Possessed Wolfless: From Rejected to Vengeful Lycans' Queen-Chapter 9: Cursed Mate’s Scent

With trembling hands, Lethia pressed against the wound on her lower abdomen where the dagger had pierced. She felt trapped between reality and a dream.

Everything seemed blurred, and the loud voices echoing around her slowly faded into the background as she collapsed onto the street.

Her senses dulled as she stared up at the night sky.

'Is this how I die? Why? What did I do so wrong?'

A cough wracked her body, blood spilling past her lips as a sharp ringing in her ears grew deafening. Tears welled up, and, for the first time, she gave in to the urge to cry.

She surrendered herself to whatever her body demanded—because what her mind and heart wanted no longer mattered. She was dying anyway.

Lethia's eyelids grew heavy, her vision blurring until the only thing she could see was that brown eyes stranger. 'Looks like I will get a debt I won't be able to repay this time.'

A bitter smile ghosted her lips before darkness claimed her.

As her eyes shut completely, Renar realised she was slipping into shock. He grabbed her wrist, his stomach twisting when he felt her pulse weakening beneath his fingers.

"I've already called an ambulance! They're on their way!" a passerby shouted.

Renar's eyes widened as he saw the dagger embedded in her flesh. It was the same model he had seen from his colleague some months ago—a poisoned silver dagger.

Ignoring the passerby, he glanced at his watch. She had only an hour—this blade had to come out soon. His healing abilities alone wouldn't be enough. She needed a major hospital equipped to handle this kind of wound, and the nearest one here wouldn't cut it.

"No, she needs to be taken to a big hospital in the Capital," Renar said.

"But isn't that too far? And who are you?"

"I'm a doctor, and there's always a way for this kind of emergency."

Without hesitation, Renar scooped Lethia's unconscious body into his arms and carried her to the car.

He set her down in the passenger seat, took the wheel, and sped off.

Reaching an open field, he slammed the brakes and swiftly activated the holographic interface, his fingers moving with urgency across the glowing screen.

After finishing with the holographic screen, the car emitted a loud hum.

The roof slowly split apart, revealing a square rotor mechanism.

From its four corners, long blades extended, and within moments, they began to spin like propellers, lifting the vehicle into the air.

Inside the car, Renar felt a flicker of unease as the steering mechanism shifted into air-vehicle mode.

This model hadn't been released to the public yet and was still prohibited from flight, despite having passed air transportation safety certifications.

The government was still tangled in debates over air traffic regulations, leaving official protocols unfinished.

He took a steadying breath, forcing himself to stay calm. He'd trained for this countless times, but this was different—this time, he had a dying passenger on board.

There was no other choice if he wanted to save her.

Quickly inputting the necessary coordinates, he watched as the holographic display calculated the route—seventeen minutes to Ashenhold. A journey that would've taken two hours by land.

With the autopilot activated and the flying car lifting off, Renar turned to the woman beside him as she let out a faint, pained groan.

"Hey, can you hear me? Please, miss—" Renar faltered, realising he still didn't know her name. "Just hold on a little longer."

He spoke to her despite her closed eyes and the deep furrow between her brows, indicating she was in pain. Renar placed his hand beside the dagger wound and studied her face.

"Your wound is too severe. I can only ease the pain until we reach the hospital—just hold on," he murmured, his own brows drawn in worry.

Carefully, he pressed his hand around the wound. Lethia's pained groan made him adjust his grip, searching for a position that would ease her discomfort.

His gaze flickered to her face as he shifted his hand, and he exhaled softly when the tension in her brow faded—a sign the pain was dulling.

Once certain she was more stable, he reached for the holographic screen, tapping a command to call his assistant.

"Yes, sir?" A crisp female voice echoed from the speaker.

"Prepare the surgery room and call the general surgeon and Ob-Gyn. And the poison specialist, too. I'll arrive with a pregnant werewolf patient in fourteen minutes. Have the team ready on the helipad."

"The helipad, sir? Are you... flying in a helicopter?" There was hesitation in her voice.

"No. My car. I'm using the flying car."

"Ah... wh—whaat—"

Renar ended the call before she could finish her stunned response.

His gaze shifted to the helpless woman, her skin clammy with cold sweat despite the car's air conditioning.

He retrieved a fresh handkerchief from the glove compartment and gently wiped her damp forehead while his other hand still on her wound.

The fragile, dishevelled figure before him was a stark contrast to the woman he had first seen at the rest area. The confidence and the commanding presence were gone.

Renar wondered what kind of life had led this bold woman to such a horrific night. A sharp pang of pity tightened his chest, and he gritted his teeth at the cruel truth.

'What kind of bastard would do this to a pregnant woman?'

Beep. Beep. Beep.

His wristwatch chimed—a reminder to take his routine pills. Without hesitation, he reached into the glove compartment, retrieved the pillbox, and swallowed the medication. It could be a mess if he lost his power now.

The moment the pill slid down his throat, Renar's eyes widened, his nostrils flaring.

A scent—sweet, thick, intoxicating like honey deep in the forest—flooded his senses, awakening something raw and primal that had long been buried inside him.

His head snapped around, searching for the source of the smell, and the only one who carried it was her.

A dark, beastly glint flickered in his brown eyes, turning them into a flashing blue.

The effect clouded his judgment, taking hold of him beyond his control.

The treatment he was meant to continue no longer mattered.

His breath hitched as he leaned in, drawn by the irresistible pull of her scent.

He inhaled deeply, his lips hovering near her neck.

The restraint he forced upon himself made his trembling hand brush against her cheek, his fingers tracing her skin as he brought his mouth closer to the curve of her throat.

The more he inhaled, the more the intoxicating aroma sent a jolt down his spine, setting his nerves alight.

Renar couldn't think straight. He fought the urge harder, but the more he resisted, the more his trembling lips grazed the flesh of her neck.

He had never felt this before. And just as he was about to lose himself further, the flicker in his eyes vanished.

Sanity rushed back as the pill he had just swallowed took effect.

He jerked away from her, breath uneven, heart pounding.

Then her pained whimper broke through the haze. His hands hesitated for only a second before he placed them back on her, resuming the treatment, pushing everything else out of his mind.

"What the hell is that?" he murmured, his breath coming in ragged pants.

Renar struggled to stay focused, his heart pounding violently. He knew his sense of smell would sharpen once the pill's effects wore off, but he had never lost control of his mind the way he just had.

And it was because of this woman's scent. Every werewolf had their own unique scent, undetectable to an ordinary nose, but hers was different.

He wondered if that scent was the kind of scent that laced with magic—a cursed mate's scent.

'Who are you really?'

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