Chapter 2

Clio Shepard POV:

"I can cure your master's poison," I said rapidly, ignoring the gun and staring straight into the dark cabin. "Let me in, or he will be dead in a week."

Demian sneered, his finger tightening on the trigger. "You are just a crazy wolfless liar. Die."

"Wait," a gravelly voice commanded from the shadows. "Let her up."

As the heavy door swung wide, a suffocating wave of cedarwood and fresh blood poured out of the cabin, making the White Wolf blood in my veins hum with a sudden, violent tremor.

Deacon Logan sat in the shadows of the plush leather seat with his long legs crossed. His deep blue eyes were currently bleeding into a dangerous, glowing crimson, locked straight onto my face.

I climbed into the spacious backseat holding Kain. My eyes immediately swept over the man sitting in the dark. He possessed a breathtakingly gorgeous face, with sharp, aristocratic features and an aura of absolute dominance. I knew exactly who he was—Deacon Logan, the Alpha of the Apex Pack and the most feared ruler in the werewolf world. Rumor had it that he was afflicted with a deadly, incurable poison, and knowing his days were numbered, he was already looking for a woman to bear his heir. No doctor in the country could save him, but as the Supreme Arbiter of the Immortal Syndicate, I had absolute certainty I could pull him back from the gates of hell.

Deacon's gaze swept over Kain in my arms before rising to my scarred face. Suddenly, he leaned forward, his massive frame casting a suffocating shadow that caged me against the door.

His high nose stopped a mere inch from the side of my neck. He inhaled deeply, his crimson-ringed eyes narrowing with a mix of fierce confusion and raw hunger.

"Your scent is very familiar," he rasped, his hot breath brushing my collarbone.

I raised an eyebrow, maintaining a blank face. "Is this how you usually hit on girls? Unfortunately, I only smell like cheap disinfectant from the pack clinic."

Before he could reply, a muffled groan tore from Deacon's throat. Thick black veins bulged like twisting vines up his neck. The mutated toxin in his bloodstream was erupting.

"Alpha, your Lycan blood is failing to suppress the neurotoxin!" Demian shouted from the front seat in panic. "We have to get back to the base for an inhibitor shot right now!"

I set Kain down on the far side of the seat and pulled a roll of worn linen from my coat, revealing a row of custom-forged silver needles gleaming in the dim cabin light.

Silver was the sole fatal weakness of all werewolf kind. Seeing the metal in my hand, Demian let out a furious snarl and drew his gun again.

"Don't touch him! I will kill you!" Demian roared.

But as I leaned in, Deacon's ragged breathing hitched. Surprisingly, the agonizing pain twisting his features seemed to ease a fraction just from my proximity.

"Demian, stand down," Deacon ground out through clenched teeth. "Let her try."

I reached out and ripped open the collar of Deacon's bespoke black shirt, exposing the hard, corded muscle of his chest. Without hesitation, I drove the first silver needle straight into the acupoint above his heart.

A low, animalistic growl rumbled in Deacon's chest. A faint sizzling sound rose where the metal met his skin, accompanied by the smell of scorched meat, yet his hands gripped the leather armrests without moving an inch.

My fingers moved in a blur, sinking six more needles into the major meridians across his torso to sever the neurotoxin's path to his cardiac arteries.

As the last needle settled, the black veins crawling up his throat receded. His ragged, scorching breaths slowed into a steady rhythm.

Up front, Demian stared with his mouth slightly open. No pack doctor in the country had ever dared use lethal silver to treat a Lycan, let alone halt a full-blown toxic backlash in under a minute.

The crimson bleed in Deacon's eyes faded back into a deep, icy blue. He looked down at the needles quivering in his chest, then raised his gaze to mine, his expression dark and calculating.

"Rumors say the eldest daughter of the Silvercrest Pack is a useless piece of trash," he said, his thumb rubbing the tungsten ring. "It seems the rumors are dead wrong."

"Rumors also say the ruler of the Apex Pack is a rabid lunatic who slaughters anyone who touches him," I shot back while pulling the needles free and wiping them with alcohol pads. "Looks like we're both full of surprises."

"What if you fail to cure my poison?" he asked, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

I smiled effortlessly. "Aren't you desperately looking for a wife to bear your heir? I happen to have a ready-made son. If you die, you won't have to worry about leaving no legacy behind."

Deacon let out a low, vibrating laugh, clearly amused by my audacity. "You certainly have a sharp tongue, little wolf."

"In exchange," I continued, my voice dropping to a frost, "I want the absolute protection of the Apex Pack. No matter how much blood I spill inside Silvercrest tonight, you back me up."

Suddenly, he leaned in again. His rough, warm thumb brushed across my scarred cheek, tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear.

"Deal," he murmured, a trace of savage amusement in his tone. "But hear my warning, Clio Shepard. If you play me false, I will snap your neck with my own hands."

I slapped his hand away from my face. "Likewise."

Outside, heavy boots pounded on the pavement as Pierce and his panting guards finally caught up to the parked vehicle.

Blinded by rage and failing to recognize Deacon's private plates, Pierce slammed his palm against the armored hood.

"Whoever is inside this car, listen up!" Pierce barked. "Hand over that runaway bitch and her bastard right now!"

Hearing Pierce bark outside, I raised a brow and looked at Deacon. "Someone is bullying your future wife. What are you going to do about it?"

Deacon's eyes darkened with possessive amusement. He reached out, wrapping a strong arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his hard chest. He glanced toward the front seat, a lethal chill in his voice.

"Demian," Deacon said softly. "Go teach my foolish nephew some manners."

With that, he pressed the button to roll down the window.