My Sister’s Poison, My Fated Cure

Three in the morning.

The rain was a downpour. The manor gates were slammed open with brutal force.

Damon was back.

He was soaked to the bone, his black shirt torn to shreds by claws, clinging to his body and outlining muscles coiled with explosive power.

The thick stench of blood and rain flooded the living room.

The blood of hundreds of Rogues.

He stood in the doorway, chest heaving, his scarlet eyes glowing unnervingly in the dark.

He looked like a beast fresh from a kill, still on the ragged edge of a rampage.

The servants trembled in fear, none daring to approach.

This was when his “Blood Moon Curse” was at its most volatile.

The slightest trigger could make him lose control completely.

But I couldn’t back down.

I took a deep breath and walked toward that source of danger, carrying a bundle of healing herbs.

“Get out.”

Damon snarled, his voice raw and broken.

He didn’t look at me. His nails dug deep into the doorframe, leaving behind a set of horrifying scratches.

He was fighting it.

Trying not to rip the fragile woman in front of him to pieces.

“I’m your mate, Damon.”

I walked right up to him, forcing myself to ignore the suffocating pressure, and gently pressed a towel to his still-bleeding shoulder.

“I’m here to treat your wounds.”

Damon’s head snapped up.

Those crimson eyes locked onto me, as if he wanted to devour me whole.

But I couldn’t hear his thoughts.

There was only an unsettling silence.

Just as I thought he was about to snap my neck, the red light in his eyes flickered strangely, then slowly dimmed.

There it was again.

As long as I wasn't afraid of him, as long as I got close, the storm inside him would calm.

Damon didn’t speak, just let me lead him to the sofa.

I cleaned the deep, gruesome gash on his back with an alcohol swab.

The wound was raw, edged with black decay. A wisp of smoke—Rogue poison—curled from the flesh.

A normal wolf would have passed out from the pain, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Why?”

After a long silence, his deep voice rumbled from above me.

“What?” I didn’t stop my work.

“Why help me? You reminded me about the rogue crisis, and you defended me at the ceremony.” Damon turned his head, his deep black eyes studying me with a playful glint. “I heard about it at the front line. You spun my absence into a ‘hero’s quest.’ You even got that old crone Vivian on your side.”

He leaned in, his Alpha scent pressing down on me, overwhelming.

“So, what’s your game, little wolf? Playing hard to get?”

His fingers toyed with a lock of my hair, his tone mocking. “Elena. We’ve known each other for less than 24 hours. You have no reason to protect me like this.”

I looked up and met his gaze.

This man was too suspicious, too smart.

Only a transaction would make him lower his guard.

“I need a protector. You need a buffer.”

I spoke calmly, applying the last piece of gauze. “I can be your face. I’ll manage the pack, handle the Alliance's tedious politics, and free you up to do what you do best: break things. We both get what we want.”

Damon raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by my honesty.

He purred, his breath hot against my ear. "And the price? My power? My fortune? Or... my bed?"

I took a step back, creating distance.

“Separate rooms.”

Damon froze.

“We’ll be mates in name only,” I said, pointing to the guest room upstairs. “I won’t interfere in your private life, and you give me the highest Luna authority. Those are my terms.”

The air hung still for a few seconds.

Then, Damon laughed.

“Deal.”

He leaned back against the sofa, the bloodlust in his eyes completely gone, replaced by the lazy, dangerous air of an aristocrat.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Step one: complete.

I turned to pack up the first-aid kit, my mind already racing to the next step:

[Fifty million. That’s all I need. Then I’m buying a one-way ticket straight to the human world. Who wants to spend their life with this ticking time bomb? Once I’ve milked this mad dog for every last cent, I’m out.]

Just as I turned to head upstairs.

“Fifty million?”

His voice was a low chuckle.

My blood ran cold. I froze, my hand hovering on the brass doorknob.

I glanced back. He had his back to me, playing with the blood-stained dagger.

“What?” I forced myself to sound calm.

“Nothing,” he waved a dismissive hand.“Just thinking a performance this good deserves a bonus. Consider it a signing fee.”

My heart pounded. I risked a look at him, terrified he was in my head.

But he looked completely calm, unfazed.

Okay, just a coincidence, I told myself.

I shook my head to clear it and retreated to my room.

I didn't see him, down on the sofa.

Damon opened his eyes.

His dark gaze glinted with the thrill of a predator who’s just found a fascinating new toy.

He smirked, mouthing the words silently to the empty room. “Try to run, little wolf. You’ll only succeed over my dead body.”

——

The next morning, the sun was annoyingly bright.

The moment Damon and I arrived at the Alliance estate, we ran into that nauseating “perfect couple.”

Sarah and Liam were obviously waiting for us.

Sarah was wearing a white turtleneck sweater.

The summer heat was oppressive, easily 90 degrees, yet she was bundled in a thick turtleneck.

She was hiding something.

I could even smell the faint, sick scent of expensive ointment mixed with rotting flesh. It seemed Liam’s “lesson” last night had been thorough.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our future Alliance leader and his Luna,” Sarah sneered, clinging to Liam’s arm. Her face was pale, but her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Sleep well, Alpha Damon? I heard you two kept to separate rooms. Such a shame, leaving your new mate all alone on your first night as a bonded pair.”

News traveled fast. They still had spies in the pack.

Liam wore his usual gentle smile, but he had dark circles under his eyes.

“Damon, you must be exhausted from your ‘expedition’ last night,” Liam said with false sincerity, reaching out to pat Damon’s shoulder. “But as a man, you still need to enjoy your mate. Look at Sarah… she was worn out last night…”

The implication was obvious.

But I heard the frantic jealousy in his mind:

[Damn him. How did he slaughter hundreds of Rogues and return without a scratch? Why hasn't the curse taken him? Why is he still breathing? I spent all night taking it out on Sarah, and it still wasn't enough! I want to see him dead!]

Damon stopped.

He didn’t even glance at Liam’s outstretched hand.

He just tilted his head, giving them a lazy, dismissive look.

“Is this the respect the Alder Pack shows? Failing to bow before the High Alpha of this Alliance?”