Chapter 22

22 Chapter 22 Every Last Bitter

Drop

Faye’s POV

How was it possible for a werewolf to exist without any scent whatsoever? Even without my wolf, my omega blood should have carried some trace of fragrance. Perhaps my weakness had grown so profound that even this basic werewolf trait had abandoned me? The questions circled endlessly through my mind, but dwelling on them served no purpose now that I had returned to the mansion, counting down the moments until I could slip away to my father’s study.

Hardy had described the mission as “infiltrating,” and the word felt foreign on my tongue when I repeated it silently. He spoke of such things with casual

familiarity, as if dangerous operations were merely routine tasks. He warned me it would resemble

espionage, only far more perilous. That warning alone sent anxious tremors through my stomach. Yet what alternative did I possess?

“I originally crafted this quilt for Sally,” Luna Eileen announced, extending a luxurious, meticulously woven blanket toward me. “Though upon reflection, she will hardly require such heavy fabric in the southern territories p>

From the instant I crossed the mansion’s threshold, both she and Sally had maintained constant surveillance over my movements. Sally positioned the quilt along my bed’s perimeter, her tone carrying an artificial sweetness that rang hollow. “May it provide warmth during your time in the North, dear sister,” she cooed, carefully adjusting a corner as if genuinely concerned for my comfort.

I remained silent. My lips stayed sealed, hands folded demurely across my lap. Terror had seized my voice, not from their presence, but because darkness had already claimed the sky, signaling that the Raven Deon assault could commence at any moment, precisely as Hardy had predicted.

This meant my window for escaping this chamber and penetrating my father’s study was rapidly closing. The mere thought parched my throat completely.

Yet Luna Eileen and Sally had circled me like vultures masquerading as mourning doves since my arrival. Their manufactured compassion felt deliberately empty, as though they anticipated my inevitable mistake. Rather than respond, I produced a delicate cough, fragile and pathetic enough to convince anyone of my continued convalescence.

Earlier, Allen had provided me with a substance designed to simulate grave illness. He assured me that even skilled physicians would fail to detect its artificial nature. The compound only altered my external appearance, draining color from my skin while leaving my actual strength untouched. My power remained completely intact.

Sally immediately reached for the delicate porcelain cup resting on the adjacent table, offering it with both hands in a display of tender care. “Please, consume this,” she urged softly. “It contains healing properties. Mother specifically instructed the servants to prepare it for your recovery p>

I accepted the tea and consumed it with one prolonged, measured swallow.

The liquid carried a harsh bitterness. Its consistency felt unnaturally thick. The flavor struck me as fundamentally wrong, yet disturbingly recognizable. They had been forcing this concoction upon me since their arrival, persistently claiming it would ease my injuries, settle my anxiety, and improve my breathing. I recognized its true nature from that initial taste.

Poison.

Nevertheless, I drank every drop.

Because toxic substances held no power over me.

Still, maintaining this charade remained essential.

“I believe Lord Hardy will return shortly,” I whispered, allowing genuine tremors to shake my voice. “And fear still grips me terribly p>

Complete fabrication, naturally. Hardy had already briefed me thoroughly on tonight’s expectations, carefully establishing the foundation for this elaborate performance. But I needed them to perceive me as nothing more than a terrorized girl, still broken, still helpless.

Hardy had once explained that this approach would simplify everything. That projecting weakness would ultimately serve my interests. Read complete version only at.net

“People dismiss what they perceive as harmless,” he had observed. “And the dismissed are invariably underestimated. That becomes your most powerful weapon p>

Now, lying motionless in this bed, surrounded by enemies who believed I teetered on death’s edge, I finally grasped his meaning completely.

Eileen’s expression melted into apparent sympathy as she grasped my hand. Her contact felt featherlight, almost nurturing. “Fear has no place in your heart regarding him,” she murmured soothingly. “I know the Lord intimately. He would never dare cause you harm p>

I ducked my head, allowing my silence to suggest agreement.

Then Sally pressed closer, her voice dropping to whisper with manufactured regret. “Please forgive my earlier words. I recognize now how foolish I was to speak in ways that could threaten our pack’s unity p>

she breathed. “I never intended blame to fall upon you. I simply wished I could assume your burden. I wished I could journey to the North in your place p>

The North. Indeed, our plan demanded immediate departure from this location. The attack had created delays, but Hardy insisted we would leave the moment I secured the map.

“Dearest sister,” I replied gently. “Apologies are

unnecessary. Mother spoke truthfully. I signed those documents through my own choice. I acted for our pack’s benefit p>

Another cough emerged, more authentic than my previous attempts. I pressed my palm against my chest, and Eileen immediately retrieved another small cup of tea.

“Sip it gradually,” she instructed, rubbing my back consolingly. “Your strength must return. You must heal completely before departing for the northern

territories p>

I accepted the cup without protest and drained it entirely.

Eileen smiled warmly while adjusting the quilt across my legs. “Rest deeply now. I feel grateful that Lord Hardy finally permitted your recovery here rather than in that wretched tent. You require this comfort. The northern journey will test your endurance severely, and we want you healthy enough for travel p>

I nodded feebly, allowing my frame to sink deeper into the bedding.

She handed me the quilt and added with gentle warmth, “Utilize this. It will maintain your body temperature p>

“My gratitude,” I whispered.

Sally stood and regarded me with tender concern. “We shall visit again before your departure p>

I offered them a weak smile that failed to illuminate my eyes. “That would bring me joy p>

With that dismissal, they exited the chamber, Eileen’s hand steering Sally through the doorway while her voice murmured something too distant to decipher. The instant the door sealed behind them, my pretended warmth evaporated completely.

I straightened slowly, letting the blanket cascade from my shoulders. My attention shifted to the small porcelain teapot on the table. Completely empty. Every single drop had been consumed.

They refused to depart until I finished everything.

Naturally they lingered. A bitter smile crossed my lips.

That had been their visit’s true purpose from the

beginning.

Not comfort. Not farewells. Not gifts or reconciliation. They remained to ensure I consumed the poison.

And I had obliged them.

Every last drop.

“They seem determined to end my life,” I murmured, placing my hand over my heart. Their murderous intent remained incomprehensible to me. I supposed I would abandon this place without ever understanding

their motivations.

I glanced outside precisely as warning drums thundered through the air. The Raven Deons had arrived.

And I needed to act immediately.

Morh Lucia

Lucia Morh is a passionate storyteller who brings emotions to life through her words. When she’s not writing, she finds peace nurturing her garden.