After His Luna Poisoned My Wolf, I Became the Lycan Prince’s Mate

The cabin smelled like pine and old wood. I noticed that first. Not because it was pleasant, but because it was the only thing my senses could still register. Everything else felt muffled, like I was underwater.

Elio set my bag down near the door. The cabin was small. One main room with a kitchenette, a narrow hallway leading to what I assumed was a bedroom. A worn couch sat against the far wall. The floor was bare wood, clean but scuffed.

"You can take the bedroom," he said. His voice was quiet. He didn't look at me when he spoke.

I shook my head. "I'll take the couch."

"Layla—"

"I'll take the couch."

He didn't argue. He just nodded and disappeared down the hallway. I heard a door close. Then silence.

I sat on the couch and pulled his jacket tighter around my shoulders. It still smelled like him — rain and something I couldn't name. The cold mark on my neck throbbed. I pressed my fingers against it. The skin was numb, like frostbite that wouldn't heal.

I didn't cry. I couldn't. The emptiness inside me was too vast for tears.

I lay down on the couch and closed my eyes. Sleep didn't come. I listened to the wind outside and the faint creak of the cabin settling. Through the thin wall, I heard footsteps. Elio was pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. The rhythm was steady, relentless. I wondered if he was okay. Then I stopped wondering. I didn't have the energy.

The next morning, there were two cups of coffee on the counter.

I stared at them for a long time before I understood. One was for me. Elio was already outside, chopping wood near the tree line. I could see him through the window. His movements were precise, controlled. He didn't look up.

I picked up the second cup. It was still warm. I drank it standing at the counter, watching him through the glass.

The days blurred together. Elio made coffee every morning. Two cups. He never asked me to drink it. He just left it there. I ate when I remembered to. He cooked simple things — eggs, toast, soup from a can. He placed the food on the counter and went outside. I ate alone.

At night, the pacing continued. I lay on the couch and listened to his footsteps through the wall. Sometimes I heard him stop. The silence would stretch for minutes. Then the pacing would start again.

I didn't ask him why. I didn't ask him anything.

On the fourth day, I went back to the pack house.

I needed my journal. It was the only thing I'd left behind that mattered. I told myself I'd be quick. In and out. No one would even notice.

The pack house was quieter than I remembered. Most of the wolves were out on patrol or training. I slipped in through the side entrance and headed for the storage room where I'd kept my things.

I found the journal buried under a stack of supply logs. I tucked it under my arm and turned to leave.

"Layla."

I froze.

Zoe was standing in the doorway. Her posture was perfect. Her smile was warm. She looked like she'd been waiting for me.

"I was hoping I'd see you," she said. Her voice was light, friendly. "I wanted to check in. See how you're doing."

I didn't answer. I just held the journal tighter.

"You must be exhausted," she continued. "After everything. Why don't you come to the kitchen? I'll make you some tea."

I should have said no. I should have walked past her and left. But I was tired. So tired. And the offer sounded kind.

"Okay," I said.

The kitchen was empty. Zoe moved around the space with easy confidence, pulling out a kettle, selecting a tea bag from the cupboard. She hummed softly while she worked.

"Chamomile," she said, setting a cup in front of me. "It'll help you relax."

I wrapped my hands around the cup. The warmth felt good. I lifted it to my lips and drank.

The pain hit thirty seconds later.

It started in my chest — a searing, crushing pressure that felt like my ribs were collapsing inward. I gasped. The cup slipped from my hands and shattered on the floor. I tried to stand. My legs gave out. I hit the ground hard, my hands splayed on the cold tile.

"Zoe—" I choked out.

She was still standing by the counter. Her expression hadn't changed. She looked down at me with that same warm smile.

"You should be more careful," she said softly. "You never know what you're drinking."

I couldn't breathe. The pain spread through my chest, down my arms, into my stomach. I curled onto my side, gasping. My vision blurred.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Voices. Someone laughed. The footsteps passed by the kitchen door without slowing.

No one looked in.

No one helped.

I don't know how long I lay there. Long enough for the pain to settle into a dull, throbbing ache. Long enough for my hands to stop shaking. Long enough to understand that no one was coming.

Then the door slammed open.

Elio.

He crossed the kitchen in three strides, dropped to his knees beside me, and pulled me into his arms. His hands were steady. His voice was not.

"What did you give her?" he said. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Zoe.

She blinked. "I don't know what you—"

"What did you give her?"

His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. The air in the room shifted. Something in his tone made Zoe take a step back.

"Just tea," she said quickly. "I don't know why she—"

Elio's eyes flashed gold. Just for a second. Then it was gone.

He lifted me off the floor like I weighed nothing. He carried me out of the kitchen, down the hallway, past the wolves who finally stopped to stare. He didn't say a word to any of them.

When we reached the cabin, he set me down on the couch and knelt in front of me. His hands hovered near my face, like he wanted to touch me but wasn't sure he was allowed.

"Wolfsbane," he said quietly. "She laced the tea with wolfsbane."

I stared at him. The word didn't make sense at first. Then it did.

Wolfsbane. The reason my wolf never woke. The reason I stayed Omega all these years.

Not because I was broken.

Because someone broke me.

Elio's jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists. For the first time since I'd known him, he looked like he wanted to hurt someone.

"I'm sorry," he said. His voice was rough. "I should have seen it sooner."

I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing.

That night, the pacing through the wall was louder. Faster. I lay on the couch and listened to it until I finally fell asleep.