Claimed By The Ruthless Lycan Warlord

The sound of rushing water grew louder as the group pushed through the underbrush. Curt's stride was steady, jarring Areli's ribs with every step, but she bit her lip and stayed silent.

They emerged into a small clearing by a stream. Curt set her down gently on a flat, sun-warmed boulder. The sunlight felt good on her chilled skin.

Doyle immediately moved to the perimeter, his back to them, scanning the tree line. Perfect. The cold one was gone.

Areli pushed herself upright, wincing dramatically. She looked at Curt, who was sorting through his pack.

"I need to find some medicinal herbs," she said, her voice steadier now. "To stop the bleeding. I can't just sit here and be a burden. I need to pull my weight."

Curt paused, looking at her with a mixture of surprise and respect. "You're injured. Rest."

"I can't rest," Areli insisted, swinging her legs over the edge of the rock. "Please. Just let me do this."

Curt sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But I'm right behind you."

Areli limped toward the edge of the clearing, where a patch of weeds grew near the water. Curt followed three paces back, watching her like a hawk.

She scanned the ground. There was nothing useful here, but that wasn't the point. She spotted a thick root snaking out of the mud, perfectly positioned.

She took a deep breath. This is going to hurt.

She stepped on the root, letting her ankle twist sideways. She let out a sharp yelp, pitching forward headfirst into the dirt.

Curt moved like lightning. His arm shot out, catching her inches before her face hit the ground. He pulled her back against his chest, his breath warm on her ear.

"I got you," he muttered.

Areli clutched her ankle, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. Tears-real ones this time, from the pain-welled up instantly. "It's my fault," she sobbed, her voice trembling. "Gloria was right. I'm always so clumsy."

Curt stiffened. "Who is Gloria?"

Areli froze. She had said the name on purpose, but now she had to play the part. She clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around like a trapped rabbit. "Nothing! Forget I said that. Please, don't ask."

Brown appeared, dropping a load of firewood nearby. His ears perked up. "What's going on?"

Curt's face was like thunder. "She mentioned someone named Gloria. Said she was clumsy."

Brown's expression darkened. He walked over, crouching in front of Areli. "Who is she? Why would she say that?"

Areli shook her head violently, her hands twisting the hem of Curt's jacket. "I shouldn't have said anything. It doesn't matter."

"Tell us," Curt ordered, his voice low and dangerous.

Areli sniffled, looking down at her lap. "She's... she's the senior Medical Officer. She says I'm useless. That I'll never be a real healer." She paused, letting a fresh wave of tears fall. "She takes my work and claims it as her own. And her mate, Eugene... he says things. Terrible things. About how I'm only good for..."

She trailed off, hugging herself.

Curt's fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. "That's abuse. That clan is garbage. You don't owe them anything."

Areli looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy. A faint, brave smile touched her lips. "It's fine. As long as I work hard, they'll acknowledge me eventually. Right?"

The sheer absurdity of the statement-the classic victim rationalization-hit both men like a punch to the gut. Brown looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Curt looked like he wanted to punch something.

"You don't have to prove anything to scum like that," Curt growled.

Areli reached out, her fingers lightly brushing Curt's sleeve. "Thank you," she whispered. "For believing me."

Curt's ears turned a faint pink. He cleared his throat, looking away, but his body shifted closer to hers, shielding her from the wind.

Brown stood up, his earlier suspicion replaced by a gruff sympathy. "We'll get you sorted," he said.

Areli nodded, wiping her eyes. As she lowered her head, a shadow fell over her face. In the darkness, away from their eyes, her lips curled into a cold, triumphant smile.

She had them. Hook, line, and sinker.

A twig snapped. Doyle emerged from the trees, two dead rabbits dangling from his grip. He stopped, his sharp eyes taking in the scene-the weeping female, the angry males, the tense atmosphere.

"What did I miss?" he asked flatly.

Areli's smile vanished instantly. She shrank back against the rock, the picture of a frightened mouse once more.