Chapter 102

The crisp morning air carried the faint scent of pine as Lillian stepped onto the balcony of Sebastian Blackwood’s luxurious estate. The sun had barely risen, casting a golden hue over the sprawling gardens below. She wrapped her arms around herself, the silk robe fluttering slightly in the breeze.

Inside, the mansion buzzed with quiet activity. Giselle Beaumont, the head maid, directed the staff with practiced efficiency, while Lucien Dubois, the flirtatious head chef, hummed a tune as he prepared breakfast. The scent of freshly baked croissants and rich coffee wafted through the halls.

Lillian’s thoughts drifted to the events of the previous night—Donovan’s sudden reappearance, the way his cold gaze had lingered on her before he disappeared into the shadows. A shiver ran down her spine. She had thought she was free of him, but fate had other plans.

A soft knock interrupted her musings. "Miss Lillian?" Theodore Whitmore, Sebastian’s ever-dutiful butler, stood at the door, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Blackwood requests your presence in his study."

Lillian nodded, tightening the sash of her robe. "I’ll be right there."

Sebastian’s study was a sanctuary of dark wood and leather-bound books. He stood by the window, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the morning light. When he turned, his piercing gaze locked onto hers, sending a familiar thrill through her.

"We have a problem," he said without preamble.

Lillian arched a brow. "Donovan?"

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. "He’s not acting alone. There are whispers of an alliance forming—one that could threaten everything we’ve built."

Lillian’s pulse quickened. "Who else is involved?"

Before he could answer, the door burst open. Oliver, Sebastian’s seven-year-old son, rushed in, his cheeks flushed with excitement. "Papa! Aunt Penelope is here!"

Sebastian’s expression darkened. "Now?"

Penelope, his late wife’s sister, swept into the room, her designer heels clicking against the hardwood floor. Her sharp eyes flicked from Sebastian to Lillian, a smirk playing on her lips. "Am I interrupting something?"

Lillian forced a polite smile, though her instincts screamed danger. Penelope had never hidden her disdain for her, and her sudden appearance couldn’t be a coincidence.

Sebastian’s voice was icy. "What do you want, Penelope?"

She tilted her head, her smile widening. "Can’t a sister-in-law visit family?" Her gaze slid to Lillian. "Unless, of course, I’m not welcome."

The tension in the room thickened. Lillian clenched her fists, her wolf stirring beneath her skin. Something was coming—something far worse than Donovan’s petty schemes.

And Penelope was right in the middle of it.

"Bloody hell, she's insufferable," the rogue growled, glaring at Victoria. "Need to shut her up. Hand me that wolfsbane syringe. Another dose should knock her out cold again. She was far more tolerable unconscious."

"No! Stop!" Victoria shrieked, tears streaking down her face as she thrashed against her restraints.

Lillian jerked her head back sharply, smashing it into the rogue holding her. A satisfying crunch echoed as his nose broke, blood gushing down his face. He howled in pain, and she smirked—until his fist slammed into her gut in retaliation. The force sent her doubling over, bile rising in her throat before she retched onto the filthy ground. He kicked her aside like discarded trash, his boot connecting with her ribs.

"Lillian!" Victoria sobbed.

Another rogue tossed a syringe, and the first caught it midair before jamming it into the base of Victoria's neck. Her struggles weakened, her screams fading into whimpers before her body went slack, collapsing limply against the dirt.

The rogue standing over her smirked, wiping his hands before turning his dark, predatory gaze on Lillian. His lips curled in a cruel, knowing smile.

"Why don’t we just slit their throats and be done with it?" the rogue she’d headbutted snarled, pressing a filthy rag to his still-bleeding nose. His eyes burned with fury. Lillian’s skull throbbed, pain radiating through her temples, but she refused to cower.

"You heard the boss," the rogue looming over her said. "They’re not to die until he gets here. Another hour, tops."

"So what do we do with them until then? This one’s got fire," another sneered, nudging Lillian with his boot.

"Go to hell," she spat, lifting her chin defiantly.

His fist moved faster than she could blink. The impact cracked against her cheekbone, sending white-hot pain exploding through her face. Blood filled her mouth instantly, metallic and thick, and she slumped back, gasping.

"Shut your damn mouth," he hissed.

"Not as loud as the other one," one muttered. "But she’s got spirit."

"She’s got more than that," another leered, his voice dripping with hunger. "I’ve got a better idea." He vanished briefly while the others continued their crude remarks, their eyes raking over her with disgusting intent. Lillian spat blood onto the ground, rolling onto her side, forcing herself to breathe through the agony. The wolfsbane-laced cuffs around her wrists burned, her healing slowed to a crawl. Worse—she couldn’t feel her wolf at all. The silence in her mind terrified her.

The rogue returned, triumphantly holding up another syringe. Lillian’s stomach twisted.

"Oh, hell yes," the one who’d punched her grinned, snatching it.

"What is that?" Lillian rasped, her voice raw. "Get that away from me—"

I twisted beneath him, desperate to break free, but another rogue planted his boot on my abdomen, pressing down with crushing force. The air rushed from my lungs in a pained gasp, leaving me no choice but to go still—unless I wanted him to cave my ribs in. His weight was suffocating, his smirk cruel as he leaned closer, the glint of the syringe in his hand making my pulse spike.

"Behave, little wolf," he purred, his voice dripping with malice. The needle pierced my neck before I could react, the sting sharp and sudden.

Fire flooded my veins.

At first, it was just heat—a searing, relentless burn that made my muscles lock. But this wasn’t wolfsbane. If it had been, I’d already be convulsing like Victoria had. No, this was something far more insidious.

The heat twisted, morphing into something deeper, something hungry. It coiled low in my stomach, spreading like liquid fire between my thighs. My vision blurred, the faces of the three rogues looming over me distorting into wicked grins. I clenched my legs together, but the friction only made it worse—an unbearable ache that demanded relief.

I needed—

Gods, I needed—

"Let me go," I rasped, but the plea came out breathless, weak. My body wasn’t listening to me anymore. It was listening to them.

The rogue crouched beside me, trailing a finger down my cheek. "Not until you beg."

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