Rejected By My Mate; Claimed By Lycan Quadruplets Chapter 203

Lisa's POV

I followed the two maids down the long corridor, their steps hushed, almost rehearsed, as though they’d walked this path many times before. I didn’t bother asking questions—I was too focused on steadying myself. My body still ached from the war, my veins burned with the remnants of the power I’d poured into healing dozens of soldiers, and yet here I was, about to step into another battlefield. Only this time, the enemy wasn’t rogue claws or teeth. It was the plague eating away at Baron, Alpha Bryan’s father, and the disease that had swept through too many packs already.

The maids pushed the heavy doors open. A chill swept over me as I stepped into the room. The smell hit me first—not just sickness, but death lingering, waiting to finish its claim. Baron lay on the massive bed, his skin gray and waxy, sweat beading across his forehead. His chest rose shallowly, each breath a labor, rattling in his throat. The room was too quiet, too heavy, even the candles burned low, their flames trembling as if in mourning already.

I swallowed hard and forced my voice steady. “Bring me water. And cloth. Quickly.”

The maids scurried, their skirts brushing the marble floor. I didn’t look at them long; my eyes locked on Baron. This man had once been a force, a leader whose presence filled any room. Now he looked like a shadow of himself, a husk wrapped in pale sheets. I moved closer, my steps slow but deliberate, and set my satchel of herbs and tinctures on the bedside table.

“Baron,” I whispered, not knowing if he could hear me. “I’m here. You’ll fight. You’ll breathe. I won’t let you slip away.”

His eyelids fluttered, barely a response, but enough to push me forward.

The maids returned, one holding a bowl of water, the other with cloths. I took them wordlessly, dipping the cloth into the water and pressing it against his forehead. He burned beneath my touch, the fever raging like wildfire. I could feel the sickness inside him, not just physical but something darker, the way it clung, greedy, parasitic.

I pulled out a small vial, crushed dried leaves into the water, and stirred with my finger until the liquid turned cloudy. Tilting his head gently, I tried to trickle it past his lips. Most dribbled out, staining the sheets.

“Come on,” I muttered, my throat tight. “Don’t make me beg you. Drink. You can’t leave them like this. You can’t leave Bryan—not when everything is already falling apart.”

One maid shifted uneasily behind me. “Mistress, should we—”

“Quiet,” I snapped, harsher than I meant to. “He doesn’t need doubt. He needs strength.”

I pressed my palms against his chest, inhaled deeply, and called on the power buried in me. It surged reluctantly, a familiar pain lacing through my bones. My vision blurred almost instantly, and within seconds, I tasted iron. My lips parted, and blood slipped out, hot against my tongue. I wiped it with the back of my hand and kept going.

The energy flowed from me into him, like pouring myself into a cracked vessel that refused to hold. I could feel the sickness latching, resisting, dragging me down with it. His body jerked once, his chest heaved, and for a moment I thought I had him. I thought I had pulled him back from the edge.

“Stay with me,” I whispered, my hands shaking over his ribcage. “Don’t you dare give up.”

Another surge of power ripped through me. I coughed violently, blood splattering the front of my dress, staining the white linen crimson. My knees buckled, but I forced myself upright, pressed harder. Every pulse of energy felt like it stripped another year from my life. Every second I poured into him was a second carved out of my own flesh.

His breath caught. His eyelids fluttered wider. My heart soared—until it fell again. His chest collapsed into shallow gasps, weaker than before, his pulse faint under my fingers.

“No, no, no!” My voice cracked as tears stung my eyes. “You don’t get to do this. Not after I came all this way. Not after I’ve bled for you.”

I pressed my mouth close to his ear, desperation twisting my tone. “Baron, listen to me. If you die now, Bryan will crumble. Your people will crumble. I can’t hold them all together. Don’t make me fail them.”

But he didn’t answer. His chest rose again, but slower this time. Slower still.

I poured everything I had left. Power seared through me, blistering, wild. I screamed, the sound tearing through my throat as I forced it into him. Blood poured from my mouth now, dripping down my chin, soaking into the sheets. My body trembled violently, my vision blackening at the edges.

The maids stood frozen, wide-eyed, whispering hurried prayers under their breath.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I held on until my arms gave out, until I collapsed over him, gasping, choking on my own blood.

And then… silence.

I pressed my ear to his chest, praying to hear the rhythm of life. But there was nothing. No thump. No echo. Just emptiness.

My body went cold. I sat back slowly, staring at his lifeless form. His mouth hung open slightly, his eyes glassy, unseeing. The plague had won.

Tears streamed down my face as I whispered, “I tried… I tried everything.” My voice cracked, weak and broken. “But he’s gone.”

The maids exchanged looks, fear etched across their faces. One stepped forward timidly. “He’s… dead?”

I closed my eyes, the word tearing me apart as I forced it out. “Yes.”

I had pronounced deaths before, in battle, on bloodied fields where soldiers gasped their last in my arms. But this… this was different. Baron wasn’t just another name. His death wasn’t just a loss for Bryan’s pack—it was a collapse of hope, of stability. And it had happened under my hands, after all the power I’d wasted, after all the pain I’d shouldered.

I staggered to my feet, swaying. Blood still trickled from my mouth, and I wiped it away with shaking fingers. My body screamed, every nerve raw, every breath labored. I had nothing left to give.

The maids bowed their heads, murmuring quietly. I didn’t know if they mourned him or secretly rejoiced in my failure. I didn’t care.

I pressed a trembling hand over my heart, trying to ground myself. “Tell Bryan,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “Tell him his father is gone.”

The words felt like betrayal. They felt like defeat.

I looked at Baron one last time, at the man who had once ruled with strength and fire, now just a body lying still beneath white sheets. My tears fell onto his hand as I whispered, barely audible, “I’m sorry.”

Then I turned, dragging myself toward the door, every step heavy, every breath rattling. The taste of blood lingered in my mouth, metallic and bitter. My body was hollow, my soul scraped raw.

And though I had pronounced him dead, the truth clawed deeper—I wondered if a part of me had died with him.