The Witch and Her Four Dangerous Alphas

Chapter 117: Chapter 117: I hope you rot in hell, Selene.

Prince Vaelen’s POV~

Moments later, I prepared to leave the Midnight Pack myself. My warriors are waiting. But just as I was about to depart, Alpha Marcus appeared with a flushed face and in a hurried manner.

"My prince!" Marcus called out, nearly tripping over himself as he ran forward. His tone was sharp with panic.

"Why so soon? You have only just arrived today. Did we offend you? Have we done something displeasing?" His voice cracked as he spoke, his pride forgotten, his words tumbling out like a beggar pleading for scraps.

I turned my head slowly; my eyes were cold and distant. A faint sneer tugged at my lips at the sight of the Alpha groveling. I said nothing for a long moment, letting Marcus stew in his own desperation.

Finally, my voice came, smooth but clipped. "I have urgent matters in the palace. That is all. Do not overthink what does not concern you."

I did not bother to soothe the Alpha’s fear, nor did I explain further. I simply ignored his lowered gaze and gave the signal to depart. Soon the Midnight Pack was left behind.

The journey home stretched long, the night giving way to dawn, the dawn to day. Yet when the palace gates came into sight, I did not feel relief. My mind was still restless, heavy with thoughts of my uncle’s sudden departure.

By the time I reached my chambers, my body was tired. The long journey from the Midnight Pack still weighed on me, and the palace air felt heavier than ever. Yet the moment my hand touched the door, a strange unease struck me.

The instant I entered, my steps froze. My expression hardened as I caught something strange.

The room felt wrong.

A heavy, cloying scent hung in the air, strange and sweet, curling through my senses like smoke. My wolf stirred uncomfortably, my head clouding, and my instincts sharpening. I knew at once—it wasn’t natural. It was a drug, a poison, something meant to weaken my control.

My eyes narrowed to ice.

And then I saw her.

On my bed, sprawled with shamelessness, lay a woman in a flimsy nightgown that barely hid anything. The fabric slipped off her shoulders, clinging only where it needed to, leaving the rest of her body open and displayed as if she were some kind of gift.

tumbled over the pillows, and her body

blood boiled so hard that I wanted to choke the life

of this bitch

it ached. Rage shot through me, hot and

dare to drug me, and dare to think I would ever lower myself to touch her. The sight of her on my bed, the thought that she had planned this like I would worship her—disgust burned through every

and sharp, a roar trembling beneath the surface. My

rose slowly from the bed. Confidence shimmered in her eyes, her body movements provocatively bold, the thin fabric

she whispered sweetly, "let me

dared to lift her hand toward

I smacked her hand away so hard the sound cracked in the air. "Do not touch me!" I thundered, my teeth bared, my voice rough with

desperate. No—she was not going to lose this opportunity. After

opportunity to become the Lycan Queen. She needed him to mark her as his mate—only then would her position be

inches from my throat. She thought if she pressed herself on me,

I was not like

my fury exploded. My

her square in

sent flying, crashing across the floor. Her body slammed against the door, the impact rattling the wood before

outside—sprawled on the cold ground, her gown

did not wait for a second before slamming the

***

stared at the closed door in disbelief, her heart pounding with humiliation. Then desperation clawed its way up from her throat, and she scrambled

Please!" She cried, her voice cracking,

door

didn’t answer. Just

time. Her chest

wouldn’t he even