enter a blood bond with another vampire lord. But my partner of a century, Kaelan, has no idea. He’s too busy getting cozy with his new human assistant, Sylvia. They spend entire nights in his office, under the guise of “researching synthetic blood.” He even turned our centennial anniversary into her birthday party. In front of everyone, Kaelan presented her with a Black Forest cake decorated with Silver Bells. They laughed, smearing frosting on each other. They forgot the flowers are a deadly poison to me. My power shattered. Agony ripped through me as shadows lashed out, uncontrollable. My family’s guards had to drag my convulsing body away. And while I recovered alone in the cold, dark vault, Kaelan was still at the party, bathing in the cheers for him and Sylvia. The blood in my veins turned to ice. A century of love and hope burned to ash. In that moment, I agreed to my family's arrangement. Without hesitation. A union with the lord of the Obsidian Throne—a vampire they say is power incarnate.

To avoid any suspicion of favoritism, my father, Myron Bradshaw, forces me to participate in the group blood donation. The only problem is I'm severely anemic. When the nurse, Lorna Ritter, draws 100 milliliters, my vision suddenly goes dark. I've just put my hand on the needle tube, about to call for a stop, when Ms. Ritter holds my wrist down. "You're calling it quits after only 100 milliliters? All the other students are donating 400 milliliters." She glances at my bloodless face, her eyes full of disgust. "Donating blood is such an honorable thing to do. Selfish fakers like you who pretend to be sick really deserve to be penalized with a double draw." Beside me, Dad looks at me coldly and says with disappointment, "Ronnie Bradshaw, is this how I raised you? Everyone else has donated, so don't think you can be an exception. You'll draw 400 milliliters of blood today even if it kills you." I gasp for air, my heart racing so fast it feels like it's about to burst. By the third tube, my vision blurs completely, and I collapse heavily to the ground. My soul slowly rises into the air as I gaze at Dad guiltily. I'm sorry, Dad, I'm really not lying. This time, I truly can't hold on any longer.

My Alpha's ex-girlfriend finds an excuse to move in with us. Whenever she sees me and my pup, she clutches her chest and acts like she's devastated. My Alpha is sure that I'm deliberately showing off our pup to upset her. "I can't believe you keep flaunting our pup to get on Cissy's nerves! I have to teach you a lesson!" He orders his men to have our pup and me thrown into the basement. No one is allowed to bring me food. I try to escape, and I beg for mercy. I tell him our pup is weak because I wasn't in the best of health when carrying it. I also tell him a healer has advised me to be hospitalized for further treatment. He sounds like he's heard the world's biggest joke, and his tone is cold as he says, "How can you be weak when you made it out of being ambushed in the forest? Stop trying to make yourself seem pitiful! Stay in the basement and repent! This is what you get for making things hard for Cissy!" What he doesn't know is that, when I save him from the attack, I lose my wolf because I am injected with wolfsbane. During my pregnancy, I am also hospitalized many times in order to prevent miscarriage due to the fact that my body is too weak. The pup is in poor health and has been receiving treatment since birth. In the basement, I slash my wrists to feed my pup with my blood, but he still dies in my arms. My devastated howls reverberate in the space. Losing my wolf means I no longer have the ability to heal myself. I lie in a puddle of my blood as I hold my pup's cold body close. Three days later, my Alpha decides he wants me back when he drinks a cup of coffee that isn't to his liking. He says, "Let my Luna out so she can make me coffee and apologize to Cissy. She and the pup can be taken to the hospital if she's sincere enough." No one dares obey his orders—my blood is already flowing out of the basement.

The only thing on Summers Hartley’s mind was revenge. Being a half-breed, she was born extremely weak and completely incapable of protecting herself or anyone, and that cost her. Her family was slaughtered, and her pack was reduced to ashes. As the Alpha heir to Silverguard pack, she swore to destroy the monsters responsible: the Bloodmoon pack. When the perfect chance for revenge arrives, she hides behind a new identity as the dying Alpha’s personal healer and enters the Bloodmoon pack. Every day she heals the pack, she has promised to destroy. Sworn to pay back the same hand, her mission is simple: poison the Alpha who murdered her people and, together with her uncle, destroy everything he built. Then comes Reid Hawthorne, a man she is supposed to hate. The Alpha’s heir. Her mate. Her enemy. Falling in love was not part of the plan. Summers finds herself trapped between the family she lost and the one she’s preparing to destroy. As passion and betrayal collide, secrets are unraveled. Now, the woman who came to destroy Bloodmoon may have to fight to save the man she loves… and herself

In order to save Alpha Varkon Stormclaw, who was poisoned with wolfsbane, I've used my life force to trade for the antidote with the witch. After the transaction, I become unusually weak. My wolf sinks into a deep slumber as well. Because of that, the elders have cast me out of the Moon Goddess Church. Nyla Ironcrest, the newly-appointed Luna, locks me up in a silver cage that's filled with wolfsbane. "How could a lowly and filthy defective she-wolf like you be a good match for the prestigious Alpha?" Varkon, who has once loved me with all his heart, gets tricked by Nyla into thinking that she's his savior. Not only does he sever our mate bond from me, but he also turns a deaf ear on my pleas for help. Defeated and devastated, I breathe my last breath in the silver cage. However, Varkon kneels before my corpse later on. He's struck with so much pain in the chest that he goes crazy. At the same time, he keeps spitting out blood. But I can never hear his confession of atonement ever again.

As the heir to a bloodline of diagnostic empaths, I was born with an extraordinary gift. The instant my fingers made contact with a patient’s skin, I could hear every organ speak its mind. When I examined a drunkard, his liver had screamed from inside him, “Half a bottle of whiskey and two beers every day! Look at me! I’m so dark and shriveled, I practically look like beef jerky soaked in bourbon!” When I examined a woman who had been struggling to conceive, her uterus had lamented, “Her husband’s swimmers can barely move, yet he has the nerve to blame me for not doing my job?” One night, after returning from a business trip, I accidentally touched Andy Croft’s wrist while pulling the blanket over him. A weak voice immediately came from his kidneys. “I’m running on fumes here. Three times a day, every day, for two straight weeks. Even a machine would have broken down by now!” His heart chimed in right after. “Every time he receives a check-in call, I start pounding so hard from panic that I feel like I could break through his ribs!” His skin was even more indignant. “That awful woman really went wild with her nails! His back looks like he lost a fight with a wildcat. She even bit him on the shoulder. Does she have a thing for biting?” My hands shook as I pulled back Andy’s collar. A fresh bite mark stood out clearly on his shoulder. That same night, I called a number I had not dialed in years. “You once made me an offer long ago. I accept.”