Chapter 31 The Womb Blocking Syrup
Aurelia
The past few days had finally caught up with me.
My body rebelled, my stomach churned, and my throat was tight with nausea that no amount of breathing through it could ease.
This was as a result of using my magic excessively. I just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep until the world stopped spinning.
Instead I forced myself toward the kitchens. Maybe ginger tea or dry crackers could settle the sickness clawing up my throat.
The halls were quiet in the morning, most of the pack were still at breakfast or training. It was my luck, because I didn't want to run into anyone.
As I passed the narrow storage room, the door stood slightly ajar.
A thin ribbon of light spilled out, and voices drifted through the crack. They sounded low, conspiratorial, and unmistakable. The pack matron and her daughter.
I clenched my jaw. Ravina’s tone was smooth poison as she spoke.
“The court is not yet convinced the Moon Goddess made a clear choice. We must exploit that doubt while it lasts. This syrup will block her womb completely. Nothing will take root. Three drops: breakfast, lunch, dinner. Simple.”
My hand flew to my chest. The silver heart mark pulsed once, as though it recognized the threat.
Irina’s whisper answered, eager, almost giddy.
“You can trust me, Mother. The Alpha already looks at me differently when I pass him. His eyes linger. We just need to corner that little witch, push her out of sight, and his attention will slide right to me.”
There was a soft clink, like a glass bottle against wood. Ravina’s voice came again, colder now.
“Do it carefully. If he suspects tampering, he’ll tear this pack apart to find who poisoned his mate. Make it look natural. Exhaustion. Stress. A barren witch body finally giving up like it was always meant to.”
They both laughed at the cruel joke. My knees nearly buckled. They weren’t just whispering anymore. They were plotting to sterilize me.
To erase the one thing the mark promised, pups, legacy, and proof that I belonged.
I backed away, silently, shaking like a new born calf on unsteady legs until my spine hit the opposite wall.
The nausea surged, bitter and sharp. I pressed a hand to my mouth, fighting it down.
They wanted me broken, barren and irrelevant.
But the mark on my chest burned brighter as I burned with rage.
I turned and walked away quietly, back toward the Alpha's wings. I didn’t run to Zhayad. I couldn't do that.
First I needed proof, which meant I needed to steal the bottle and the syrup.
Because if they thought they could poison me in secret, they were about to learn how wrong they were.
The Moon Goddess hadn’t marked me to be erased. She’d marked me to fight. And I was done playing the victim.
I slipped into the shadows of the corridor, my mind already racing. Tonight, when the pack slept, I would return to that storage room. I would find the syrup. I would take it. And when Zhayad asked why my scent carried poison…
I would show him exactly who had tried to steal our future. They wanted a barren Luna? They were about to meet a very fertile storm.
Zhayad wouldn't return early tonight because he was visiting the wounded warriors who had bled with him at the border.
The pack house lay quiet and still, the perfect time for me to go into action.
I waited until the last torch in the corridor guttered low, then slipped out of bed barefoot.
The floor was cold against my soles, but I didn't mind.
I moved slowly and noiselessly, testing each step before committing weight.
Werewolf hearing was merciless; one creak could easily summon a guard.
The hallways stretched endlessly, but I kept close to the wall, my palms brushing stone for balance.
The storage room door loomed ahead. It was thick oak, iron-banded, and the lock gleamed dully in the faint moonlight leaking through a high window.
I tried the handle anyway. It was locked. I rolled my eyes. Of course. Irina wasn’t careless enough to leave evidence lying around.
But I bet she wasn’t prepared for warlock blood either. I closed my eyes and reached inward. The dark thread of magic stirred, sluggish from overuse, but obedient.
I pulled it around myself like smoke, thin and slippery, folding space just enough. I took one step forward, and the wood parted around me like mist.
I passed straight through the door and emerged inside..Darkness swallowed me instantly.
The air smelled of dried herbs, dust, and old wax.
I stubbed my little toe against something hard, a crate or shelf, and bit back a hiss. Pain flared sharply, then faded.
I groped along the wall until my fingers found the iron switch. I pressed it, and a single bulb sputtered to life overhead. It was weak, barely reaching the corners. They must have switched the bulb intentionally.
Shelves towered around me: jars of roots, bundles of dried leaves, vials of murky liquid, sacks of grain. Everything was labeled in neat, unfamiliar script.
I started searching quietly, the top shelf first. Then the middle. I only found jars of honey, tinctures for fever, nothing suspicious.
The bottom shelves were more likely. My hands shook slightly as I moved bottles aside. Glass clinked softly.
I froze. Listened. But I kept going. In the third row from the bottom, behind a giant jar of heavens knew what, I found it.
A small amber vial with no label, tucked between two larger jars like an afterthought.
The liquid inside was thick, pale green, almost glowing in the dim light. I lifted it carefully.
Three drops, Ravina had said. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Enough to block a womb forever.
I slipped the vial into the pocket of my nightdress, then turned to leave.
The sound of soft footsteps caused me to pause. And it was coming closer. Whoever it was, he or she was coming closer.
I killed the light instantly, plunging the room back into pitch black.
I pressed myself against the wall behind the door just as the handle turned.
The door creaked open, slowly, and a figure slipped inside. The silhouette of the person was tall, female, and familiar.
Irina.