The Lycan King's Second Chance Mate: Rise of the Traitor's Daughter

"Please... please forgive me..." Griffin’s voice was barely a breath, his body slumped against me, dead weight and fading warmth. Blood smeared his lips and dripped down my shirt, stark red against white—like a wound that wouldn’t close. "Griffin, stop," I whispered, brushing the blood from his mouth with trembling fingers. "Please don’t talk. Every word is tearing you apart."

His chest shuddered beneath my hand, each breath a battle. He was shaking—fragile, like a leaf caught in a storm—and those eyes of his, wide and glassy with guilt, refused to look away from mine. That desperation... it cut deeper than any wound. But I couldn’t let him break. Not now.

"Fox said it’s the curse," I said quietly, trying to sound steady, even as my throat tightened. "It’s punishing you every time you try to speak the truth. That’s why you’re bleeding. That’s why you’re dying."

He blinked slowly, the pain behind his eyes saying everything he couldn’t. I placed my hand gently against his chest.

"Don’t try to explain," I murmured. "Just hold on. Let me do this."

He gave the tiniest nod—more felt than seen—before his weight slumped forward again.

I closed my eyes, drew in a breath, and reached inward. A soft glow bloomed beneath my palm, silvery-blue and warm like moonlight in spring. It spread through him, seeping into broken places the curse had ravaged. I could feel his breathing even out, the tremors ease, the blood slow... and then stop. I healed him again.

He was still fragile. Still cursed. But he was alive.

And I wasn’t going to let him go. Not like this.