Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 194

Lisa's POV

I could still smell the blood in the air before I even reached the battlefield. The metallic tang was thick on my tongue, carried on the wind, clinging to the back of my throat until every breath felt like swallowing rust. My heart pounded as my feet moved faster, ignoring the guards who had tried to stop me, ignoring Calla’s cries for me to stay behind where it was safe. Safe meant nothing when my people were bleeding. Safe meant nothing when I could feel their screams echoing in my bones.

The moonlight painted the path ahead in pale silver, and the further I went, the more the shadows twisted into bodies. My steps slowed as I reached the edge of the battlefield. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

It was devastation.

Blood pooled across the dirt, soaking into the earth until it glistened like tar. Limbs scattered, bodies torn apart. The ground was littered with broken weapons, shattered armor, pieces of lives that had ended far too quickly. The cries of the wounded rose into the night, mingling with the low growls of wolves prowling the perimeter, their muzzles still wet with gore.

And in the middle of it, I saw them. Enzo, Atlas, Kael, Ash — still in wolf form, their massive bodies standing tall over the carnage. Their eyes glowed in the darkness, predators through and through, gods of destruction who had torn through the rogues like they were nothing. Even now, even knowing why they had fought, my chest tightened with something between awe and fear.

But I couldn’t stand there staring. Lives were slipping away.

I pulled my cloak tighter around me and ran toward the first cry that pierced my heart. A young soldier lay sprawled in the dirt, clutching at his abdomen where blood poured freely between his fingers. His face was pale, lips trembling as he fought to breathe.

“I’m here,” I whispered, dropping to my knees beside him. My hands pressed against his wound, and before he could ask, before he could beg, I let the warmth surge from my chest down through my veins and into my palms.

The light spread beneath my hands, seeping into his torn flesh. His body arched as the magic worked, his scream cutting through the night — but it wasn’t his pain anymore. It was mine. The sharp stab of the wound shot into my gut, stealing my breath, making me choke. Sweat broke out across my forehead, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

His skin knit together under my touch, the bleeding slowed, and then stopped altogether. His breaths evened, color creeping slowly back into his face.

“You’ll live,” I whispered, pulling my hands back. He looked at me with wide eyes, words trembling on his lips, but I shook my head. “Save your strength.”

I stood before he could thank me. My legs wobbled, the pain in my stomach a constant reminder that every life I saved came at the cost of my own. But I pushed forward.

Another soldier. His arm torn open, blood pumping in heavy spurts. I pressed my hand against it, felt the searing heat as the wound transferred into me. My arm burned, flesh splitting under invisible claws that weren’t his anymore. I bit my tongue until I tasted copper, forcing myself to focus on him, not on the agony tearing through me. His arm sealed shut. Mine throbbed with fire.

I moved again. And again. And again.

Each body I touched, each life I pulled back from the edge, chipped away at me. My skin burned, my bones ached, my lungs felt like they were drowning in smoke. I hid it well, forcing a smile when the soldiers whispered their gratitude, pretending it was nothing, pretending I wasn’t dying piece by piece.

“Lady Lisa,” one of the older warriors gasped as I pressed my hands against the gash in his chest. “Please… you can’t—”

“Be quiet,” I snapped, more harshly than I intended, my voice cracking under the strain. My chest caved as the wound tore through me, sharp and heavy, and I swayed where I knelt. My breath hitched, but I forced it back, swallowing the scream. The light flared brighter, burning me alive, until the wound closed and the warrior breathed steady again.

He caught my wrist weakly. “You’re hurting yourself.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, yanking my hand free before he could see the way it shook.

I staggered to my feet, vision swimming, and searched for the next cry. Every step was heavier, every breath ragged, but I couldn’t stop. Not while there were still voices begging to be heard.

A boy — gods, he was barely older than a child — lay face down in the dirt. His back was torn open, claws raking deep into his flesh. His body convulsed, his whimpers fading. I dropped beside him, rolling him gently onto his back, and for a moment my heart clenched at the sight of his wide, terrified eyes.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered, even as my hands pressed into his wounds.

The pain struck immediately, jagged and brutal, ripping across my back like fire. I gasped, biting back the scream that clawed its way up my throat. My vision blurred with tears as I forced the healing light through my fingers, forcing his flesh to close, forcing his blood to stop spilling.

It worked. He gasped for air, his eyes blinking rapidly as life returned. His lips parted, whispering a broken “thank you.”

But my back throbbed with agony. I could feel the phantom claws still raking me apart. My own shirt clung to sweat as my knees buckled.

“Don’t thank me,” I said hoarsely. “Just… live.”

I pushed myself up again, dragging my body forward to the next.

On and on it went. Soldier after soldier. Wound after wound. Pain after pain.

Every scream I silenced with my hands was one I carried inside me. Every drop of blood I stopped was one that stained my veins. My heartbeat slowed, my chest caved in, but I forced my body to keep moving. If I stopped, even for a second, someone else would die.

I didn’t notice Enzo at first. Not until I looked up, my hair clinging to my face with sweat and tears, and found him standing there. His massive wolf form loomed over me, fur drenched in blood, eyes burning with something I couldn’t name.

I froze, breath catching, but I didn’t stop working. My hands pressed into another soldier’s leg, knitting the shattered bone back together even as my own leg throbbed in response.

His growl rumbled low in his chest. He stepped closer, sniffing, watching. I refused to look up at him, refused to let him see the way I shook, the way I broke with every life I saved.

When the wound closed, I pulled my hands back, swaying violently. The world tilted, spinning, but I forced myself upright. Another cry pulled me toward the edge of the field, and I stumbled forward, ignoring the Alpha’s shadow trailing me.

I dropped beside a woman whose arm had been nearly severed. Her lips were blue, her breaths shallow. My hands shook as I grabbed the wound, forcing the light through. The pain ripped my arm apart, bone snapping, muscle tearing, and for the first time I let a choked cry escape.

“Lisa,” Enzo’s voice finally broke the night, low and warning.

“I’m fine,” I snapped, teeth gritted as the woman’s wound closed. My arm throbbed uselessly at my side, but she was breathing again. She lived. That was all that mattered.

I pushed to my feet, stumbled, caught myself. My vision swam, spots dancing in the corners, but I pressed forward.

The cries didn’t stop. And neither could I.

I knelt by another, then another, taking their pain, their blood, their wounds. My own body screamed with agony, my chest heaving, but I swallowed it all. Hid it behind clenched teeth, behind the smile I forced when they looked at me with gratitude.

If they knew the truth — if they saw how every wound became mine — they would stop me. They would pull me away. And I couldn’t let that happen.

Because this was my punishment. My burden. My choice.

And I would carry it until I couldn’t stand anymore.