Dumped Omega? Now Their Alpha King Begs at My Feet novel Chapter 32

32 /71

Isabella's POV

I found what I was looking for in a dusty, leather-bound book called Bloodline Remedies. The title was stamped in faded gold letters.

The pages were brittle and smelled ancient. I carefully turned them, my fingers tracing the elegant, archaic script. I found a recipe for a potent restorative potion, said to amplify an Elder's vitality and mend tissue on a magical level. The text promised it could "restore the vigor of a dying wolf." It was perfect.

The formula listed several rare ingredients, most of which I knew were in our family's private apothecary. Silverthorn root, ground moonstone, a drop of dormant wolfsbane extract. It was a complex, delicate process that required precision and knowledge, not just raw power.

At the bottom of the page, a faded note in the margin, written in a spidery, faded handwriting, gave a stark warning.

"Caution: Volatile reaction with arcane catalysts. Do not use on those afflicted by a True-Blood class curse."

I scoffed at the warning, a small, dismissive sound in the absolute quiet of the library.

Valerie's talk of a "mystical parasite" was just dramatic theater. A way to make a simple healing seem more impressive than it was. She was a rogue Omega who grew up in the dirt; what could she possibly know of True-Blood curses? It was a term she'd probably made up on the spot to sound important. The Elder had silver poisoning. A complicated case, to be sure, but a physical ailment, not a curse.

The warning was just an irrelevant, superstitious scribble from a forgotten age when wolves feared things they didn't understand. I understood science. I understood history. My world was one of facts and tangible results.