The medical wing of the Pack House usually smelled of pine disinfectant and healing herbs. It was a place where warriors came to stitch up scratches from training or where pups were born.
But today, the room Magnus had brought me to smelled of something else.
Cold.
It smelled of antiseptic, sharp and stinging. It smelled of steel. And beneath that, a faint, lingering scent of something chemical—like bleach trying to mask the smell of decay.
"Sit," Magnus commanded, pointing to the exam table.
I hesitated. "Magnus, I'm fine. I don't need a check-up before the trip. I just need to pack."
"You are pale," Magnus noted, his voice devoid of warmth. He checked his watch, a gold Rolex that glinted under the harsh fluorescent lights. "And you still have not shifted. Dr. Aris needs to ensure your... vitals are compatible with the induction serum."
"Induction serum?" I froze, my hands gripping the edge of the table. "You said I would shift naturally. You said we would wait."
"We have waited," Magnus snapped. He walked over to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. He pushed me down onto the paper-covered table. It crinkled loudly in the silence. "My father is tired of waiting, Celeste. If your wolf is too stubborn to wake up, we will wake her up ourselves."
The door opened, and a man walked in.
He was not our pack doctor. He was older, with graying temples and wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a pristine white lab coat that looked too stiff, too clean. He didn't smell like a wolf. He smelled of latex and sterilized instruments.
"Alpha Magnus," the doctor nodded, not making eye contact. He set a silver metal case on the counter.
"Dr. Aris," Magnus greeted. "She is ready."
Dr. Aris turned to me. His eyes were a pale, watery blue behind his lenses. They swept over me not with kindness, but with the detached efficiency of a mechanic looking at a broken engine.
"Arm," he said.
I looked at Magnus, pleading silently. "Magnus, please. I don't want this."
Magnus didn't comfort me. He didn't take my hand or smooth my hair. Instead, he moved to stand behind me, his chest pressing against my back. He grabbed my left arm and extended it toward the doctor, his grip iron-tight.
"Hold still," Magnus whispered in my ear. "Don't embarrass me."
Dr. Aris tied a rubber tourniquet around my bicep. He tapped the vein in the crook of my elbow. I flinched as he swabbed the skin with an alcohol wipe. It was freezing.
"This is a large draw," Dr. Aris murmured, mostly to himself. "We need a full panel for the genetic sequencing."
Genetic sequencing?
Before I could ask, he slid the needle in.
I gasped. It wasn't a sharp pinch like a normal shot. It felt invasive. I watched as the dark red blood flowed through the tube and into the first vial. Then the second. Then the third.
My head started to spin. The room tilted slightly.
"That's enough," I whispered, my voice sounding far away. "Please."
"Almost done," Dr. Aris said monotonically. He switched to a fourth vial.
I could feel Magnus watching. He wasn't looking at my face. He was staring at the blood filling the glass tube. I could hear his breathing change—becoming heavier, deeper. It was a hungry sound.
"Look at that color," Magnus murmured. "Rich. Potent."
"It has high reactivity," Dr. Aris noted, finally pulling the needle out. He pressed a cotton ball to the puncture wound, but he didn't tape it immediately. He held the vial up to the light. "See the separation? The plasma is denser than standard Beta blood. Even denser than most Alphas."
"Because of her mother," Magnus said, a dark satisfaction in his tone. "The Violet Gene."
"Perhaps," Aris said carefully. He placed the vials into a cooling rack inside his metal case. "I will run the preliminary tests immediately. If the markers match the profile, we can begin the extraction protocols after the wedding."
Extraction protocols?
The words floated in my mind, terrifying and vague. I tried to sit up, but my vision swam. I slumped back against Magnus.
"She's weak," Magnus observed, sounding annoyed rather than concerned.
"It is a significant amount of blood for a human-state body," Aris said, snapping the case shut. "She needs sugar. Juice or fruit."
"She can eat in the car," Magnus decided. He pulled me to my feet.
I stumbled, my knees buckling. Magnus caught me, his arm wrapping around my waist. Again, it felt like a shackle, not a support.
"Pull yourself together, Celeste," he hissed. "You are to be the Luna of the Bloodmoon. You cannot faint at the sight of a needle."
"I... I feel sick," I mumbled.
"You feel useful," Magnus corrected. He steered me toward the door, not looking back at the doctor. "Finally."
As we reached the doorway, I glanced back.
Dr. Aris was still standing by the counter, his hand resting on the metal case. For a split second, our eyes met.
The clinical detachment cracked.
He didn't look triumphant. He looked... tired. There was a shadow in his expression—regret? Pity?
"Travel safely, Miss Black," he said softly.
Magnus shoved me into the hallway before I could respond.
"Move," Magnus ordered, checking his watch again. "The convoy leaves in two hours. And you look like a ghost. Put on some rouge. I won't have my prize looking damaged before I even get her home."
I leaned against the wall, clutching my bandaged arm. The bruise on my side throbbed in time with the sting of the needle.
I watched Magnus walk away, his stride confident and predatory.
He didn't see a fiancée. He didn't even see a woman.
He saw a lab rat.
And as the darkness crept into the edges of my vision, I realized Mira was right. The monsters weren't waiting in the woods.
I was marrying the king of them.