Margaux’s Desperation (Alexa’s POV)
1894 Words
“You’re not eating.”
Zyrus’s voice cut through the quiet breakfast chamber like a blade—low, edged, not a question but an accusation wrapped in velvet concern.
I stared at the untouched plate of poached eggs, smoked salmon, and fresh berries arranged like someone had tried too hard to make normalcy look appealing. My stomach rolled at the sight. Not hunger. Something colder.
“I’m not hungry,” I said, pushing the plate an inch away.
His chair scraped back. In two strides he was beside me, one hand braced on the table, the other tilting my chin up with two fingers—gentle, but the kind of gentle that reminded me he could snap bone if he wanted.
“Try again,” he murmured. “You haven’t kept anything down since yesterday morning. Our son needs fuel. So do you.”
The word son still hit like sunlight through storm clouds—warm, blinding, terrifying. We hadn’t confirmed it yet, but the dreams kept showing me the same thing: tiny claws, silver fur tipped white, eyes the exact shade of Zyrus’s when he let the monster peek through.
I swallowed. “I can’t shake the feeling something’s wrong with the food.”
His thumb brushed my lower lip—once, deliberate.
“Then we get new food. Fresh tray. Watched from stove to table.”
Before I could answer, the heavy doors at the far end swung open.
Sable slipped inside—hood down, scar catching the morning light like a silver thread. She carried a small silver tray covered with a linen cloth. Behind her, two of her veiled-moon sisters flanked the entrance like silent sentinels.
Zyrus straightened—body shifting into that lethal readiness I’d come to recognize as someone’s about to bleed.
Sable didn’t flinch.
“Peace, Alpha,” she said. “We intercepted the kitchen runner ten minutes ago. The tea was laced. Wolfsbane extract—slow-acting, tasteless, designed to mimic morning sickness until the third day when the heart simply… stops.”
Ice flooded my veins.
Zyrus’s hand tightened on my chin—fractionally—then released.
He took the tray from Sable without looking away from me.
“Proof?”
Sable lifted the cloth.
A single porcelain cup—identical to the one still steaming beside my plate—sat beside a tiny glass vial of cloudy amber liquid.
She dipped a silver spoon into the tea, let three drops fall into the vial.
The liquid turned black instantly—then began to smoke.
“Undiluted wolfsbane would kill in hours,” Sable said quietly. “This dose was calibrated for weeks of gradual organ failure. Someone wanted it to look natural.”
Zyrus set the tray down so carefully the porcelain didn’t clink.
His voice, when it came, was terrifyingly calm.
“Who delivered the tray?”
“Greta,” Sable answered. “The same girl who’s served you both for three years. She swears she didn’t know. She’s currently in the lower cells crying her eyes out. We believe her.”
I felt the blood drain from my face.
“Margaux,” I whispered.
Zyrus’s gaze snapped to mine—fierce, possessive, murderous.
“She doesn’t touch you again,” he said. Each word carved from stone. “Not your food. Not your air. Not your shadow.”
He turned to Sable.
“Find her. Now.”
Sable inclined her head.
“Already done. She’s in the east wing solarium—claiming she needs ‘fresh air for the babe.’ Two of my sisters are outside the doors. She hasn’t tried to leave.”
Zyrus exhaled—slow, controlled.
Then he looked down at me—expression fracturing for one heartbeat into something raw and wrecked.
“Stay here,” he ordered.
I stood so fast the chair tipped.
“No.”
His jaw ticked.
“Alexa—”
“You don’t get to lock me away every time she breathes in my direction.” My voice cracked—anger, fear, exhaustion all tangling together. “She tried to kill our child. Again. I want to see her face when you end this.”
He stepped into my space—close enough that I had to tilt my head back.
“If she so much as looks at you wrong, I will tear her apart in front of you. Do you understand what that means?”
I held his gaze—steady.
“I understand I’m done hiding.”
Something fierce and proud flashed in his eyes.
He cupped my face—thumbs brushing my cheekbones.
“Then we do this together,” he said softly. “But you stay behind my right shoulder. No closer. Swear it.”
I nodded.
“Swear.”
He kissed me—hard, brief, claiming—then turned to Sable.
“Lead.”
The east wing solarium smelled of dying roses and desperation.
Margaux stood at the far window—back to us—gown the color of old blood, one hand resting on the gentle swell of her belly. Sunlight haloed her dark hair, turning her into something almost tragic.
Almost.
She didn’t turn when the doors opened.
“I wondered how long it would take you to come,” she said. Voice light. Too light. “The tea was a bit obvious, wasn’t it?”
Zyrus stopped five paces inside—body angled to keep me shielded.
“You’re done,” he said simply.
Margaux laughed—high, brittle, breaking on the edges.
“Done?” She finally turned.
Her eyes were red-rimmed—makeup smudged—beautiful in the way shattered glass is beautiful.
“You think you can just… dismiss me? After everything?” Her gaze slid past him—to me. “After I carried your heir while she played house?”
Zyrus’s growl rolled low—warning.
“That child isn’t mine.”
Margaux’s smile twisted.
“Blood doesn’t lie, darling. The healers confirmed it. Royal lineage. Strong. Everything you ever wanted in an heir.”
I felt Zyrus’s shoulders tense—muscle jumping under my palm where I’d placed it on his back.
“You’re delusional,” I said quietly.
Her eyes snapped to mine—venomous.
“And you’re dying. Slowly. Poetically. The perfect tragic Luna—gone before she ever truly rises.”
Zyrus took one step forward.
Margaux lifted her hand—small glass vial glinting between her fingers.
“Stay where you are,” she said sweetly. “Or I drop this. Wolfsbane concentrate—pure. One breath and the babe in her belly stops breathing before she does.”
The air turned arctic.
Zyrus froze.
I felt my claws extend—instinct—piercing the leather bracers.
“Margaux,” he said—dangerously soft. “Put it down.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks—fast, furious.
“You were supposed to love me,” she choked. “After everything I gave up—my pack, my name, my freedom—you were supposed to see me. Not her. Not some cursed white wolf who’ll burn everything you built.”
Zyrus’s voice cracked—just once.
“I never promised you love.”
The words landed like a slap.
Margaux flinched—vial trembling.
“Then promise me this,” she whispered. “Kill her. Right now. End it clean. Let me stand beside you when the packs bow. Let our child—”
“No.”
The word ripped from me—raw—fierce.
I stepped out from behind Zyrus.
His arm shot out—barred my path.
“Alexa—”
I pushed past—heart slamming.
“You don’t get to decide who lives or dies in my family,” I told her. “Not anymore.”
Margaux’s laugh was broken.
“You think you’re strong enough to stop me?”
I felt it then—the white-hot pulse behind my sternum.
Power—untrained, unsteady—rising like tide.
My vision sharpened—every pore on her face, every tremor in her fingers.
I took another step.
The vial slipped—tilted.
Zyrus roared—lunged.
Too late.
The glass shattered on the marble—liquid hissing, vapor curling upward.
I threw myself forward—instinct—shoved Margaux back.
The cloud billowed—straight toward me.
Then—Sable was there—cloak flaring—chanting low, fast.
Wind whipped through the solarium—unnatural—sucking the vapor upward, out the open window.
Margaux hit the floor—hard.
Zyrus was on her in a heartbeat—knee in her back, wrist twisted behind her.
She screamed—furious, heartbroken.
He looked up at me—eyes wild.
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head—breathing hard.
The power still thrummed under my skin—angry, alive.
Sable knelt beside the shattered vial—fingers hovering.
“Residual traces,” she murmured. “But neutralized. The Luna’s aura disrupted the curse mid-air.”
Zyrus’s gaze snapped to me—pride, fear, obsession all tangled together.
He hauled Margaux up—shoved her toward Sable’s sisters.
“Take her to the black cells,” he ordered. “No visitors. No contact. She doesn’t breathe free air again until I say.”
Margaux twisted—eyes locked on me.
“You’ll regret this,” she spat. “When the moon rises and your precious power tears you apart—you’ll beg for death.”
Zyrus snarled—fangs fully descended.
“Get her out.”
They dragged her away—screaming, sobbing, cursing.
The doors slammed.
Silence crashed.
Zyrus turned to me—slow—predatory.
His hands framed my face—thumbs brushing my cheeks—checking for injury.
“You stupid, brave, reckless girl,” he whispered.
I leaned into his touch.
“I’m done being the one who waits.”
He kissed me—hard—desperate—pouring fear and relief into it.
When he pulled back—forehead pressed to mine—voice wrecked:
“I’m locking you in our chambers. Full guard. No arguments.”
I grabbed his tunic.
“No.”
His eyes flashed.
“Alexa—”
“You lock me away, I’ll claw my way out,” I said. “We face this together. Every step.”
He searched my face—long, agonizing seconds.
Then—quiet—defeated:
“Together.”
He pulled me against his chest—crushing—possessive.
“But tonight,” he murmured against my hair, “you don’t leave my sight. Not for a second.”
I nodded—clinging.
Outside—distant thunder rolled.
The eighth moon was tomorrow night.
And Margaux’s last words echoed:
When the moon rises and your power tears you apart…
I pressed my lips to the scar above his heart.
“Then keep me close,” I whispered.
His arms tightened—almost painful.
“Closer than breathing.”
But even as he said it—voice thick with unspoken terror—I felt the white pulse behind my sternum flare brighter.
Stronger.
Hungrier.
And somewhere deep inside—my wolf stirred.
Not gently.
Violently.
Like she knew tomorrow night she would finally run free.
And nothing—not Zyrus, not the curse, not the elders—would be able to hold her back.
- Writer
