A Rare Poison

POV: Malia

“I… I don’t know what Blood of Wolfsbane is,” I whispered, the words trembling past my lips. My brain scrambled to search through fractured childhood memories, desperately trying to find an answer, but I came up completely empty.

Rafe frowned, his dark brows pulling together in a heavy line. “Your brother said you knew the difference between the plants. He claimed you picked it intentionally.”

“I…” My throat tightened, threatening to close entirely. “I don’t have an answer. I can’t remember. Not fully.”

He pushed off the edge of the mahogany desk and took a slow step closer to me. “Blood of Wolfsbane is a highly specific variant. It is Wolfsbane fed strictly by werewolf blood. The leaves carry a distinct, dark red hue to them.” He watched my face closely, tracking every twitch of my expression. “I cannot imagine any child knowing what that is because it is not freely grown in the wild. It has to be cultivated intentionally. Your brother’s story doesn’t add up.”

“Oh.” The tiny, pathetic syllable was all my paralyzed lungs could manage.

The crushing weight of the past decade shifted inside my chest. My mind spun out of control. I was set up. My entire life of torture, starvation, and isolation was built on a lie. Why had my brother never considered the impossibility of it? Or worse, did he know the truth all along and simply choose to condemn me anyway?

“I won’t stop until I find out who did this, Malia.” Rafe’s voice dropped to a low, lethal timber. His crimson eyes narrowed with a chilling, absolute focus. “I will make them pay for the suffering you have endured.”

He sat back on the edge of his desk, his gaze sweeping over my battered frame, studying the horrific canvas of my skin. “Right now, you need to see someone about that infection.”

I kept my mouth clamped shut. I was still trying to process his news of being framed. My reality was fracturing, piece by piece.

“Come. I will show you our bedroom. You can shower before we see the pack doctor.”

*Our bedroom.*

My bare feet glued themselves to the floorboards. Ice pumped through my veins, freezing my blood. Did he just say ‘our bedroom’? As in, we are sharing a bed? My mind immediately snapped to the brutal reality of the contract. He bought me. I guess he thinks he can have sex with me whenever he wants, using my broken body for whatever release he requires as his contract bride. A terrified, anxious shiver ripped down my spine at the thought.

I glanced up and saw him watching me. He was standing at the open office door, waiting patiently. Ensuring the torn flaps of my maid’s dress covered my chest as best as possible, I forced my legs to move and stepped out into the hallway. No one else was around, and the sprawling corridors of the packhouse were dead quiet.

As we walked, Alpha Rafe pointed out what each room was—the library, the formal dining space—but his long, purposeful strides clearly prioritized getting me to the master suite.

His bedroom was huge. Floor-to-ceiling windows mirrored the rest of the luxurious estate, letting in bright streams of natural light. The colossal bed sat pressed up against the far wall. All around it, thin, sheer drapes hung from the ceiling, tied back neatly at each heavy bedpost.

What surprised me the most, and spiked my panic, was the bathroom. The massive soaking tub and the glass shower enclosure were in the exact same room as the bed. Only the toilet was hidden away in a small, separate room to the side. There was no privacy whatsoever. He didn’t seem to care about the open-concept layout, but my heart began to pound a frantic rhythm against my bruised ribs.

I jumped hard when his warm breath brushed across my ear. “You don’t need to be afraid.”

I couldn’t smell him—I couldn’t smell anything with my muted senses—but he was an Alpha. He could easily scent the sour spike of my fear, tracking the changes in my emotions like a beacon.

Crossing the expansive room, he pulled open the heavy glass door to the shower and turned the sleek metal handles. The moment he pulled the door partially shut, the hot steam quickly fogged up the glass panels. And still, I found myself paralyzed by fear. He gave me no clue as to what he was expecting from me in here.

“Hey.” His rough, calloused fingers caught my chin. His touch was startlingly gentle as he tipped my face up to meet his intense gaze. “It’s just you and me, and for now, I will let you shower in peace.”

He released me and walked away. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he messed around with the screen for a few seconds before placing it flat on the bedside table. “The alarm is set for ten minutes. I will come back then. I will bring you something to wear, so just stay in the towel. Understand?”

He stared at me, waiting for a verbal confirmation. I just nodded my head. Ten minutes. Back at the Moonscar pack, I was lucky if I got a sixty-second shower in the basement, and the water was always freezing cold.

He moved to the bedroom door. With his hand resting on the brass doorknob, he looked back over his broad shoulder at me. “I wish you would talk more, Malia.”

The door clicked shut, and Alpha Rafe left me in peace.

I made a mad dash for the bathroom, shedding the ruined remnants of my dress and threadbare underwear as if I were moving through some kind of fantasy land. This had to be a dream. Maybe I was about to wake up on the hard concrete floor of my basement cell, aching from a fresh beating.

Stepping into the shower enclosure, the hot water hit my scalp and cascaded down my spine. The divine luxury of the heat was so intense I nearly sobbed. The rich smells of the expensive soaps and thick shampoos filled my lungs as I lathered them over my skin. My hair had never felt so clean. The infected gash on my stomach flared and stung under the pounding hot water, but I didn’t care. It was worth the burn. It meant I was clean.

I lost myself in the steam, the heat, and the rhythmic sound of the water.

Someone in the room cleared their throat.

I froze instantly, slapping my hands over my chest. I thanked the heavy layer of fog on the glass for keeping my battered body semi-hidden from view.

“Malia, are you done? The alarm went off five minutes ago.” Alpha Rafe’s deep voice seemed much louder in the echoing space of the room.

Panic seized my chest. I had been so caught up in the unprecedented freedom of a simple hot shower that I hadn’t even heard the alarm chime or the Alpha walking back into the bedroom.

“Coming,” I muttered frantically. I twisted the water handles off and snatched a plush white towel off the heated rack, pulling it tightly around my torso to hide the hideousness of the bruises underneath.

Stepping out of the bathroom area, I immediately noticed that my ripped dress, frayed underwear, and worn sandals had been removed from the floor. Alpha Rafe sat on the end of the large bed. A pile of folded clothes rested on his lap, alongside a pair of clean trainers.

“It’s not much, as we don’t have anyone with as small a waist as you.” He smiled faintly as he handed over the stack of clothing. A matching navy blue sweatshirt and soft joggers. “You will have to make do without the underwear for now. New ones should be here first thing tomorrow.”

He watched me with a single cocked eyebrow as I turned away slightly, pulling the thick joggers up my legs and tugging the oversized sweatshirt over my head before finally dropping the towel to the floor. The fabric swallowed my thin frame, but it was incredibly warm. Maybe he was used to women parading themselves naked in front of him, or throwing themselves at him because he possessed immense power and wealth, but I wasn’t like that. I had nothing to offer but scars.

“Let’s go.” He rose to his feet.

This time, I followed him without hesitation. Something primal warned me that if I delayed treating this stomach wound any longer, it would put him in a very bad mood.

We walked across the pack grounds toward the hospital. It was a pristine, modern building, completely unlike the dark, decaying clinic in Moonscar territory where the aging doctor was too terrified of Alpha Brant to ever treat my real injuries.

As we walked through the glass doors, a young woman with dark hair pulled into a messy bun smiled brightly at us.

“Vesper, this is Malia,” Alpha Rafe introduced me, his tone shifting into something lighter, almost relaxed.

I kept my eyes pinned to the spotless linoleum floor as Vesper stepped closer.

“Alpha Rafe, what seems to be the problem, apart from the strange smell she has brought with her?” Vesper asked.

I flinched inwardly, but her tone didn’t carry the hurtful, malicious disgust I was used to hearing. It was purely clinical. It was a comment driven by genuine curiosity.

“She will tell you herself when she finds her tongue,” Rafe replied smoothly.

I swallowed the lump of anxiety in my throat. “I have a wound,” I whispered.

Vesper tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “And you are not healing?”

“I don’t have my Wolf.” The words tasted like ash on my tongue. I hated saying them out loud. It was a constant, humiliating reminder that I was broken, a defect that did not fit into this world.

“Her Wolf was bound when she was a kid.”

Alpha Rafe’s voice cut through the room with absolute authority. “That is why her scent is strange. Her Wolf is there, locked away, waiting to be freed.”

My breath hitched violently in my chest. My eyes flickered up, only to find him staring straight back at me, his crimson gaze steady and unyielding.

*Bound.*

My mind reeled. I had spent the last ten years believing my inner animal was completely dead. Slaughtered by the Moon Goddess as punishment for the crimes I supposedly committed. The idea that she was still inside me, breathing, trapped behind some dark mental wall, sent a violent shockwave through my system.

Vesper’s dark eyes hovered on me, widening slightly. “Wow. Okay.” She reached out and gently gripped my hand. “This way. Let’s take a look at this wound of yours.”

She led me into a sterile, empty examination room, motioning for me to lie back on the padded medical bed and show her the injury.

My hands shook as I gripped the hem of the navy sweatshirt. I pulled it up just enough to expose the angry, oozing gash on my stomach and the violent sea of black-and-purple bruising surrounding it.

Vesper gasped. Her eyes widened, and a sharp flicker of professional rage passed over her features as she took in the horrific sight of the infected flesh. She pulled on a pair of gloves and carefully pressed her fingertips around the inflamed edges.

“How long ago did this happen?” she asked, her voice tight.

“A few days,” I muttered, my gaze dropping to the ceiling tiles. I genuinely wasn’t sure. Every beating blurred into another one. Any day that I wasn’t hit until I bled was considered a good day.

Vesper shook her head firmly. “This is longer than a few days ago. The infection has had at least a week to develop.”

“Malia, you need to tell us the truth,” Alpha Rafe ordered from the doorway. His tone was heavy, demanding.

I flinched. “I don’t know.”

“MALIA!”

His deep, commanding voice thundered through the small clinic room, vibrating against the glass cabinets.

The sheer volume triggered my deepest reflexes. I squeezed my eyes shut, curling my shoulders inward. I braced for the strike. Fearing his anger was second nature. Anger brought punishment. Punishment brought pain. My lungs locked up as I waited for the backhand to connect with my jaw.

“I swear, I don’t know!” I cried out, the truth tearing out of my throat in a panicked rush. “The beatings… they happen so often that they just kind of blur together. I lose track of the days. I am never not bruised.”

Dead silence crashed down over the room. I kept my eyes squeezed tight, terrified of the reaction. Alpha Brant had warned me over and over again. He told me that if anyone ever found out the truth about what happened behind closed doors, he would make my miserable existence infinitely worse. I used to wonder who would ever find out the truth that didn't already know. Now, here I was, sitting in a foreign pack’s hospital, bleeding out my darkest secret to a rival Alpha.

The silence dragged on for what felt like an eternity.

“Heal her!” Alpha Rafe shouted, the raw fury in his voice making the medical instruments rattle on their metal trays.

He spun around and stormed out of the clinic room, yanking his phone from his pocket as he went.

I finally opened my eyes, letting out a shaky exhale.

“You will have to forgive my brother,” Vesper muttered, reaching for an antiseptic wipe and gently cleaning the edges of my infected skin. “His temper is short. Especially when it comes to things like this.”

“Your brother?” I whispered, staring at her face.

“Ah, I see he informed you of nothing.” She smirked faintly. “I’m guessing he didn’t tell you that Wyatt is also our brother?”

I shook my head. Wyatt must have been one of the massive men who flanked Rafe at my brother's house during the contract negotiations.

She chuckled, moving efficiently around the exam table. “Wyatt is considered to be our brother’s Gamma.”

“Gamma?” The title was foreign to me. Moonscar never utilized traditional pack structures or ranks outside of the Alpha's inner circle of thugs.

“Yep. And Alpha Rafe has a love-hate relationship with me working here. He wants me to represent our family in a more formal capacity, but he knows this is what I am good at.” She opened a tall cupboard and retrieved a heavy, frosted glass pot of cream.

She handed it to me. “Now, this needs to be applied three times a day. It should clear up the infection quickly. If it hasn’t changed in a couple of days, I will take another look. My brother is waiting for you out front.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled. I gripped the cool glass pot. I stared at the neat, printed letters on the label, but they were just random shapes to me. I couldn't read them. I had never learned how to read. Brant forbade it.

Vesper bobbed her head at me as I slid off the table, tugging the sweatshirt down. I hurried out to the reception area and found Alpha Rafe pacing near the front doors. He was on his phone, snapping angrily at whoever was on the other end of the line. The second he saw me, he hung up and shoved the device into his pocket.

“What did Vesper say?” he demanded.

“Cream. Three times a day.” I held up the frosted pot.

He stepped forward and took it from my hands. “Good. Come.”

He turned and strode out of the hospital. I had to practically jog to keep up with his long, dominant strides as we crossed the grounds, headed back through the sprawling packhouse, and stepped into his private office.

He closed the heavy doors behind us and twisted the lid off the pot. “Show me,” he ordered.

I recognized the sharp, non-negotiable tone. It was the exact same tone he used right before he ripped my dress apart earlier. I knew better than to stall.

Slowly, with trembling fingers, I lifted the hem of the navy sweatshirt.

Rafe crouched down right in front of me, bringing himself to eye level with the wound. He scooped a generous amount of the thick, cold cream onto his fingers.

“I don’t want you to lie to me, Malia. Not ever,” he insisted softly, his crimson eyes locking onto mine before dropping to my battered skin. “If you can’t remember the timeline, that is what you need to tell me. Is that clear? I don’t want to have to guess what you mean.”

“Okay,” I whispered.

I couldn’t form another word. All of my focus suddenly zeroed in on the intense, shocking warmth of his hands.

He reached around me. One large, steady hand pressed flat against my lower back, grounding me, holding my shivering frame perfectly still. With his other hand, he gently smothered the infected wound in the soothing, cold cream. His fingers moved with slow, methodical care, avoiding applying any unnecessary pressure to the bruised ribs surrounding the gash.

My heart hammered wildly against my ribcage. Until this exact second, the only physical touch I had ever received from a man was a brutal, punishing beating. Men meant pain. Men meant broken bones and bloody lips.

“Stop holding your breath,” he told me, slowly getting to his feet. He towered over me again, grabbing a tissue to wipe his fingers. “I am not going to hurt you.”

I stared up at his sharp, handsome features, my muscles locked tight. It seemed completely impossible to believe, given my horrific history. The act of tending to my wound. The gentle pressure of his hand on my lower back. The protective words coming from his mouth.

It just didn’t feel real.