Chapter 36: Venom’s Grasp

The heavy thud of Orion’s armored body hitting the stone floor reverberated through the office, a sound that froze the air in Sophia’s lungs. Her heart lurched as she stared in shock, the alpha’s collapse shattering the tension that had gripped the room moments before.

Without a second thought, she was the first to move, her feet carrying her to his side as Lysander and Ronan surged forward, their faces etched with worry. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands trembling as she reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek. His skin was as stiff as wood, unnaturally rigid, and her breath caught as her gaze fell upon the black veins snaking up his neck and hands, a dark web spreading beneath his skin like a spider web.

"Orion!" she gasped, her voice a choked whisper.

’What’s wrong with him?’ She asked herself.

Lysander cursed under his breath, a sharp, guttural sound that snapped Sophia out of her shock. The healer knelt beside her, his long blonde hair trembling from the sudden movement as he pressed two fingers to Orion’s neck, his eyes narrowing with professional intensity.

His face tightened, and he muttered another curse, his hands steady despite the panic flickering in his gaze. "His pulse is faint," he said, his voice low and strained, the weight of his diagnosis hanging heavy.

Ronan, hovering over them, noticed the frown etching deeper lines into Lysander’s face. His usual jovial demeanor was gone, replaced by a rare seriousness that made his dark eyes glint with concern.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice rough with urgency and worry.

Lysander’s jaw clenched, his hands still pressed against Orion’s neck. "I suspect he’s poisoned," he replied, his tone grim. His eyes darted to the black veins, a telltale sign he couldn’t ignore.

"By what? The Trihydra?" Ronan’s voice rose, a mix of disbelief and fear, his hand instinctively gripping the hilt of his sword.

Lysander nodded, his expression darkening. "Yes. That venom’s notorious, slow to kill, but deadly if it spreads."

He moved with practiced urgency, his fingers working to unfasten Orion’s blood-streaked armor. "We need to administer first aid now. The poison’s spread too far already."

As he peeled away the leather and metal, revealing Orion’s sweat-soaked tunic, he cursed again, louder this time. "How in the gods’ names were you standing, let alone arguing with us, with this massive poison in you?" he muttered to the unconscious alpha, his voice a mix of awe and frustration.

Sophia’s eyes widened as Lysander tugged the tunic aside, exposing a deep gash on Orion’s side, the flesh torn and puckered around two distinct teeth marks, unmistakable signs of the Trihydra’s bite.

The wound was inflamed, the black veins radiating from it like tendrils of death. Lysander’s hands moved swiftly, pulling a leather pouch from his belt and spilling its contents, dried herbs, a small mortar, and a vial of murky liquid, onto the floor. He began grinding the herbs with a small pestle, his movements precise despite the tremor in his fingers.

Ronan hovered closer, his frown deepening. "Will everything be okay?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

Lysander didn’t look up, his focus absolute as he mixed the herbs with the liquid, creating a thick paste. "I’m going to try my best," he said, his nod curt but resolute.

He glanced at Ronan, then Sophia. "Go to the medical facility. Get me feverfew, yarrow, and charcoal root, hurry. Sophia, bring warm water. Now!"

Sophia nodded, her legs shaky as she scrambled to her feet. She stumbled, tripping over the hem of her cloak, but caught herself against the desk, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Determination flared, and she bolted out of the room, the cold stone corridor a blur as she raced toward the building Brynhild had described as the kitchens, and the thank the goddess the first person she saw was a cook who attended to her without question.

Back in the office, Lysander worked frantically, his hands coated with the herbal paste as he applied it to the gash.

Orion’s skin burned with fever, his forehead slick with sweat despite the chill in the room. Lysander pressed a cloth to the wound, hoping to slow the venom’s spread, his muttered prayers to the Moon Goddess barely audible. "Hold on, you stubborn fool," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Ronan returned first, his arms laden with the requested herbs, his breath visible in the cold air as he burst through the door. Moments later, Sophia staggered in, a clay bowl of warm water sloshing in her hands, her dark eyes wide with anxiety.

She set it down beside Lysander, her fingers trembling as she stepped back, watching the healer’s every move.

Lysander wasted no time. He poured a portion of the warm water into a shallow bowl, adding a pinch of feverfew to create a steaming infusion, its bitter scent filling the room.

He dipped a clean cloth into the mixture, wringing it out before pressing it against Orion’s forehead to combat the fever. With the yarrow, he crafted a poultice, mixing it with the charcoal root to draw out the poison, and applied it thickly over the gash, securing it with a strip of cloth torn from his own tunic.

His hands moved with a healer’s grace, but sweat beaded on his brow, a sign of the pressure he was under.

"Help me move him," Lysander instructed Ronan, his voice firm as he finished the initial treatment. "We need to get him to the medical facility immediately. The venom’s still active. And I’ll work better there."

Ronan nodded, stepping to Orion’s legs as Lysander supported his shoulders. They lifted the alpha’s limp form, his armor clanking softly, when a sudden, violent cough wracked his body.

Black blood sprayed from Orion’s mouth, splattering the stone floor and Ronan’s hands. The room fell silent, the sound of the cough echoing loudly in the room.

"Gods above!" Ronan exclaimed, his voice shaking as he adjusted his grip, his eyes wide with horror. The black blood glistened, a stark contrast to the pale stone, and Sophia’s stomach churned, her hands flying to her mouth.