Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 169

Third person POV

The council hall carried a heaviness that day that no one could shake off. The air was too thick, almost suffocating, as though even the walls themselves had absorbed the grief and panic that had been festering among the packs. A long table stood at the center, and seated around it were the alphas, elders, and warriors of rank who had been summoned by Enzo’s urgent order. Torches burned along the stone walls, but even their light seemed muted, dull, as though reluctant to fight against the darkness pressing in.

Enzo stood at the head of the table, shoulders squared, jaw tight. He had not slept in two days, maybe longer, and the shadows beneath his eyes were evidence of it. His gaze swept over the council—Kael, Atlas, Ash, Mira, and several other prominent figures from the allied packs. Each face was etched with strain, some with outright fear.

“This is no ordinary sickness,” Enzo began, his voice rough but carrying authority. “We’ve faced fevers, poisoned waters, even cursed bites before, but nothing like this. Every day the number grows. Every healer’s hands are full, yet still, we’re losing too many.”

There was a murmur across the table, low voices mixing in discontent. Some muttered about the gods abandoning them, others about enemies poisoning them.

Mira, who had been silent until now, rose from her seat. Her robes hung loosely on her thin frame, and her hair was tied back hastily, as though she hadn’t cared to present herself with dignity anymore. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed them flat against the table, and when she spoke, her voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Nothing is changing,” she said sharply. “Nothing. I’ve tried every herb, every tincture, every mixture known among the healers. I’ve boiled roots, crushed seeds, blended powders, burned incenses, invoked ancient chants—nothing stops it. Nothing slows it.”

Her voice cracked, and for a moment, Mira’s composure broke. She looked down, as though she couldn’t bear their eyes on her, then steadied herself with a deep breath.

“The drugs I’ve given only buy them a few hours. They stop the pain for a moment, but the fever returns hotter, the body weaker. The young collapse in their mother’s arms, the old die in silence. And the strong—those you think would fight—drop like wilted flowers. If you’re asking me for hope, I have none to give.”

The council chamber went silent. Not even the torches dared to crackle too loudly. Enzo’s jaw clenched tighter, and his fist balled at his side. Kael shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze flickering between Mira and Enzo, as though bracing for the inevitable explosion.

Atlas was the first to speak after the long silence. “So what do we do? Sit and wait for this plague to swallow us whole?” His tone was harsh, his words barbed with frustration, but beneath it was the tremor of fear.

“We can’t keep losing numbers,” Ash added, his calm demeanor cracking just slightly. “If this spreads further, not even warriors will remain to defend the packs. We’re vulnerable. Too vulnerable.”

From the far end of the table, an older wolf elder spoke up, his voice hoarse with age but laced with sharpness. His name was Dorian, and though he rarely spoke unless pressed, when he did, others listened. “There are whispers,” he said slowly, looking around as though gauging whether his words were welcome. “Whispers of someone. A healer who lives deeper in the woods, beyond the rivers, past the ridge where no one dares tread.”

“A rumor,” Atlas scoffed. “We don’t have time for fairy tales.”

But Dorian shook his head, unbothered by the interruption. “It is no rumor. I have heard of her. Many seasons ago, when a neighboring clan was struck with a wasting illness, their warriors went into those woods. Only one returned, half-dead, swearing that the woman he found saved him. She was not like our healers. She was… something else. They said she spoke to the spirits of the forest, that her remedies were not herbs we know, but things older. Things forgotten.”

The council stirred at his words. Some muttered in agreement, others dismissed it as a myth. But the seed had been planted, and even those who scoffed felt its weight.

Mira’s head snapped toward Dorian, eyes narrowing. “You speak of her? The witch?”

Dorian’s lips pressed thin. “Call her what you will. Witch, healer, goddess’ child. I do not care. What matters is that she saved lives when no one else could. Perhaps she is the only answer left to us.”

Enzo’s eyes darkened at the word “witch.” His entire body radiated unease. He knew the risks of reaching into places that were meant to remain untouched. The woods beyond the ridge were forbidden for a reason. Too many who ventured there never returned. He weighed the lives already lost against the dangers that lay in pursuing such a path.

“So we send our people into cursed woods,” Atlas muttered bitterly. “All for a woman none of us have seen, based on a tale from a half-dead man.”

“What choice do we have?” Kael’s voice rose, uncharacteristically sharp. “Mira has done everything. Our healers are breaking under the weight. The plague doesn’t care about your doubts, Atlas. It spreads. It kills. If there’s even the smallest chance that this woman can help, then we take it.”

Ash nodded slowly, his expression grave. “Kael’s right. Desperation is no weakness when survival hangs in the balance. We cannot afford pride now.”

Mira, however, shook her head vehemently. “You don’t understand what you’re asking. I know of her too. I know the stories. They say her price is steep. Healing is never free when it comes from hands like hers. If she saves, she takes. And what she takes, no one knows until it is too late.”

Her words drew a shiver across the room. The idea of salvation laced with hidden cost was a bitter pill, but still, the image of children wasting away in fevered sleep pressed against their consciences.

Enzo finally spoke, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “Enough.” He looked to Mira, his gaze hard. “You’ve told us there’s nothing else. That your medicines are failing.” Then to Dorian. “You’ve offered another path, dangerous though it may be.” His hand slammed against the table. “We cannot sit here and argue while bodies pile up. Whether she is witch or healer, we will seek her out.”

Mira’s lips parted, as though to protest, but she saw the determination in Enzo’s eyes. His word was law, and his resolve was unshakable. She bowed her head reluctantly, though bitterness lingered in her eyes.

“Who will you send?” Atlas asked carefully. “We can’t risk too many. If it’s a trap, we lose what strength we have left.”

Enzo’s eyes swept the table, resting on Kael. “Kael. You’ll lead the search. Take only those you trust with your life. Go beyond the ridge, find her, bring her here—if she agrees.”

Kael nodded, though his heart thudded with the weight of the task. He had heard the same whispers, the same fears. But he could not disobey.

“I will go,” Kael said firmly.

The tension in the room remained, but there was also a spark of something else—a dangerous kind of hope. Fragile, uncertain, but present nonetheless.

The meeting stretched on with more discussions—rations, quarantines, guarding the borders in case enemies sought to exploit their weakness—but every word seemed overshadowed by the looming mission. Mira remained quiet, hands folded tightly in her lap, her jaw set in a grim line. Dorian’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable, as though he had been waiting for this day.

By the time the council adjourned, no one left with ease in their steps. The sickness was still out there, festering, claiming lives as they spoke. But for the first time, there was a direction—perilous though it might be.

Enzo lingered at the head of the table after the others filed out, staring at the torchlight flickering against the stone. His thoughts were unreadable, but deep in his chest, he knew one thing: the path ahead would demand more than they were ready to give.

And yet, he had no choice but to walk it.