Page 42 of To Carve A Wolf

“You don’t understand!” she cried, voice warping under the weight of something breaking. “You can’t! You don’t know what it’s like to wake up every day with thatthingsnarling beneath your skin—waiting to take over, waiting to consume you! I need the runes—I needhergone!”

Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. Her pupils werehuge, devouring the green of her irises, and sweat slicked her skin like oil, soaking through the fine red silk she wore like it weighed a thousand pounds.

She was coming undone. And it wasn’t fear causing it—it was withdrawal. The second rune was failing.

I could see it in the way her limbs shook violently, the way her teeth ground together like her jaw couldn’t remember how to relax, the way she fought my touch one second and collapsed into it the next. She was burning from the inside out. Her body was screaming for the dark magic she'd relied on for too long, and it was punishing her for daring to try and survive without it.

I tried to hold her steady, to keep her from thrashing so hard she’d hurt herself, but her fury exploded like venom spat in my face.

“Let me go!” she screamed. “You sanctimonious bastard—you think you’re better than me? You’re not! You’re just a spoiled, overgrown mutt playing king in a crumbling castle full of slaves who pretend to worship you because they’re terrified to do otherwise!”

Her eyes blazed, fever-bright, wide and wild.

“I’ve seen the way they look at you,” she spat. “Like a god, like a savior, but you're nothing more than a beast with a crown! I’d rather fuck a Crescent Moon loyalist in a ditch than pretend you're worth even a second of my submission!”

That one hit hard.

I growled, jaw tight, fury boiling in my blood, but before I could speak, she kept going, more unhinged now, her words broken glass she kept pushing deeper and deeper into her own flesh.

“And your little Omega princess?” she laughed—high, sharp, mad. “Tanya? That shallow, perfume-soaked sow parading around in silk like she’s already your Luna? She’s pathetic. She couldn’t handle your wolf if you knotted her for a century. She'stoo soft, too dumb, too desperate—just another bitch in heat, waiting to be bred!”

The moment the words left her mouth, something inside me snapped. My hand slammed the table beside us, wood splintering beneath my palm.

“You talk like you're better than her—than any of them—but you're worse, Lexa. At least Tanya owns what she is. You? You’re a coward, dressed up in fire and lies, too scared to face your nature, too damn proud to admit what you are. You’ve wrapped yourself in poison and shame and dark magic and you think that makes you untouchable?” I leaned in, lips brushing her ear as I hissed the next words. “You’re not untouchable. You’re just rotting, from the inside out.”

She opened her mouth to strike back, already forming some venom-laced insult, but the words twisted in her throat. Her lips moved—once, twice—but no sound came. Her eyes widened.

And then it began.

Her body jerked, sudden and violent. Her spine arched like someone had driven a blade into it. Her limbs trembled, convulsing in my grip. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her hands clutching at her chest like she couldn’t breathe.

“Lexa—”

But she couldn’t hear me.Then came the scream.

Gods.

It ripped from her throat like her soul had been torn free. It wasn’t just loud—it was shattering, pure, soul-deep agony. My wolf recoiled, terrified, folding in on itself beneath the weight of her pain.

And suddenly, nothing else mattered. Not the argument. Not the insults. Not the heat or fury or lust.

Only her.

Lexa collapsed in my arms like a lifeless thing, her skin burning, soaked with sweat, breath hitching as her bodytrembled and went still.

I caught her, my heart pounding—not with anger this time, but with a bone-deep protectiveness that stunned me. I held her tighter, rocking her slightly, whispering curses to whatever force had allowed her to hurt this much without killing her.

Gently, I carried her to the bed, laying her against the dark sheets like she might break beneath the weight of anything heavier than breath. I pulled the covers up to her collarbone, brushing damp strands of hair away from her temple. Her face was still twisted in pain, even unconscious, and I could see the shine of fresh tears on her lashes.

I released a slow, ragged breath, forcing my heart to settle before carefully sinking onto the edge of the bed beside her, close enough to feel her warmth, yet far enough not to disturb the quiet rhythm of her breathing. She lay still, her features softened by sleep, free of the usual fierce defiance she wore like armor.

Quietly, cautiously, I leaned toward her, waiting until I was certain she had slipped far enough into sleep that my words would remain mine alone. My mouth brushed softly against her ear, my breath warm on her skin as I whispered words I'd never dare say while she was awake.

“I’m glad it drives you mad,” I murmured gently, my voice low and edged with quiet triumph, “the thought of Tanya wearing a crown that doesn’t belong to her.”

Slowly, tenderly, I pressed my lips against her cheek, the skin still flushed, still damp with the remnants of anger and exhaustion and pain. I lingered there a moment longer, savoring the rare intimacy, the softness I’d stolen while she slept.

“Don’t worry, littlestray,” I whispered, quieter now, my voice more promise than threat. “I’ll claim a Luna soon enough, I just need to rid her veins of the poison first.”

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