AUTHOR'S POV (Just for this Chapter)
There were many things a nurse wasn't supposed to steal.
The Alpha Lycan King's sperm topped the damn list.
But Lisa, a nurse in the restricted pack clinic, had never been good at rules.
Not when history sat glowing in a vial beneath her glove.
It was sealed now — snug inside reinforced glass, but she could still feel it. The Alpha Lycan King's cursed essence radiated power, even outside his body.
They said any woman who had sex with him died. That his mates never lived past the first night. That he was fated to rule alone.
Lisa didn't care.
She didn't want him. She wanted answers.
If she could crack the magic embedded in his bloodline — the ancient rot killing his lovers before they even dreamed of producing heirs — she'd do more than rewrite supernatural history. She'd be remembered. Revered.
And this was her only chance.
The king had been dragged into the clinic an hour ago, unconscious, his chest torn open by silver-laced claws. His blood had smoked on contact with the metal — sizzling, hissing, bubbling like it was at war with death itself.
Silver was lethal to most wolves. But Kael Lucan wasn't most wolves.
He was the last Lycan of the original bloodline. The cursed monarch with strength in his bones and violence in his breath.
Just as Lisa turned to start her tests, ready to unlock whatever ancient hell simmered inside the stolen vial, a commotion outside the clinic made her freeze.
Her frown deepened.
They weren't supposed to be admitting anyone tonight. The clinic was on full lockdown with the King inside unconscious in recovery. That was the rule. Hell, that was law.
And definitely not while she was supposed to be on her break.
She tried to block out the sound and focus on the vial, carefully tilting it to watch the liquid swirl under the candlelight. It reacted—just slightly—but enough to confirm her suspicion. She felt a ripple of anticipation, but ignored the distraction, assuming whoever it was would leave once they realized the clinic was empty. No one else was supposed to be around.
But when the front door creaked open and the faint rush of wind followed it, her instincts kicked in. Someone had entered. She shot upright, heart thudding. That meant her boss was back. Either he was carrying someone who was injured, or worse, he was the one injured.
She couldn't be caught with it. If her boss saw her hovering over the king with a suspicious vial in hand, she'd be tossed out faster than a trainee who mistook wolf's bane for wound balm. Worse, he'd ask questions—pointed, clinical ones she wasn't ready to answer.
Her eyes swept the room. Cabinet? Too obvious. Her pockets? Too obvious and too warm. Then her gaze landed on the only place no one in their right mind would dare to search—the king himself.
Of course. Who would willingly go near a sleeping apex predator known for breaking necks before breakfast?
She crossed the room quickly and knelt beside the cot, heart pounding. With practiced fingers, she tucked the vial beneath the thick blanket near his arm, just enough in shadow to vanish but not close enough to risk being crushed. Hidden in plain sight. Brilliant—if he didn't wake up.
A flicker of irony curled at the corner of her mouth. Bold of her to hide the evidence beside the very man she stole it from.
Even bolder, considering she was the foolish one who'd risked her life to extract the king's sperm in the first place.
When she heard her name—"Lisa!"—everything inside her jumped.
She shot to her feet like she'd been caught red-handed, barely resisting the urge to check if the king had stirred. He hadn't. Thank the Goddess.
Move, she told herself, forcing her legs into motion as the second call rang out, more urgent this time. "Lisa, now!"
"Coming," she said, forcing her voice to sound bored, even though her pulse still pounded behind her ribs.
She stepped out of the king's chamber, smoothing her expression into something neutral—even competent—as she rounded the corner. Her boss burst through the entrance, carrying someone in his arms.
Lisa's eyes narrowed, just slightly, as she inspected the girl now being laid out on the spare cot. Red hair—long and matted with dried blood. Her skin was ghost-pale beneath the dirt, lips cracked, lashes fluttering. But what caught Lisa most was the scent.
Human.
Unmistakably human. And yet… not entirely. There was something strange about it. Something muddled.
The girl's body told a story even her silence couldn't hide—slashed along the ribs, a bullet wound through her thigh, bruising along her jaw like she'd been struck hard and dragged through a fight she hadn't won.
The clinic's old cot creaked as her boss tried to stabilize her. Lisa watched him reach for scissors, muttering something about better access. Then, in a practiced movement, her bloodied blouse was split down the middle, revealing even more torn skin and damage beneath.
Lisa stepped forward, almost involuntarily. Her stomach was churning—and not just from the sight.
"Sir, what about the king?" she asked tightly, nodding toward the other room. Her voice was calm, but lined with steel. "You said not to bring in anyone while he was under."
Her boss didn't even look up. "There's a dying woman in front of us who doesn't seem aware of our clinic's laws," he said dryly. "If she were, I imagine she would've politely rescheduled her accident for a more convenient hour, don't you think?"
The boss asked as he handed her a napkin to clean the girl' wound. Lisa uncomfortably moved closer to the body. Her fingers trembled as she dabbed at the wounds.
"I don't like this," she murmured, eyes darting toward the back room. "She's not from the area. Look at her clothes, her scent. And those injuries—guns, not claws. What if she's being tracked? What if she's a threat?"
The doctor silenced her with a glare sharp enough to draw blood. "We patch first. Question later. And if you want to stand there making guesses while she bleeds out, feel free. I'll be over here actually saving someone."
Lisa stepped back, biting her tongue. Her boss could be insufferable, but he wasn't heartless. Still, the unease prickled at her skin like frostbite.
Then a voice—deep, rough, unmistakable—cut through the room like a blade.
"Use the bed."
Everyone froze.
Lira turned slowly to the doorway. The king stood there, hand braced on the frame, eyes heavy-lidded but alert. He wasn't looking at anyone but the girl—his gaze cold, cautious, unreadable.
His voice was softer when he spoke again. "She won't survive on that cot."
The doctor blinked, stunned for a breath. Then he nodded sharply. "You heard him. Move her."
Lisa's stomach dropped. No. Not there. But it was too late—the security that had accompanied the boss started shifting the unconscious girl toward the king's bed.
Toward the hidden vial.
But before the girl even reached the bed, her neck lolled to the side, her body going limp. Unconscious—or worse.
The nurses placed her gently on the king's bed, careful with her wounds, while Lisa circled closer, heart pounding. She pretended to adjust the sheets, her eyes scanning the mattress.
But the vial wasn't there.
Gone.
Panic fluttered in her chest, but she forced her expression neutral, her movements steady.
"Is she dead?"
The king's voice cut through the air like a blade, low and sudden. Everyone jumped. No one had realized he was still in the room. They'd expected him to vanish, as he always did after treatment.
Lisa's boss—the pack doctor—stepped forward without hesitation. Two fingers to the neck. No pulse. No breath. Just stillness.
He nodded once. "She's gone."
Still, the king didn't move. He stood there, staring at the girl, his expression unreadable.
He didn't understand why he couldn't look away. Why her death felt too close. Too personal.
But then he blinked hard and wrenched his gaze from her. Whatever strange pull had begun to stir inside him, he shut it down with sheer will.
"See me at my place when you're done here," he told the pack doctor before exiting the clinic.
Lisa stayed frozen for a breath longer, her gaze locked on the girl.
Dead. Human. And somehow—still a problem.
Because the vial was missing.