Page 14 of Destined to the Lycan
“Hmmm,” I responded in a non-committal fashion. “And what is the antidote you seek in the mountains?”
My Twin Flame shifted uneasily in her seat. She absentmindedly reached for the medallion of her necklace. I didn’t know the tear-shaped, amber-colored stone in it, but watching her dainty fingers fiddle with it hypnotized me.
“I must receive two different poisons to counter the one currently killing me. The first is a bite from the Cursed Demon Wolf’s snake tail to destroy the poison in my veins. And once it’s done, I need him to bite me with his fangs. His saliva will neutralize his venom. And then I’ll be cured.”
Despite Misty’s warning, I gaped at Amara, gob smacked. This was not only worse than what I expected, it was beyond insane.
“I know how crazy it sounds,” Amara added when I just continued to stare at her as if she’d lost her mind—which I wasstarting to believe might be the case. “But the Weaver taught me a summoning ritual that will temporarily bind Ranael as my protector. During that short window, he won’t be able to do anything that would harm me.”
“Injecting you with his snake’s venomisgoing to harm you!” I countered in a self-evident manner.
She gave me an indulgent smile and replied in a reasonable tone. “Technically, that’s true for anyone else. But in my case, it will actually do me good as it will eliminate the poison harming me.”
“Fine,” I conceded with reluctance. “Demon wolves are indeed protectors. But Ranael is rabid. He cannot be expected to respond normally to a protection summons.”
Without missing a beat, Amara relayed to me everything the Weaver told her on that front. By the time she stopped, I felt beyond torn as to how I should respond. This entire plan screamed of pure madness. Like my peers, my instinctive reaction was to reject her request to assist her in this endeavor. It genuinely struck me as murder-suicide. However, she wasn’t just some random potential client. Amara was my Twin Flame. For that alone, I had a duty to stand by her, come Hell or high water.
As much as I didn’t believe this mission had the slightest hope of success, I couldn’t dismiss the fact that the Weaver set her on this path. Cliona Noxnevergot involved unless she truly believed the task could be achieved. She also only ever helped if there was something in it for her, something unique that she fiercely coveted. Shewantedmy woman to succeed.
And this can save Amara’s life…
I ran nervous fingers through my hair as I continued to stare at her, deeply divided. And yet, something on my face must have given away the fact that my heart had already caved even if my brain continued to grapple to come to terms with the inevitable.The timid smile that settled on her lips, and the hopeful glimmer that lit up her beautiful eyes gave it away.
“I went to the Weaver four times, but her gates never opened for me,” I mused aloud with a hint of self-derision.
Amara looked at me with a curiosity laced with compassion. “May I ask why you went to her?” she asked in a soft voice.
I gave her an assessing look. “You have likely heard that I have certain… issues?”
To my relief, she didn’t play dumb or seem uncomfortable about it. She merely nodded, her expression still welcoming and attentive.
“Some people say you’re cursed, but Misty says you’re sick.”
It was my turn to nod. “Honestly, I think it’s a bit of both. Thirty-three years ago, my parents went hunting but ran into Ranael. That never should have happened as the demon wolf was lurking way outside of his usual roaming area. He attacked them, and although my parents both managed to escape, my father was badly scratched. They conceived me in the couple of days that followed the attack. And then my father’s health suddenly started declining.”
“Oh no,” Amara whispered with compassion.
“The first three days after the attack, he only thought that he was feeling unwell due to being bruised and battered. But on the fourth day, he declined at an exponential rate. Death claimed him on the twelfth day.”
“Your poor mother must have been devastated.”
“By all accounts, she was crushed. She had not been scratched, but her own health started declining in the weeks that followed. People initially assumed that it was depression and juggling a difficult pregnancy at the same time. But then, by the fifth month, they could smell Ranael on her—or rather around her womb.”
“Ranael’s venom had also infected your father’s seed!” Amara whispered in horrified understanding.
I nodded, my teeth clenched with the old anger that always resurfaced every time I thought of how that single dreadful encounter shattered our lives.
“They sought the help of every healer and shaman possible, but to no avail. My mother died at the beginning of the eighth month of her pregnancy. They had to cut me out of her body. Lycan usually come out of the womb in our human form. I came out in my wolf form, reeking of Ranael. In a nearly unanimous decision, the pack decided to cast me out and left me in the woods to either die of exposure or be eaten.”
“WHAT?! But you were an innocent child!” Amara exclaimed, outraged.
“I was,” I replied in a conciliatory tone. “But I understand their fear. I was a danger that would likely bring death and destruction to the pack. To many, I was an abomination, the unholy offspring of the Cursed Wolf.”
Amara shook her head, clearly disgusted. “Yet, despite their cruelty, you survived,” she added with awe.
That did something funny to me. People usually viewed my survival as further proof that I was some kind of unnatural creature that shouldn’t exist. They believed I enjoyed the protection of some unmentionable entity intent on unleashing me onto the world at the right time.
“Indeed, against all odds. A wildcat took me in. I never understood why she did it. After all, it’s not like she couldn’t smell Ranael on me, too. And yet she raised me alongside her cubs as if I was her own,” I said, the old affection resurfacing for the wild beast who had shown me more compassion than my own people.
