Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 265

Elara’s POV

Everything went still.

Isolde’s yellow eyes locked onto the exact cluster of brambles where I crouched. Her nostrils flared again—wider this time—and her lips peeled back from her teeth in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

"Come out," she said. Her voice was silk wrapped around a blade. "I can smell you, you know. All that fear. All that sweat." She tilted her head. "All that grief."

I didn’t move. My fingers were white around the dagger’s hilt. My lungs burned from holding my breath.

Malakor released Kaelen’s arm. It dropped to the earth with a sickening thud. He straightened to his full height and rolled his injured shoulder with a wince.

"Who is it?" he demanded.

Isolde inhaled deeply. Then her eyes went wide. Then she laughed.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, this is perfect." She turned to Malakor with genuine delight spreading across her face. "It’s her. It’s my dear sister."

The pretense was pointless now.

I stood.

My legs shook. My vision tunneled. But I rose from the undergrowth with the dagger in my hand and stepped into the clearing. Into the pale morning light. Into full view of the two people who had taken everything from me.

And there—between them—Kaelen.

Closer now. I could see him clearly. His face was the color of ash. His lips were faintly blue. The wound at his side gaped open, dark and wet. His chest... was it moving? I couldn’t tell. The mate bond in my chest had gone so quiet. So terrifyingly quiet. Like a candle flame guttering in the last breath of wind before it died.

"Kaelen," I whispered.

Nothing. No flicker. No twitch. No faint pulse of recognition through the bond.

Nothing.

The world narrowed to a single, blinding point of white-hot fury.

"You bitch."

The word tore from my throat—raw, guttural, barely human. I launched myself at Isolde.

No strategy. No calculation. Just pure animal rage propelling my body across the distance faster than I’d ever moved in my life.

Isolde’s eyes widened—genuine surprise—and then I was on her. My dagger slashed across her forearm. She jerked back but not fast enough. I crashed into her with every ounce of my weight, my free hand clawing at her face, my teeth bared.

"My dear sister—" she started.

I sank my teeth into her shoulder.

Deep. Hard. Through fabric and flesh until hot copper flooded my mouth. Her blood tasted like iron and rot. She screamed—a shocked, outraged sound—and her fist connected with my temple. Stars exploded across my vision but I didn’t let go. I bit harder. Felt the muscle beneath my teeth give way.

Then something massive hit me from the side.

Malakor.

His hand closed around the back of my neck and ripped me away from Isolde. The force lifted me clear off the ground. For one suspended moment I was weightless—and then my back slammed into a tree trunk with enough force to crack something deep in my ribs.

I crumpled. Gasped. Couldn’t breathe.

"Pathetic human," Isolde hissed, pressing her hand to her bleeding shoulder. Her eyes blazed with fury and something else—humiliation. I’d hurt her. A human had hurt her. She’d never forgive that.

Good.

"He screamed for you, you know," Isolde said. She stepped closer. Her fingers came away from her shoulder slick with red. She looked at them, then at me. "When the poison started working. When it began shutting down his body, piece by piece. He screamed your name."

I pushed myself upright against the tree. My ribs shrieked. I ignored them.

"Elara," Isolde mimicked, her voice pitched low, mocking. "Elara, please." She smiled. Cruel and wide. "Over and over. Like a prayer. Like you might actually come save him." She laughed softly. "But you didn’t, did you? You were too busy being a pathetic human playing soldier in your little fighting pit."

"Shut up."

"We gave him quite a large dose," she continued, circling me slowly. "Enough to paralyze an entire pack. And still he kept saying your name. Right until the end."

Right until the end.

Something cracked inside my chest. Not bone. Something deeper. Something that held me together.

But rage stitched it back immediately. Rage kept me standing.

Malakor was favoring his left side. I’d noticed it before—the way he shifted his weight away from his ribs. Kaelen must have injured him before the poison took hold. The knowledge was distant, clinical.

Injured ribs. Left side. Go.

I lunged.

My fist drove into exactly the spot where Malakor’s ribs were cracked. He doubled over with a choked snarl. I spun—pivoting on my heel the way I’d practiced countless times in the fighting pit—and kicked Isolde’s knee. The joint bent sideways with a wet crunch. "You bitch!" she shrieked and stumbled.

Again. I hit Malakor’s ribs again. He staggered back, genuine pain twisting his features. I swung the dagger in a wide arc toward his throat—

Isolde tackled me from behind.

No. Not Isolde. Not the woman.

The wolf.

A massive gray shape slammed into my back. Enormous. Muscles rippling beneath coarse fur. Yellow eyes blazing with murderous intent. The transformation had been instantaneous—one moment a woman, the next a beast the size of a war horse.

Jaws closed around my forearm.

The pain was blinding. Absolute. Fangs sank through skin, through muscle, scraping bone. I screamed—couldn’t help it—and the wolf shook its head like a dog with a rabbit. My feet left the ground. The world spun. Then she released me and I hit the earth face-first.

Blood. My blood. Pouring from my arm in thick streams. The bone wasn’t broken—I could still move my fingers—but the flesh hung in ribbons. Torn. Shredded.

I tried to rise.

A boot connected with my stomach. Malakor. He kicked again—ribs this time. I heard the crack before I felt it. Then the pain arrived, white and electric, and I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

"Pitiful," Malakor said above me. He kicked me again. And again. Each blow precise. Calculated. Designed to break without killing. "Your precious emperor died believing you abandoned him. Did you know that?" Another kick. "He thought you left him for good. Signed those separation papers and walked away."

I coughed. Blood sprayed from my lips onto the dead leaves.

"He begged," Malakor continued. His voice was almost conversational. "Not for his life. For you. Right until the poison stopped his heart."

Stopped his heart.

The bond in my chest was silent. Completely. Utterly. Silent.

He was gone.

Kaelen was gone.

The thought should have destroyed me. Should have made me curl inward and surrender. But instead it crystallized something cold and hard behind my sternum. A diamond of fury so concentrated it burned.

I tried to rise again. My arms gave out. I collapsed.

Malakor crouched beside me. I could hear the faint clink of glass—something being retrieved from his belt. When I forced my eyes open, I saw it. A small vial. Dark liquid swirling inside. Almost empty—barely a mouthful remaining.

"Only this much left," he said, holding it up to the pale light. "Same formula we used on your husband. But this amount..." He tilted his head, considering. "Should be enough to kill a human in minutes."

No.

His free hand seized my jaw. Thick fingers dug into the hinges, forcing my mouth open. Pain lanced through my skull. I thrashed—or tried to. My body barely responded. Too broken. Too damaged.

"Don’t struggle, Your Majesty," he said. The title dripped with mockery. "It’ll be over soon. And don’t worry about your two little wolf pups." His grip tightened. My jaw cracked wider. "We’ll take good care of them. Raise them as orphans. Teach them to forget their parents ever existed."

Valerius. Lyra.

I screamed against his hand. Bit at his fingers. Drew blood. But his grip didn’t waver.

"Sweet dreams, Your Majesty," he whispered, forcing my mouth open even wider as he poured the small vial of dark poison straight down my throat. "Say hello to your husband for me."