The meeting did nothing to soothe Marcus's mood. If anything, it only deepened the storm brewing inside him. It had confirmed his worst fears: there was no cavalry coming, no higher authority to intervene. Their protection was in their own hands, and that meant they were nothing more than sitting ducks, waiting for the rogue wolves to make the first move. The realization settled like a heavy weight on his chest, tightening with each breath he took. The alphas left barely had enough armies to protect themselves and couldn't afford to help anyone else.
As he stormed into his office, the door slammed shut behind him, rattling on its hinges. The air in the room felt suffocating, thick with tension and the scent of aged leather and whiskey. He crossed the space in a few long strides, grabbing the crystal decanter off his desk with a force that nearly knocked it over. Without a second thought, he poured himself a generous glass of Scotch, downing it in one harsh gulp before pouring another. The burn in his throat did nothing to ease the gnawing sense of dread in his gut.
Only two packs remained standing. Two. It was only a matter of time before they were attacked, and when that happened, there would be no mercy. They would be slaughtered, wiped from existence like they had never even mattered.
The thought sent a surge of rage through him, raw and unrelenting. His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand, and before he could stop himself, he hurled it against the office door. It shattered on impact, shards of glass raining to the floor, the sound echoing through the empty space like the breaking of something far more fragile: his patience, his control.
His chest heaved, hands braced on the desk as he forced himself to breathe. He couldn't afford to lose control, not now. Not when his people were looking to him for strength. But with each passing second, with every drop of Scotch burning its way down his throat, the reality remained the same: war was coming, and they were already at a disadvantage.
His body shook and his eyes turned golden whenever he felt extreme emotion; it brought his wolf spirit to the surface. After the death of his wife and son, he found it harder and harder to control himself. His thoughts shifted to a certain little wolf that always seemed to be on his mind, and before he could stop himself, he was stalking to her room.
Lauretta had long since come down from the vent and taken a cleansing shower, scrubbing away the filth and tension clinging to her skin. The warm water soothed her sore muscles, washing away not just the grime but also the weight of her recent ordeals. Once she felt refreshed, she dressed in a simple but comfortable outfit and set out to explore.
Determined to find the library, she wandered through the sprawling halls, her footsteps echoing in the eerily quiet corridors. The castle was a labyrinth, each turn revealing another passageway that led nowhere she recognized. More than once, she found herself back at the same intersection, frustration creeping into her chest as the minutes stretched on.
At last, after what felt like an eternity of wrong turns, she stumbled upon it: a secluded alcove at the farthest end of the eastern wing. The entrance was small, almost as if deliberately hidden, the wooden door slightly ajar, revealing rows of towering shelves lined with ancient tomes and scrolls. The scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air, a quiet sanctuary untouched by the outside world.
Inside, an elderly librarian sat behind a grand mahogany desk, her silver hair neatly braided over one shoulder. She peered at Lauretta over the rim of her spectacles, her gaze sharp yet not unkind.
Lauretta stepped forward, offering a polite nod. "Good evening," she greeted softly, her voice reverent in the hushed atmosphere. "May I use the library?"
The librarian studied her for a moment, as if measuring her intentions. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, she gestured toward the vast collection before them. "Knowledge is free to those who seek it," she murmured, her voice a whisper of wisdom. "Respect the books, and they will serve you well."
Relief flooded Lauretta, glad that at least Omegas were not segregated here. As she stepped deeper into the library, eager to lose herself in the pages of the past, she searched for answers hidden within the ink and parchment.
She immediately spent the better part of the afternoon navigating the towering bookshelves, searching for the section on werewolf lore and remedies. The library was far larger than it appeared from the outside, its shelves stretching endlessly into the dimly lit space. Dust motes floated lazily in the air, catching the golden glow of candle sconces mounted along the stone walls. The scent of aged parchment, leather bindings, and faint traces of herbs clung to the atmosphere, as if secrets of the past lingered within these very walls.
Lauretta ran her fingers along the spines of the books, her heart pounding with anticipation. Each title whispered forgotten knowledge. The Moon's Curse: A Study of Lycanthropy, Bloodlines of the First Wolves, Alchemy, and the Beast Within, but none held the answers she sought. Frustration threatened to take hold, but she pushed forward, determined.
Finally, in a shadowed corner, wedged between two particularly ancient tomes, she found it: a thick, leather-bound book with intricate silver embossing. Herbal Remedies & Cures for Supernatural Afflictions.
Relief flooded through her as she pulled it free, the weight of the book solid in her hands. She traced the delicate patterns on the cover before carefully opening it, flipping through brittle pages filled with handwritten notes and pressed herbs still faintly fragrant. Her eyes skimmed the contents, searching for anything that could counteract poison.
The doctor's words echoed in her mind. You still have traces of poison within you.
A shiver ran down her spine. She had survived her initial attempt at suicide, but the lingering effects of the poison within her remained an unknown threat. And though she had no intention of poisoning anyone recklessly, it would be useful, marvelous, even, to have an antidote at her disposal. Especially if she ever needed to use the poison again but didn't want to kill the target and also to get rid of the poison within her, maybe if she was able to completely eradicate the poison, she may still have a chance to recover her wolf.