Mates of a Werewolf Hunter

Chapter 9 Lethal Alloys of Wolfsbane

Lucifer Argent's P.O.V.

Her scream pierced the air, sharp and agonizing, as the bullet struck its mark, burrowing into her waist. Panic seized me as I rushed to her, gathering her limp body into my arms. The reality of the situation crashed down on me—the bullet was laced with Aconite, wolfsbane, a deadly toxin for werewolves. Time was slipping away; she had at most, two days.

My father's cold voice sliced through the chaos, "Let her suffer and die."

Ignoring him, I bolted out of the room, driven by a singular focus: saving her. I raced through the labyrinth of corridors, bypassing security measures that only I knew, until I reached the sanctuary of my room—a place sealed off from unwanted intrusion.

Gently, I laid her on my bed, the sight of her blood-soaked clothes and pale skin sending a jolt of fear through me. The blood was everywhere—on her, on me, on the bed. Without a moment to lose, I scooped her up again and headed to the bathroom, determined to clean her wounds.

I placed her in the tub, positioning myself behind her. As I tried to remove her blood-drenched shirt, she resisted, shaking her head. The vulnerability in her eyes tore at me, but there was no time for modesty.

" Let me help you. I've seen you naked before, haven't I?" I reasoned; my voice soft but urgent.

She hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. I carefully lifted her shirt and slid off her shorts. She instinctively covered herself, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the absurdity of it all.

I turned on the shower, letting the water cascade down her back, washing away the blood. Gently, I scrubbed her shoulders, her back, down to her hips, each movement calculated, each second precious.

"I can do this part," she murmured, motioning toward her front.

I nodded and stepped back, respecting her need for privacy. As she washed herself, her hands trembled, the pain etched across her face. I hurriedly fetched a towel, a clean shirt, and a fresh pair of boxers from my closet, along with bandages from the drawer.

Setting everything on the tiles beside the tub, I knelt beside her, trying to inspect the wound. She flinched, her body recoiling from my touch.

"Val, Please, let me." I pleaded, my voice betraying the desperation I felt.

After a long pause, she sighed, nodding her consent. I gently wiped the wound with a hot towel, but the bleeding wouldn't stop. The sight of her blood, the relentless flow, made my stomach twist in knots. I wrapped the bandage around her waist, securing it as best as I could, before dressing her in the clean clothes.

Lifting her once more, I carried her back to the bed. She turned away from me, curling into herself, her sobs filling the room. The sound shattered something inside me. Unable to bear it, I slid into bed beside her, wrapping my arms around her trembling form, whispering soothing words in her ear.

"Please don't cry." I begged, my voice cracking with emotion.

"It hurts. I'm going to die," she sobbed, her words laced with despair.

"Don't say that!" I growled, forcing her to look at me. Her eyes, so full of pain and resignation, made my chest ache.

"But I am, aren't I? Besides, you want that too. You said so yourself. At least you'll get your wish." she whispered, her gaze slipping away from mine.

"Please, I'm sorry. I was angry, I—I wasn't thinking," I stammered, the guilt weighing heavily on me.

Sighing, I reflected on the cruel words I had thrown at her in my rage. The truth was, I didn't want her dead. As I held her, the realization that my father hadn't gone for a fatal shot brought a sliver of relief. I closed my eyes, exhaustion pulling me into a restless sleep, still clutching her in my arms.

When I woke, the sight of her ashen skin jolted me into panic. "Valentine?" I called, but she didn't respond.

"Valentine." I repeated, shaking her gently. Still nothing.

"Valentine!" I shouted, the terror rising in my chest.

"Oh my God, please wake up." I pleaded, my voice trembling. Her pulse was weak, her breathing shallow. I was losing her.

"Val, please, don't leave me." I whispered, the tears welling up in my eyes. The wolfsbane was working faster than I had anticipated, and the countdown to her death seemed to be accelerating.

Desperation clawed at me. What could I do? Watching her die slowly was unbearable, and I knew I had to act. The only option, however distasteful, was to seek help from a pack physician—a werewolf healer. The irony of it all wasn't lost on me—a werewolf hunter turning to werewolves for help.

But how would I get her out of here? My father's men were loyal to him, but they also answered to me. It wasn't much, but it was a chance.

Taking a deep breath, I began to formulate a plan. I couldn't afford any mistakes. Time was running out, and for the first time, I was willing to risk everything to save her.