Chapter 3

Hermina Montgomery POV:

I stepped into the pitch-black bedchamber, and the heavy oak door swung shut behind me with a dull thud.

No candles burned in the room. A flash of white lightning outside the window lit up a tall, solitary figure by the bed. The fireplace was cold, and chaotic spiritual waves from a manic inner wolf pricked at my skin.

Sitting in a wide carved redwood wheelchair was a broad-shouldered man with cropped black hair. Andrae Carlisle, the feared Pack Alpha of this territory, slowly turned a wolf-head signet ring on his right middle finger. His dark-gold eyes rested on me without a trace of warmth.

"Get out," he rasped, his voice grinding from deep within his chest with absolute authority.

I did not retreat. Instead, I walked five paces forward against his suffocating pressure, my boot heels clicking on the stone floor.

The veins on the backs of Andrae's hands bulged against the armrests.

"A wolfless discard sent by the Mercers to die? The old man is getting more ridiculous by the day."

I pulled back my hood, exposing my-streaked, ugly face to the dim light.

"Since I came, I have no intention of leaving empty-handed."

Andrae let out a cruel laugh.

"What, you think that hideous face can buy you the glory of a Luna from a cripple?"

"Your legs weren't ruined by severed meridians," I interrupted, my tone flat. "You have chronic, freezing melted-silver poison flowing through your veins."

Andrae's fingers froze on his signet ring. The air in the room turned to ice.

He stared at me, his dark-gold pupils contracting as the giant black wolf dormant inside him let out a low, guarded growl. Every doctor in the kingdom believed his wolf bones had died from battle wounds; no outsider could possibly know about the melted silver unless they were the poisoner.

"Who sent you?" he leaned forward, his massive frame radiating lethal danger.

Unfazed, I took two more steps and stood directly in front of his wheelchair, looking down at him.

"I am the one who can save your life." I flipped my right hand, revealing three long silver needles gleaming between my fingers.

At the sight of silver—the ultimate bane of his kind—Andrae moved with blinding speed. His large, calloused hand shot out and clamped around my throat like an iron vise.

His fingers tightened with terrifying strength, pulling me down until our breaths tangled. Through the bitter stink-vine ash on my skin, a faint, crisp scent brushed past his nose. For a split second, the berserk aura tearing at the room paused, and my own heart skipped a erratic beat against my ribs.

My throat ached under his grip, yet I did not blink. Lowering my wrist, I pressed the sharp tip of a silver needle directly against the pulsing artery on his neck.

"I had three chances to pierce your fatal point before your hand touched me," I said evenly, meeting his murderous gaze. "I came to make a deal."

Andrae's dark-gold eyes searched my face, shock and fierce wildness clashing in their depths.

"What deal?" His grip did not loosen, though the killing intent shifted into dark scrutiny.

"I cure your legs, draw the silver poison from your marrow, and put you back on your throne," I said. "In exchange, I want full access to the Carlisle intelligence network to find the truth behind my grandmother's death."

Andrae scoffed, his chest vibrating.

"You think silver poison can be cured by some country girl's parlor tricks?"

"One needle won't kill you, and it will prove whether I am lying." I twisted my wrist, pricking the surface of his skin.

His gaze moved between my scarred cheeks and my calm eyes. After a long silence, he slowly released my throat and rested his arms back on the wheelchair.

"Play a single trick, and I will crush every bone in your body."

Rubbing my bruised neck, I sneered.

"You won't get the chance."

I dropped to one knee, lifted the hem of his black robe, and exposed his pale, lifeless legs. The instant my fingertips brushed his cold calf muscle, a sharp jolt of static electricity snapped through both our nerves. Andrae's breath hitched, and my fingers tingled.

Shaking off the strange sensation, I channeled warm energy into my fingertips and drove the first moonlight silver needle deep into the acupoint above his right knee.

A dark purple bruise immediately bloomed around the needle. Seconds later, a drop of foul-smelling black blood oozed from the pinhole.

Deep within his dead marrow, a sharp, burning pain exploded for the first time in three years. Andrae's pupils shrank, his fingers digging into the wooden armrests as he stared down at his own leg in disbelief.