Chapter 75 Lying Bitch
[Nyx]
Everything else fell away.
"I'm coming." I ended the call.
"Lysander." I turned to him, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my chest. "I need to go to Lilith. But we need to know how this happened—why she's suddenly worse."
His eyes met mine, understanding immediately. "You think—"
"I don't know." But the syringe flashed in my mind. "But I need to be sure. Check Lilith's room footage. From the moment she was admitted until now. Anyone who went in, anything unusual."
He nodded, already turning back to the guard. "Pull up Room 304. I want every second of footage from the time she was brought in."
"I'm going to her." I was already moving toward the door, the USB drive a cold weight against my collarbone.
"Nyx." Lysander's hand caught my wrist, pulling me back for just a moment. His amber eyes locked on mine. "If I find anything—"
"Tell me immediately."
He released me, and I ran.
The hospital corridors blurred past. My heart hammered against my ribs—part fear for Lilith, part delayed shock from what I'd just seen.
Attempted murder.
She tried to kill me while I was unconscious.
But I shoved it down, locked it away. Right now, Lilith needed me.
I burst through the doors to the ICU wing. A nurse tried to stop me—"Family only—"
"I'm her sister." My voice came out hard, carrying Alpha authority I didn't know I still had.
The nurse stepped back.
Room 304 was at the end of the hall. Through the window, I could see figures gathered around the bed. Too many people. Too much equipment.
I pushed through the door.
The scene that greeted me made my blood run cold.
Damon stood on one side of the bed, his hand gripping Lilith's pale fingers. His face was drawn, haggard, eyes fixed on the monitors with desperate intensity.
But it was the figure on the other side that made my chest tighten.
Selene Blackwood sat in a chair pulled close to the bed, her other hand resting on Lilith's arm. Her eyes were red-rimmed, cheeks streaked with what looked like tears. Her hair was slightly disheveled, as if she'd been running her hands through it in distress.
She looked up when I entered, and for just a fraction of a second—so brief I almost missed it—something flickered across her face.
Fear? Calculation?
Then it was gone, replaced by sorrowful concern.
"Nyx," she said softly, her voice catching. "Thank god you're here. She's—the doctors say she's not responding to treatment."
I stared at her. At those red-rimmed eyes. At the hand resting so gently on Lilith's arm.
You were going to inject me with something while I was unconscious.
And now Lilith is dying.
The monitors showed erratic readings—heart rate unstable, blood pressure dropping. Lilith's breathing was shallow despite the oxygen mask, her skin gray-pale.
"What happened?" I moved to the bed, forcing myself to look away from Selene. "Damon, you said she was stable."
"She was." His voice was hoarse, raw. "For hours, she was stable. The doctors said she was responding well. And then—" His grip on Lilith's hand tightened. "It all went wrong so fast."
Selene made a soft, sympathetic sound. "I just arrived a few minutes ago. I heard she was in trouble and rushed over immediately. When I got here, the alarms were already going off—it was terrifying."
"You just got here?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Her eyes met mine, wide and earnest. "Yes. I was resting in my ward when I heard the Code Blue announcement. I ran straight here." Her voice caught slightly. "I'm so sorry, Nyx. I know you two have your differences, but she's still your sister."
Let's see if you're lying, you bitch.
Through the pack bond, I reached out to Lysander: Check the security footage from Selene's ward. I want to know exactly when she left her room.
His response came instantly, a thread of cold understanding: On it.
I nodded at Selene, managing what I hoped looked like gratitude. "Thank you for coming. It means a lot that you care."
Dr. Harrison entered, his expression grave. He glanced at me, then at Damon. "Ms. Verdant. Alpha Blackwood. I need to speak with you about Ms. Lilith's condition."
"Tell us," Damon said, his voice carrying Alpha command. "What's happening to her?"
Dr. Harrison consulted his tablet, his brow furrowed. "It appears to be a severe allergic reaction. Her body is experiencing what we call a systemic inflammatory response—essentially, her immune system is attacking itself."
"Allergic to what?" I kept my voice steady.
"That's what we're trying to determine. It could be a reaction to one of the medications we're using for the rewarming treatment. Or possibly something in her system from before she arrived." He adjusted one of the monitors. "We've administered antihistamines and corticosteroids, but she's not responding as we'd hoped."
Damon's face had gone white. "You're saying this is a medication error?"
"Not necessarily an error—"
"She was fine!" Damon's voice rose, raw fury bleeding through. "For hours she was stable, and you're telling me your medication did this to her?"
"Alpha Blackwood, these reactions can happen even with proper protocols—"
"What medications did you give her?" Damon's eyes had gone cold, dangerous. "Exactly what drugs, what dosages, and when?"
Dr. Harrison's face paled slightly at the Alpha command in Damon's voice. "We've been following standard hypothermia treatment protocols. Warmed saline, supplemental oxygen, monitoring—"
"I want a complete list. Every medication, every intervention, timestamped." Damon's voice was deadly quiet now. "If this is a medical error—if someone on your staff administered the wrong drug or the wrong dose—I will hold this hospital accountable."