Elena POV:
The world came back in a haze of agony. I was hanging.
Suspended by thick silver chains from the Pack House terrace. Below, the pack square was bustling. My people walked by, looking away in pity or fear.
"Look at her," a voice sneered. "The barren Luna."
Silver burns a werewolf like a branding iron. I could smell my own cooked flesh.
I hung there for hours. Finally, just before dawn, the chains were released. I dropped to the stone floor.
I crawled on my belly back into the house.
I heard laughter. Jackson was building a block tower with Joey. Candida was reading a magazine.
"Good job, son!" Jackson cheered.
I dragged myself up the stairs. Jackson appeared in the doorway ten minutes later.
"Oh, you're back," he said, emotionless. "The Rogues said they taught you a lesson about respect."
"They hung me... from the terrace," I whispered, showing my wrists.
"Don't be dramatic," Jackson scoffed. "I didn't authorize chains. I was... foggy. But maybe you needed a timeout."
He tossed a small orange bottle onto the bed. "Painkillers. Take them. We have a banquet tomorrow."
He left.
I looked at the bottle. My body was screaming. I needed relief.
I swallowed two pills.
Fire exploded in my stomach. Not the dull ache of medicine. Corrosive, molten lead.
"Argh!" I curled into a ball.
Liquid Silver.
Someone had hollowed the capsules and filled them with high-concentration poison.
I convulsed, foam gathering at my mouth.
Jackson rushed in. He smelled it. The metallic tang of silver poisoning.
"Elena?"
His hand reached out. His pupils dilated. His Inner Wolf was slamming against the barrier of his mind.
But then, he froze. He looked at the bottle.
"You... you tried to kill yourself?" he accused, voice shaking.
"No..." I gagged. "Joey... swapped..."
Jackson grabbed the bottle. "Joey!"
The boy ran in.
"Did you touch these?"
Joey looked at me, dying on the bed, and smiled. A predator's smile.
"I just wanted to help her sleep, Daddy."
