Faye's POV
"Put it down."
"My lord, be careful," the soldier warned, his blade still pressed against my throat. "She's a witch. They can change their looks to fool anyone. We have to kill them."
Hardy's brow furrowed as he studied the man. "Do you smell sulfur?"
The soldier hesitated, blinking in confusion. "No, my lord."
"Any rotting scent?"
"No."
Hardy turned his attention back to me, a faint smile playing at his lips. "Then she's not a witch. Just a helpless Omega."
The soldier's grip on his weapon remained tight. His eyes darted between Hardy and me, clearly torn between obedience and his own judgment.
"Don't make me say it twice." Hardy's voice stayed level, but something deadly crept into his tone.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. That terrible quiet that comes right before violence erupts.
Finally, the blade moved away from my neck.
A thin line of fire traced across my throat where the steel had pressed. Shallow, but it stung. The soldier glared at me like this was somehow my fault.
Hardy didn't spare me a glance. "Get out."
The man stayed frozen in place.
Hardy's stare turned razor sharp. "I said get out. Report to the penitentiary hall for a week."
The tension stretched between them for several heartbeats.
Then the soldier gave a stiff bow and marched toward the door.
It slammed shut behind him.
Relief flooded through me in a rush. My fingers drifted toward my neck instinctively. Just like the cut on my palm earlier, the wound had already disappeared without a trace. I swallowed hard and met Hardy's gaze.
"Does anyone else know?" he asked.
I released a shaky breath and shook my head. "You saw how your soldier reacted. What do you think my father would do?" A bitter laugh slipped out before I could stop it. "He wouldn't bother with a sword. He'd drag me to the Council himself." Killing a witch brought honor, but delivering one to the Council brought real rewards.
"Not even your precious little sister?" he pressed.
I shook my head again. "I couldn't risk putting her in danger or making her carry this secret. It would have been too much to ask." The words came out honest and raw. How could I burden Sally with something like this?
Anyone who worked with a suspected witch faced execution.
Hardy said nothing at first.
Instead, he moved closer and took my injured hand in his.
I jerked back. "What are you doing?"
He lifted my palm to his face, breathing in slowly like he was memorizing my scent.
I tried to pull away, but his grip held firm.
"What is this?" I demanded, my pulse starting to race.
He didn't answer. Then he stepped even closer.
In one smooth movement, his free hand slid behind my back.
Without warning, he pressed his face against the curve of my neck.
I went completely still.
His breath was warm against my skin. His hold on my hand never loosened. I could feel the solid weight of him, the cold dampness of his coat, the quiet danger that surrounded every inch of his body.
My heart hammered against my ribs so hard it hurt.
He didn't move right away. Just stood there, taking in my scent like a predator studying its prey.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that nailed me in place.
"You don't smell like blood," he observed.
Heat flooded my cheeks. "No, my lord." Of course he was testing my abilities. What else would he be doing?
"And your wounds heal completely. No scars, no trace they were ever there."
"Yes."
Without hesitation, he grabbed the dagger from my hand and sliced it across his own palm.
My eyes went wide. "What are you—"
"Heal it." The command left no room for argument.
I stared at him. This man was completely insane. But I took his calloused hand without question.
My fingers touched the wound.
Just like before, it vanished.
The torn flesh knitted together perfectly. No blood, no scar, not even a mark. Like it had never existed.
I yanked my hand back quickly.
This wasn't normal. Even among wolves with their accelerated healing, this was something else entirely. Something dangerous.
Hardy examined his palm, then chuckled softly.
"So you're definitely not a witch."
I stayed silent. My hands remained at my sides, steady only because I willed them to be.
Everyone knew the signs of witch magic. Their rituals left the permanent stench of sulfur on their skin. No glamour could hide it forever. Even the most powerful spells eventually failed.
Witches needed complex rituals and careful preparation. None of them could heal with just a touch. Magic always demanded a price.
"I'm not," I confirmed.
Hardy studied me for another moment, then dropped his hand.
"I can be useful to you," I said quietly. "If you spare my family, I'll serve you willingly. I'll owe you my life. I'll bind myself to your service."
His sneer was immediate and cutting.
He turned to face me completely. "What made you think you had any leverage here?" His voice was cold, almost amused. "What gave you the impression you were in a position to negotiate?"
The words died in my throat. My knees felt weak beneath me.
"I could force you to serve me," he continued, stepping closer. "And not even the King would question it. I could make you my personal pet, and no one would dare interfere."
My mouth opened but no sound emerged. Shame burned through me as I looked away. He was absolutely right.
He could simply force me to obey, and I would be powerless to stop him. Completely helpless.
"Please," I whispered. "Spare them. Whatever you do to me, just don't hurt my family."
He remained quiet for a long moment.
Then suddenly his arm shot out and grabbed me.
"Hey!"
He didn't respond. One arm locked around my waist, jerking me forward so fast I crashed into his chest. The impact knocked the air from my lungs.
"What are you—" My words cut off abruptly.
He leaned close.
"So naive," he muttered. "Let me show you exactly how much your family values you."
Then he moved.
There was no time to struggle or think. He lifted me effortlessly, one arm under my legs, the other across my back. The window burst open behind us. Cold air and rain engulfed us as he leaped from the roof to a familiar balcony.
He moved like he owned this place, like he'd always belonged here.
Before I could catch my breath, soft laughter drifted through the balcony door. I froze.
"See, Sally? It worked perfectly," my mother's voice reached my ears. "All those years of pretending, of treating her like she was really ours. It finally paid off."
My heart stopped. Pretending? What were they talking about?
"She signed that treaty herself. Walked right into our trap."
I went rigid. They were discussing me.
"You were absolutely right," Mother continued, her voice filled with pride. "Convincing her that you were the only person she could trust was genius. She sacrificed herself without a second thought. I knew keeping her around would prove useful eventually. In the end, I was completely right."
"Mother," Sally said lightly. "You shouldn't say things like that. You've treated her like your daughter for years. Shouldn't you feel at least a little guilty?"
"Guilty? Are you serious?" Mother scoffed. "She's not my blood. Not your father's either. She's been leeching off us long enough. We fed her, clothed her, raised her, even though she's the daughter of a savage. And now she's finally done the one thing she was born for—die for you."
A sharp pain exploded in my chest. What were they saying?
Sally's voice came again, softer now, almost wistful. "I suppose knowing she agreed without us having to force her makes me feel less guilty." Her sweet voice carried clearly to where I hid. How could she say that?
How could she—A tight grip on my wrist reminded me to stay silent. I looked at Hardy. He was smiling, clearly pleased with what he was hearing.
"Don't feel guilty," Mother replied. "This was your idea. And it worked beautifully. You've secured your future, our pack's alliance, and you didn't have to lift a finger. For that, you deserve a reward for all your hard work."
I couldn't breathe. What was this? What were they saying?
My hands clenched into fists, nails digging deep into my palms.
"What is this?" Sally asked.
"A gift," Mother said. "You deserve it. You're the reason this plan succeeded."
"We shouldn't celebrate yet," Sally cautioned. "The Dread Lord hasn't actually taken her. Until she leaves with him, nothing is guaranteed."
"Stop worrying," my mother said with a laugh. "Faye is nothing but your loyal pet. Once the Dread Lord takes her away, her fate is sealed."
And just like that, everything inside me shattered completely.