Claimed By The Ruthless Lycan Warlord

The ice storm reached a crescendo. Then, a wet, choking sound.

Hudson collapsed forward, coughing up a mouthful of black blood. The purple veins hadn't receded; they had spread to his face.

Areli's stomach dropped. The cold was constricting his blood vessels, pushing the neurotoxin straight into his brain faster.

Hudson's head snapped up. The last vestige of sanity in his eyes vanished. He was gone. Only the beast remained.

And the beast wanted her.

He launched himself at her. He moved so fast he was a blur.

Curt roared, throwing himself between them. "Warlord, NO!"

Hudson backhanded him. The force sent Curt flying backward, crashing through two trees.

Areli turned to run. Her legs felt like lead.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder. Doyle. His eyes were cold and hard.

"You can't do this!" Areli screamed, struggling. "This is a violation of my body!"

"We have no other female!" Doyle snapped. "You said yourself—any female's fluid might work. Level doesn't matter now. His ice has slowed the venom, but he still only has minutes. You're his only chance!"

Areli's eyes widened. She had specified high-level, but in truth, she didn't know the exact requirements. Doyle was gambling with her body as the wager.

"For the Warlord," Doyle said flatly.

He pulled a thick leather pouch from his belt, crushing the dried Heat-Bloom petals inside to release their potent, cloying dust. The herb stunned the senses—it would knock her out and, upon waking, ignite a feverish fire in her blood to override all resistance. He clamped it firmly over her nose and mouth. Areli thrashed wildly, her nails clawing at his thick arms, but her injured ribs betrayed her. The sickly-sweet aroma flooded her lungs.

Darkness swallowed her vision. Her last conscious thought was a furious, terrified curse.

"Get him to the river!" Doyle barked. "The cold might break through the madness!"

Brown and Curt moved as one. They baited Hudson, dodging his wild swings and leading the rampaging Warlord toward the sound of rushing water. Doyle hoisted Areli's limp body over his shoulder and followed. They burst through the treeline to a rocky riverbank. Brown and Curt drove Hudson into the freezing current, then Doyle tossed Areli in after him—the shock of the water their last hope to snap the beast back to reason.

When Areli woke up, she was drowning.

Freezing water closed over her head. She kicked frantically, breaking the surface. She was in a river, the current pulling at her clothes.

She was weak. Her limbs felt like jelly. And there was a fire burning in her gut that had nothing to do with the cold water.

Doyle. That bastard had used Heat-Bloom on her—a paralytic that left a searing heat in its wake. She remembered the cloying dust.

She looked around, her teeth chattering violently. Hudson stood a few feet away, the water up to his waist. He was staring at her, his chest heaving.

The red in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a flicker of torment. He was fighting it.

"If you touch me now," Areli said, her voice shaking with cold and rage, "it's rape!"

The word hit him like a physical blow. He clenched his fists, his claws extending, digging into his palms. Blood dripped into the water.

"I won't force you," he rasped, his voice raw and broken. "But if you help me... I swear on my life, I will take absolute responsibility."

The promise hung in the freezing air. In this brutal world, an oath like that was sacred.

But Areli didn't care about oaths. She cared about survival. And the drug Doyle had given her was burning through her veins, melting her resistance.

She had a choice. Die of exposure and drug overdose, or save herself by saving him.

She closed her eyes. The fire inside her roared.