Lucian had been startled awake after not being able to bear the burning fire, which seemed to want to devour him alive, searing his skin and lungs with every breath.
The sensation was so vivid, so merciless, that for a moment he had believed he truly was being consumed. A suffocating heat clawed at his chest, igniting a raw ache inside him that he couldn't place, something ancient, something buried, something that refused to be ignored.
Then, just as suddenly, his body jerked, and he had found himself back in the familiar confines of his chambers.
The heavy curtains were drawn, muting the light, but the storm in his chest didn't settle. His sharp eyes immediately fell on Rosaline sitting close by, her delicate features framed with worry.
Yet instead of comfort, a surge of anger welled up in him, anger he didn't fully understand, but it was there, simmering and restless.
And then the echo of the voice he had heard in the flames returned to him, sharp and cold as steel.
Those words dug into his mind like claws. They unsettled him, unraveling every certainty he had held moments ago. Was it telling him not to chase Rosaline… or was it warning him against Elara?
He remembered, the vision had come to him right after he had marked Elara. Did that mean she was the danger, the mistake? Or was the vision trying to show him the truth, that what he felt when his mark claimed her wasn't a delusion but reality?
Because what he had experienced then… that bone-deep pull, that electric certainty, was exactly what the mate bond was said to be. And yet…
His thoughts tangled until they felt like chains around his skull, squeezing. His gaze flickered back to Rosaline, who suddenly reached for him, her trembling hands clutching his arm as tears rolled endlessly down her face.
"Lucian… are you alright?!" she cried, her voice breaking as though her heart itself were being torn apart. "I found you unconscious with that wolfless girl and then I saw the mark on her neck. She… she was boasting that you had marked her!"
Her words, sharpened with hysteria, made his jaw tighten. Rosaline pressed on, her voice trembling with wounded disbelief.
"I—I didn't believe her at first," she whispered, her sobs catching in her throat, "because how could you? You are mine… my fated mate. So how could you mark her? But when I brought you back here, Elder Myrath said you were drugged." She choked, her nails digging into his sleeve as though her desperation could anchor him to her.
"Lucian, tell me, did you really mark that wolfless girl?! She tricked you, she forced herself onto you, didn't she? Please say she didn't succeed. Please say you are still mine… that you still belong to me!"
Her pleas rang through the chamber like arrows, each word striking his ears with the weight of accusation and demand.
Lucian's mind spiraled. Drugged. Elder Myrath had declared it, and Myrath's word was not to be questioned. If Myrath said so, then it must be truth.
Which meant, yes. The vision, the voice, the fire… it hadn't been guiding him to Elara. It had been warning him against her. She was the "other" he should not chase, the illusion while Rosaline was the reality, the one fate had chosen for him.
And yet…
The ghost of that moment with Elara still lingered, gnawing at him. That inexplicable warmth, that pull that had rooted into his very soul, it hadn't felt false. It hadn't felt like poison. Could drugs truly have manufactured something so consuming? Something so real?
Lucian's fists clenched against his thighs, his heart thundering with conflict. For the first time in his life, he couldn't tell if what he was feeling was truth… or a carefully woven lie.
It was still unbelievable to him, the thought clawing at his mind like a relentless shadow, but Lucian's gaze fell on Elder Myrath, who was standing solemnly beside his bed.
The older man's presence, calm yet commanding, grounded him for a moment. "Elder Myrath," Lucian asked, his voice steady but laced with disbelief, "you tell me… was I drugged?"
The memory of the pleasure he had felt while marking Elara surged in his chest, a heat that felt far too sacred, too intimate to be manufactured by any mortal means.
That sensation, the sharp, consuming connection was the kind only a true mate bond could bring.
The idea that it could have been induced by a drug alone seemed impossible, yet every shred of evidence pointed to the opposite.
"Ye, my Alpha…" Elder Myrath's voice was solemn, tinged with regret as he chose his words carefully. "You were drugged. It was a forbidden concoction, infused with complex spells only high-level sorcerers can cast."
"It forces the one who ingests it to believe that the person who administered it is their mate, inducing the same effects as a sacred mate bond would. It is cruel, potent, and unnatural."
Elder Myrath's words slammed into Lucian like a tidal wave, obliterating the last remnants of doubt. The realization was harsh and undeniable: that wolfless girl, had drugged him.
Every fleeting emotion, every surge of desire he had felt in her presence, it had been an illusion, a spellbound lie meant to deceive him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Rosaline trembling as her chest heaved with relief, and her words, sharp and needy, cut through his thoughts: "Lucian… you marked her… will you leave me now? Please… don't leave me… I will die without you."
Her voice was thick with desperation, her tear-streaked face crumpled as though the weight of her fears might crush her entirely.
Lucian's temples throbbed at the intensity of her plea, a sudden headache slicing through his mind as the memories of the drugged haze clashed with the certainty of her words.
He reached out instinctively, brushing a strand of hair from her tear-streaked face. "I will not leave you, Rosaline. You are my fated mate, and only you will be my Luna," he said, his voice firm, resonant with authority and reassurance. "Call a meeting in the council. I will decide that girl's punishment right now."
At his words, Rosaline's body sagged with relief, and she practically lunged forward to wrap her arms around him, hugging him with the fierce joy of one who had crossed a mountain of doubt.
A soft, victorious smile graced her lips. She had passed the first, greatest hurdle, Lucian's unwavering trust and now nothing could stop her. Nothing… except that mutt, who still lived.
*****
But that idn't happen in reality, Elara was not sentenced to death like she wanted but still the punishment given to her could result in her death .
After Lucian's judgment was declared and he had returned safely to his chambers, Rosaline wasted no time. She knew exactly where the guards had taken Elara, unconscious and vulnerable.
Her pulse quickened with a feral thrill, a satisfaction that came from knowing the power she wielded.
When she reached the dim, torch-lit corridor where Elara was held, her eyes swept over the guards encircling the limp form of the wolfless girl.
Her tone was sharp, laced with cold authority. "Take her to a secluded place," she ordered, her gaze cold and unyielding, "where nobody can come to help her when she screams in agony."
Rosaline didn't need to witness the girl's death herself. Even though the ultimate punishment of public humiliation could not be exacted, she knew the agony Elara would endure while bearing Lucian's mark tonight would be more than enough.
The thought sent a shiver of satisfaction down her spine. She allowed herself a small, wicked smile, content with the inevitability of the girl's suffering.
"We'll make sure of that, Luna," one of the guards said, a faint edge of anticipation in his voice as he gestured for his companions to lift the girl's body.
Rosaline's lips curved into a smirk, her eyes gleaming with dark delight as she watched them carry Elara away.
Now, the only task left was personal, ensuring that Lucian would experience the pleasures of the night in a way that would bind him entirely to her, making him obsessively hers, desperate for more of her.