Darrian's POV
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I didn't leave Heather's side all night. I held her hand as her skin grew colder, her breath shallower. My Luna—the strongest female I'd ever known—was fading. And I couldn't do a damn thing about it.
The knock on the door came at dawn.
"Alpha," Thalos called gently, voice laced with urgency. "We have the results."
I stood, my body stiff from remaining still for hours, and met the healer in the hallway. His face was grim, and the folder in his hands shook.
"We were finally able to isolate the foreign toxin," he said, flipping through the lab work. "It's wolfsbane."
My heart stopped.
"What?" I growled.
He nodded solemnly. "Not the usual kind, either. This strain was processed. Refined. Almost undetectable. We wouldn't have known if we hadn't tested three separate samples."
"Who?" I demanded, my voice like ice. "Who poisoned her?"
"We tracked the ingestion to the feast the night before the battle," Thalos explained. "She must have consumed it unknowingly through food or drink. We cross-referenced those who had access to the kitchens and the plates distributed to ranked members."
He hesitated.
"Say it."
"Mikaela."
The name made my vision blur red.
"She tampered with Heather's plate. Slipped the poison into her wine."
I roared, the sound shaking the walls. Guards nearby flinched but didn't move to stop me as I slammed my fist into the nearest wall, shattering the stone.
"She lost the fight," I growled, eyes glowing, "but she won the war."
"She wanted Heather to suffer slowly," Thalos said grimly. "Wolfsbane of this type spreads like an infection. Soon, it will reach her organs. She'll go into convulsions. And then..."
"No."
Thalos looked up. "Alpha—"
"I won't let her die. I won't."
I stormed out of the wing, my wolf howling inside me. Rage wasn't enough to describe what I felt. Mikaela had betrayed me. My pack. My mate.
And she would pay.
I descended into the dungeons, each step a thunderclap of fury. When I reached her cell, I could already smell her fear.
"Mikaela," I said, my voice cold as death, "did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
She looked up, bloodied and bruised, but still defiant. "She was weak. She didn't deserve you."
I opened the door.
And this time, no one stopped me.
The sun rose blood-red over the pack lands.
Every wolf, every elder, every warrior stood in the courtyard, summoned by command. The air was thick with tension, the ground still scarred from battle, but nothing compared to what was about to unfold.
I stood at the top of the steps, my expression carved from stone. My wolf paced beneath the surface, snarling, demanding retribution.
In the center of the courtyard, Mikaela was dragged forward, shackled in silver. She no longer looked defiant—just afraid. Her once-flawless features were twisted with panic. She stumbled when she saw the wooden stake erected in the middle of the square, already soaked in oil.
"This," I said, voice cold and echoing through the clearing, "is the cost of betrayal."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"She poisoned your Luna," I continued. "She laced Heather's feast with wolfsbane, knowing it would kill her slowly. She smiled in your faces while planning her murder. That," I said, stepping forward, "is treason."
Mikaela struggled in her restraints. "You don't have to do this! You loved me once!"
"I never loved you," I growled, eyes glowing. "And I will not let anyone harm what's mine."
Two guards tied her to the stake. Her screams turned into sobs, then to desperate pleading. But I showed no mercy.
"For the crimes against our Luna," I said, raising a torch high, "and against this pack—you are sentenced to death."
I dropped the torch.
Flames roared to life around her.
She screamed, thrashing wildly, the fire licking up her legs, her arms, engulfing her in a blaze of justice. The crowd didn't cheer. They watched in horrified silence—understanding this was no celebration.
This was a warning.
When it was over, I turned to them all.
"This is what happens," I said, voice low and dangerous, "to anyone who touches what's mine."
And then I walked away, the scent of smoke and burning flesh clinging to me like war paint, my eyes set on the infirmary.
Heather needed me.
And I would not lose her.