The fire crackled, casting long, dancing shadows across the campsite. The smell of roasting rabbit filled the air, but Areli had no appetite. She sat wrapped in Curt's jacket, staring into the flames.

Brown sat across from her, his sharp eyes studying her face. The sympathy from earlier was gone, replaced by a calculating intensity.

"Areli," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "You said you slipped and fell off the cliff, right?"

Areli nodded, her stomach tightening. "Yes."

Brown leaned forward. "Then why don't you have any scrapes?"

Areli blinked. "What?"

"If you rolled down a rock face," Brown said slowly, enunciating every word, "you'd be scraped up like a side of beef. But your skin, aside from the dirt and the bruises, is smooth. The only injuries you have are impact wounds. Like you were dropped."

The silence was deafening. Areli's heart hammered against her ribs. She had underestimated them. They weren't just muscle; they were trackers. Hunters.

She couldn't tell them the truth. If she said she was pushed, she'd be admitting she was involved in a clan power struggle. They would dump her-or worse, hand her back.

She had to lie. But the truth was too obvious. She needed something bigger.

Areli didn't answer. Instead, she stared at the fire, letting her pupils dilate. She forced her breathing to hitch, then accelerate. Her chest heaved. Her hands began to tremble, violently.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no..."

Brown frowned. "Areli? I asked you a question."

She didn't hear him. She was somewhere else. She clutched her head, her nails digging into her scalp. A raw, guttural scream tore from her throat.

"It was huge!" she shrieked, her eyes wide and unseeing. "The wings... the claws... it grabbed me! It picked me up and it dropped me!"

Curt was on his feet in an instant. He shoved Brown back. "What the hell are you doing? You're triggering her!"

"I'm asking a simple question!" Brown protested, though he looked rattled.

Areli grabbed Curt's arm, her grip bruising. "Don't let it eat me!" she sobbed, her body shaking uncontrollably. "Please! It was so big! The wind... and then nothing!"

Curt pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her. "It's okay. It's gone. You're safe."

He glared at Brown. "Are you happy now? You gave her a panic attack."

Brown looked stunned. He rubbed the back of his neck, his face flushing with guilt. "I... I didn't know. I'm sorry. I was just doing my job."

Brown muttered an apology, handing her a clean skin blanket. "Here. I'm sorry, little female. I shouldn't have pushed. What you're saying makes sense... the Blackwind Cliff area is a known hunting ground for Wind Drakes. They dive from the clouds, snatch their prey, and leave no tracks. If one of them dropped you mid-flight, it explains everything."

Areli took it with a trembling hand, offering him a weak, watery smile. "It's okay. You were just being careful."

Curt handed her a piece of roasted meat. "Eat. You need your strength."

She took a small bite, chewing mechanically. As she ate, she let her gaze drift over the three men. They were powerful. Disciplined. And they answered to someone called a "Warlord."

That Warlord was the key. If she could get to him, she could use his power to crush Gloria and Eugene.

Suddenly, a strange energy ripple pulsed through the forest. The fire flickered wildly. The hair on Areli's arms stood up.

Doyle materialized out of the darkness, his face grim. He made a sharp, urgent gesture with his hand.

Brown and Curt were instantly on their feet, all traces of relaxation gone.

"Move," Curt ordered, pulling Areli up. "Now."

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.

The ice storm reached a crescendo. Then, a wet, choking sound.

Hudson collapsed forward, coughing up a mouthful of black blood. The purple veins hadn't receded; they had spread to his face.

Areli's stomach dropped. The cold was constricting his blood vessels, pushing the neurotoxin straight into his brain faster.

Hudson's head snapped up. The last vestige of sanity in his eyes vanished. He was gone. Only the beast remained.

And the beast wanted her.

He launched himself at her. He moved so fast he was a blur.

Curt roared, throwing himself between them. "Warlord, NO!"

Hudson backhanded him. The force sent Curt flying backward, crashing through two trees.

Areli turned to run. Her legs felt like lead.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder. Doyle. His eyes were cold and hard.

"You can't do this!" Areli screamed, struggling. "This is a violation of my body!"

"We have no other female!" Doyle snapped. "You said yourself—any female's fluid might work. Level doesn't matter now. His ice has slowed the venom, but he still only has minutes. You're his only chance!"

Areli's eyes widened. She had specified high-level, but in truth, she didn't know the exact requirements. Doyle was gambling with her body as the wager.

"For the Warlord," Doyle said flatly.

He pulled a thick leather pouch from his belt, crushing the dried Heat-Bloom petals inside to release their potent, cloying dust. The herb stunned the senses—it would knock her out and, upon waking, ignite a feverish fire in her blood to override all resistance. He clamped it firmly over her nose and mouth. Areli thrashed wildly, her nails clawing at his thick arms, but her injured ribs betrayed her. The sickly-sweet aroma flooded her lungs.

Darkness swallowed her vision. Her last conscious thought was a furious, terrified curse.

"Get him to the river!" Doyle barked. "The cold might break through the madness!"

Brown and Curt moved as one. They baited Hudson, dodging his wild swings and leading the rampaging Warlord toward the sound of rushing water. Doyle hoisted Areli's limp body over his shoulder and followed. They burst through the treeline to a rocky riverbank. Brown and Curt drove Hudson into the freezing current, then Doyle tossed Areli in after him—the shock of the water their last hope to snap the beast back to reason.

When Areli woke up, she was drowning.

Freezing water closed over her head. She kicked frantically, breaking the surface. She was in a river, the current pulling at her clothes.

She was weak. Her limbs felt like jelly. And there was a fire burning in her gut that had nothing to do with the cold water.

Doyle. That bastard had used Heat-Bloom on her—a paralytic that left a searing heat in its wake. She remembered the cloying dust.

She looked around, her teeth chattering violently. Hudson stood a few feet away, the water up to his waist. He was staring at her, his chest heaving.

The red in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a flicker of torment. He was fighting it.

"If you touch me now," Areli said, her voice shaking with cold and rage, "it's rape!"

The word hit him like a physical blow. He clenched his fists, his claws extending, digging into his palms. Blood dripped into the water.

"I won't force you," he rasped, his voice raw and broken. "But if you help me... I swear on my life, I will take absolute responsibility."

The promise hung in the freezing air. In this brutal world, an oath like that was sacred.

But Areli didn't care about oaths. She cared about survival. And the drug Doyle had given her was burning through her veins, melting her resistance.

She had a choice. Die of exposure and drug overdose, or save herself by saving him.

She closed her eyes. The fire inside her roared.