Juliet POV
Bryce's wheelchair tipped, and he hit the freezing marble floor with a sickening thud. His body violently convulsed, a guttural, agonizing sound tearing from his throat as his half-dead Inner Wolf turned on him.
I didn't think. My past life's trauma surgeon instincts completely overrode the liquid fire of the Silver still burning in my back. I lunged forward, shoving my already bloodied fingers directly into Bryce's mouth, prying his jaw open.
He clamped down hard. The bone-crushing pressure sent a fresh wave of agony up my arm, blood welling around his teeth, but I held firm, keeping him from biting off his own tongue.
"Bryce!" Augusta shrieked, abandoning all her Luna Queen composure. She dropped to her knees, her hands grabbing his violently thrashing legs, trying to use her high-ranking strength to pin them straight.
"Stop!" I barked, my voice echoing with absolute, unquestionable authority. "Let him thrash! If you force his legs straight while his muscles are spasming, you'll snap his femurs!"
Augusta froze, her eyes wide with shock at being commanded by a wolfless Omega. Before she could retaliate, the heavy doors burst open. Jobe, the head Pack Doctor, rushed in with his medical kit. Within moments, he administered a heavy sedative. Bryce's spasms slowed, and the royal guards quickly carried his limp body into the adjoining Inner Chamber.
I stayed on my knees, pulling my mangled fingers to my chest. The grand Audience Chamber fell into a suffocating silence.
"Where does a wolfless Omega learn to handle a frenzied Inner Wolf?"
The low, rumbling voice vibrated through the marble floor. Ezekiel leaned forward, the shadows retreating from his chiseled, battle-hardened face. His intoxicating scent—violent thunderstorms and dark cedar—washed over me. Deep inside, my dormant White Wolf trembled, an instinctual reaction to an apex predator.
I lowered my head, carefully masking my eyes. "When you are beaten as often as I am, Your Majesty, you learn basic first aid just to survive."
Ezekiel didn't say a word. He just stared at me. His abyssal black eyes seemed to strip away my flesh, dissecting my lies. He knew I was hiding something, and the dark amusement in his gaze meant he found his new prey fascinating.
Augusta paced back to her throne, her chest heaving. "Jobe," she commanded as the doctor stepped out of the Inner Chamber. "Verify her claim. Now."
Jobe approached me, his face tight with disdain. He grabbed my wrist, his Pack Doctor senses flaring as he checked my pulse. I didn't flinch, calmly detailing how the Silver toxicity had ravaged my internal organs and stopped my cycles years ago.
Jobe released my wrist and turned to the Queen. His expression was grim. "It is true, Your Majesty. The Silver has completely destroyed her womb. She is barren. She will never bear a strong pup."
Augusta's eyes darkened, but the lethal killing intent was no longer aimed at me. It was aimed squarely at the Palmer Pack. Harold had tried to trick the royals with a defective vessel.
Jobe picked up his kit, turning back toward the Inner Chamber.
I had to make my move. Surviving wasn't enough; I needed to become indispensable to this Pack if I wanted their protection.
"Wait," I called out. Jobe paused, glaring over his shoulder. "His Inner Wolf's frenzy will relapse. If you use gold needles to puncture and bleed the specific acupoints on his ear, it will soothe the nerve pathways and calm the beast."
Jobe's face turned a mottled purple. The sheer insult of a wolfless Omega instructing the head of the Royal Hospital was too much for his pride. "You dare instruct me?" he snarled, his aura flaring. "You ignorant, wolfless trash! You want to stab a Royal Prince with metal?"
I instantly dropped my operative facade. I shrank back, my shoulders trembling, and let a perfect sheen of terrified tears fill my eyes. "I-I'm sorry," I stuttered, my voice breaking flawlessly. "I just read it in an old book... I didn't want the Prince to be in pain anymore."
My pathetic display worked perfectly. Augusta's desperate maternal instincts flared. She snapped her gaze to Jobe. "Is it possible? Answer me, Jobe!"
Jobe’s face contorted, his Pack Doctor aura flaring with the bitter scent of antiseptic herbs. "Your Majesty, this is absolute madness," he spat, glaring at me as if I were a diseased rat. "She is a wolfless Omega who cannot even sense an Inner Wolf! Puncturing the Prince’s flesh with unidentified metal could sever his wolf’s remaining ties to his body. It will kill him!"
Augusta’s eyes darted between us, her expression conflicted before her maternal paranoia won. "Enough. The risk is too great." She turned her venomous gaze back to me, clearly needing an immediate target for her frustration and fear. "You," she snapped. "You will not touch my son with your peasant superstitions. Your very presence is a curse upon this palace." Her Luna aura crushed down on me again, heavier with her renewed hatred.
I kept my head bowed, playing the frightened victim perfectly.
The prince's condition would worsen, and when it did, my knowledge would be the only currency that could buy my life. From the corner of my eye, I caught movement in the shadows. Ezekiel was watching me. And on his lips was a dark, knowing smirk.
