Chapter 75 Fighting - Amelia’s POV
The wolfsbane had started to thin in my veins, like poison diluted drop by drop with each passing hour. I felt it in the way my thoughts cleared, in how Kaela's presence grew stronger in my mind—no longer a distant echo but a roaring flame. Five days in this cell had taught me the rhythm of their dosing schedule: the burning rush of fresh poison, the foggy hours of near-unconsciousness, then this precious window of almost-clarity before they came with another bag of green liquid. It was during these windows that I could feel him, Aleksandr, a phantom pulse beating alongside my own heart. Tonight, that pulse raced with anger, with determination. Something was happening. The ball. It had to be tonight.
I shifted against the cold wall, the movement sending pain shooting through my right arm where the IV needle had been hastily removed hours earlier. The medic hadn't bothered to bandage it properly, just slapped a piece of gauze over the puncture and taped it down. Blood had seeped through, creating a rust-coloured stain that matched dozens of others on my filthy clothes.
'He's fighting,' Kaela growled, her presence stronger than it had been since our capture. 'I can feel Skoll. Rage. Control slipping.'
"That's not good," I whispered, my voice rough from disuse. "If he loses control at the ball—"
'Then they win,' she finished grimly. 'Kane becomes king. Aleksandr dies.'
The thought sent a physical pain through my chest, sharp as any knife. I couldn't let that happen. Wouldn't. But what could I do, trapped in this cell, my wolf still locked away inside me, my body weak from days of drugging and neglect?
The sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor pulled me from these thoughts. I recognised the cadence immediately—unhurried, deliberate steps that belonged to Councillor Blackthorn. My jailer. My tormentor. The man who spoke of my imprisonment as an unfortunate political necessity while pumping me full of poison.
The door swung open with a rusty groan, revealing him dressed in formal attire—black tuxedo, crisp white shirt, silver cufflinks that caught the dim light. His wire-rimmed glasses sat perfectly straight on his nose, his silver-streaked hair combed back with precision. He looked like he was attending a gala, not visiting a prisoner in a basement cell.
"Good evening, Miss Lovelace," he said, his voice carrying that same grandfatherly tone that made my skin crawl. "I thought you might like an update on tonight's festivities before I head to join them."
I said nothing, just watched him from my position against the wall. I'd learned that engaging with him only gave him satisfaction, treating my responses as some kind of fascinating experiment in human resilience.
"The Moonlight Ball is underway as we speak," he continued, pulling the folding chair from the corner and placing it a careful distance from where I sat. "Quite the spectacle, from what I hear. All the most eligible shewolves in the kingdom, dressed in their finest, vying for the Alpha King's attention."
I couldn't help the small sound that escaped me—part pain, part rage at the image his words conjured. Aleksandr surrounded by women who wanted him, who could give him things I couldn't. A proper bloodline. A strong wolf. A queen.
Blackthorn smiled, satisfaction glinting in his amber eyes. "It pains you to think of him moving on. I understand. There's always something... special about one's first love, isn't there? But rest assured, he's doing quite well without you. Our sources tell me he's danced with at least a dozen candidates already."
'Lies,' Kaela snarled, though uncertainty tinged her mental voice. 'He wouldn't forget us so quickly.'
"I don't believe you," I said, the words coming out stronger than I expected.
"Believe what you wish," Blackthorn replied with a shrug. "It changes nothing. The ball proceeds as planned, and with each rejection, with each disappointment, the Alpha King moves closer to the edge of control."
He leaned forward slightly, his expression shifting to something almost wistful. "I've seen this before, you know. The final days of a cursed king. It's happening faster with Aleksandr than with his predecessors. Perhaps because he came so close to finding hope in you, only to lose it." He sighed, a perfect performance of regret. "The wolf takes over gradually at first—moments of rage, physical changes he can't control, decisions made from instinct rather than reason. But then comes the final break. The moment when man and wolf can no longer exist in the same body, when the beast consumes what remains of the human mind."
Cold dread pooled in my stomach. "And then?"
Blackthorn's eyes met mine, clinical and detached. "And then, for the safety of the kingdom, he will have to be put down."
The words hit me like a physical blow, forcing the air from my lungs. "Put down," I repeated, the phrase obscene in its casualness. "You mean murdered."
"I mean euthanised," he corrected, as if the distinction mattered. "Like any rabid animal that poses a danger to others. It's protocol for cursed kings who fail to find their true mates. Kane has already prepared the silver-infused tranquilizers. It will be quick, painless, and dignified—far better than allowing him to degenerate into a mindless beast."
'NO!' Kaela's roar vibrated through my skull, her fury so potent I could almost taste it. 'BAD MEN HURT MATE! KILL THEM ALL!'
Her rage fed mine, burning through the lingering effects of the wolfsbane, lighting a fire in my blood that felt like strength returning. "You won't touch him," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I won't let you."