After My Alpha Poisoned Me, I Found the Lycan King

The needle pierced my skin with surgical precision, sending a familiar burning sensation through my veins. I bit my lip to keep from screaming as the liquid fire spread from my arm throughout my body. Eight months. Ninety-eight injections. Each one worse than the last.

"Stay still, Lila," Marcus instructed, his voice clinical but kind. "The serum needs to reach your nervous system for optimal results."

I nodded weakly, unable to form words as the silver-wolfsbane mixture coursed through me. My back arched involuntarily, muscles seizing as if electric currents were racing beneath my skin.

"That's it, almost done," came Dorian's voice from beside me. His hand engulfed mine, warm and strong—a cruel contrast to the ice spreading through my limbs.

I forced my eyes open to meet his gaze. The Alpha of Silver Crest Pack looked every bit the concerned fiancé—dark hair perfectly styled, jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and those penetrating blue eyes filled with what anyone else would mistake for genuine concern.

"The pain is necessary," he said, brushing damp hair from my forehead. "You know that, right? After tomorrow night's final treatment, you'll be walking again."

I wanted to believe him. After eight years of devotion, eight years of loving a man who'd never marked me as his mate, I still clung to the hope that he cared.

"Alpha," I whispered through clenched teeth, "will I be able to dance at the Winter Moon Ceremony?"

His smile faltered for just a moment. "Of course. Why wouldn't you?"

Because Lexi has been practicing my routines. Because you've been poisoning me instead of healing me.

"Tomorrow night," he continued, squeezing my hand, "after the 99th treatment, everything will change."

The way he said it—like a promise, like a threat—sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the silver in my veins.

---

Sleep eluded me that night. The pain was relentless, silver shards seeming to scrape against my bones. I curled into myself on the narrow hospital bed, wondering how much more my body could endure.

"Lila?" A voice echoed in my mind—not mine, but Shadow's. My wolf, dormant for months, stirring weakly.

"Shadow?" I responded internally, tears springing to my eyes. "You're still there?"

A faint presence, like embers struggling to stay lit. Then nothing.

But something had changed. The constant agony had triggered some primal survival instinct in both of us. As the silver burned through my system, it briefly weakened the barriers in my mind—the ones that separated me from the pack's mental links.

Normally, I couldn't access these channels without deliberate effort. Tonight, in my weakened state, they flooded in unfiltered.

"—can't wait any longer." Lexi's voice, petulant and eager. "She's been in that bed for months. When do I get to start preparing for the ceremony?"

"Calm down," Dorian's mental voice replied, smooth and amused. "Tomorrow after the final dose, the cripple will be gone. No one will question you taking her place as Lead Dancer."

"Gone?" Lexi's excitement vibrated through the link. "You mean—"

"Dead," Dorian confirmed with a mental laugh. "Silver poisoning looks like natural causes. The pack will mourn their future Luna briefly, then accept you as my chosen mate."

My heart stopped. The room spun around me as their conversation continued, discussing details of my funeral and Lexi's coronation as if planning a dinner party.

"No one will suspect," Dorian assured her. "The old man's will specified I had to keep her alive until our mating ceremony, but accidents happen."

"But what about her wolf?" Lexi asked. "What if it heals her?"

"It won't. Silver-wolfsbane serum suppresses regeneration. By the 99th dose, her wolf will be too weak to fight. She'll die in her sleep, and we'll be free."

Free. To mate. To rule. To dance.

---

I had to know if what I'd heard was true. With trembling hands, I reached for the medical tray beside my bed. A small scalpel gleamed in the dim light.

"Just a scratch," I whispered to myself, pressing the blade against my palm.

Blood welled up—black and viscous, not the healthy crimson it should be. I focused inward, calling to Shadow.

"Heal me," I begged. "Just a little."

Nothing happened. The wound remained open, black blood seeping onto the white sheets.

I tried again, concentrating harder. "Shadow, please."

A faint whimper echoed in my mind—Shadow trying but failing.

The truth crashed down on me like a physical blow. There had never been any nerve therapy. No treatment for my crushed legs. Just systematic poisoning by the man I'd loved for eight years.

I stared at the ceiling, watching dawn's first light filter through the blinds. Less than twenty-four hours until the 99th injection. Less than twenty-four hours to live.

Unless I found a way out.