Claimed By The Ruthless Lycan Warlord

Curt carefully lifted Areli onto his back, supporting her hips and avoiding pressure on her broken ribs. The group took off through the jungle at a dead sprint.

Branches whipped past Areli's face. The jarring motion sent lances of pain through her ribs, but she gritted her teeth and stayed silent. Complaining would only slow them down.

Brown ran point, hacking through vines with a machete. "So, your clan," he called back, his voice barely winded. "What's the deal with them?"

Areli knew this was another test. "It's the Blackridge Clan. It's a toxic environment," she said, her voice breathless from the run. "The leadership is corrupt. They hoard all the medical resources. If you aren't born into the right family, you're nothing."

"Sounds like a shithole," Brown grunted.

"It is," Areli agreed. "That's why I was out there alone. They don't care about the lower ranks."

Brown nodded, seemingly satisfied.

Then, the world exploded.

A wave of pure, terrifying energy blasted through the trees ahead. The air temperature plummeted. Frost coated the leaves instantly.

Curt skidded to a halt, easing Areli gently down behind a thick trunk. He drew a massive combat knife, his body tense.

Doyle flashed back, his face pale. "The Warlord. He's been hit by a Phantom Vine."

Brown cursed. They took off again.

Areli pushed herself up with a gasp, pain lancing through her chest. "I'm the only one who might know..." she whispered, and staggered after them. Each step was agony, her broken ribs grinding, but she clenched her jaw and followed the trail of frost. By the time she stumbled through the treeline into a devastated clearing, the three men were already surrounding a kneeling figure.

In the center knelt a man.

No, not a man. A god of war.

He was enormous, his muscles straining against his tactical vest. His eyes were glowing red, devoid of sanity. Frost spiraled around him, freezing the very air.

But Areli's eyes weren't on the ice. They were on his neck. Thick, purple-red veins crawled up his skin, pulsing with a sickly light.

Her biochemist brain kicked into high gear. That wasn't just poison. The vasodilation, the rapid pulse, the loss of cognitive function...

"He's not just poisoned!" Areli shouted over the howling wind. "That Phantom Vine isn't a normal venom! It's a blood-boiling heat-inducer! It's burning away his sanity to make him mate!"

Brown spun around, his eyes wide. "What?"

"If we don't cool him down and draw the heat out, his veins will burst and he'll bleed out from the inside in ten minutes!" Areli yelled, forcing herself to step closer to the others.

Hudson-the Warlord-heard her voice. His head snapped up. Those red, feral eyes locked onto her.

The look was pure, undiluted predator. Hunger. Violence. Lust.

Areli froze. Every instinct screamed at her to run.

Brown grabbed her shoulder. "You're a medic! How do we cure him? !"

Areli's mind raced. "We need Ice Core Grass and snake slough to neutralize the toxin chemically-"

"We're in a Level Five zone!" Doyle interrupted. "There is no Ice Core Grass!"

Areli's face went white. The conventional cure was impossible.

"Then we have to use a high-level female's fluid to neutralize it physically," she said, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "Or he has to force it out with his own energy."

The three men looked at each other. There were no high-level females here. There was only her.

Hudson let out a roar of agony. He slammed his fists into the ground. The ice storm intensified.

"Stay back!" he roared, his voice barely human. He was trying to freeze himself. Trying to burn the poison out with cold.

It was suicide. And it was the only thing keeping him from ripping her apart.