Chapter 36: The Poison

The first sign was the trembling in her hands. Elena stared at her fingers as they shook over the bathroom sink, the cold porcelain biting into her palms. She had felt off since morning—a dull ache behind her eyes, a metallic taste on her tongue that no amount of water could wash away. But she had dismissed it as nerves. The challenge was hours away. Of course she was on edge. Now, as she watched her reflection, she noticed the faint blue tint spreading from the corners of her lips. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She pressed a hand to her chest, felt the erratic beat—too fast, too weak. This wasn't anxiety. This was poison. She stumbled out of the bathroom, gripping the doorframe for support. The penthouse was quiet, Damon in a meeting with his inner circle, finalizing the challenge protocols. No one would disturb her. No one would hear her fall. But she wouldn't fall. Not yet. Elena forced herself to think. The poison was slow-acting, meant to weaken her before the fight. It had to have been administered recently—last night or this morning. She retraced her steps. Breakfast was delivered by a pack servant. Coffee. Toast. The same as always. But there had been a glass of water on her nightstand when she woke, and she had drunk it without thinking. Her gaze snapped to the empty glass still on the bedside table. She crossed the room, snatching it up, sniffing the rim. Nothing. Odorless. Clever. She knew who. There was only one person in this penthouse who wanted her dead before the challenge. Only one person who had access to her room without raising suspicion. Elena's blood boiled despite the chill spreading through her limbs. She grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer—small, sharp, concealed in her palm—and made her way down the hall to Lydia's temporary quarters. Damon had insisted his sister stay close for the challenge, a gesture of unity. A mistake. She didn't knock. She shoved the door open and found Lydia seated at a vanity, brushing her hair with deliberate calm. Their eyes met in the mirror. Lydia's hand paused, then resumed its stroke. "You look pale, sister," Lydia said, her voice smooth as silk. "Nervous about the challenge?" Elena stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The knife stayed hidden against her forearm. "You poisoned me." It wasn't a question. Lydia's reflection smiled—a thin, cruel curve. "I have no idea what you're talking about." "The water on my nightstand. Only you would know I drink it first thing. Only you would have access without the guards noticing." Lydia set down the brush and turned slowly, her expression shifting to one of mock concern. "Are you feeling unwell? Perhaps you should withdraw from the challenge. It would be a shame if something happened to you in that ring." Elena moved before Lydia could react. She crossed the distance in three strides, grabbed Lydia by the hair, and pressed the knife to her throat. The blade kissed the skin, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make Lydia freeze. "The antidote," Elena hissed. "Where is it?" Lydia's eyes flashed wide, but her voice remained steady. "You wouldn't kill me. Damon would never forgive you." "I don't need his forgiveness. I need to survive this fight. And if I die, I'm taking you with me." She pressed harder, felt Lydia's pulse flutter against the steel. "Last chance." Lydia's composure cracked. A tremor ran through her jaw. "In my jewelry box. The red velvet pouch. It's a single dose." Elena dragged her to the vanity, keeping the knife in place while she fumbled open the box with her free hand. Inside, among pearls and gold chains, was a small crimson pouch. She pulled it out, shook a dark amber vial into her palm. "Drink it," she ordered. "That's the only dose. If I drink it—" "Then you'll die. Good. But first, you're going to watch me take it." Elena uncorked the vial with her teeth, never lowering the knife. The liquid smelled bitter, like herbs and metal. She didn't hesitate. She tipped it into her mouth and swallowed. The effect was immediate. Warmth spread from her stomach, chasing away the cold. Her hands stopped trembling. Her heartbeat steadied, grew strong. She felt the poison retreat, the strength flooding back into her limbs. She released Lydia and stepped back, the knife still in her hand. Lydia slumped against the vanity, rubbing her throat, her face pale. "You're insane," Lydia whispered. "And you're pathetic." Elena wiped the blade on her sleeve and tucked it away. "You wanted to weaken me so you could win without a real fight. But I'm still standing. And in a few hours, I'm going to tear you apart in front of the entire pack." She walked out, leaving Lydia shaking in the mirror's reflection. Damon met her in the hallway, his face dark with fury. He had heard. Of course he had heard—his wolf senses caught every whisper in this penthouse. "The challenge is off," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I won't let you fight after what she did." Elena met his gaze. "No. This is exactly why I have to fight. She tried to take this from me—my strength, my chance. If I back down now, she wins. I won't give her that satisfaction." "You could have died." "But I didn't. I took the antidote. I'm fine." She stepped closer, placed a hand on his chest. "I need to do this, Damon. Not for you. For me. Let me finish what I started." He searched her eyes, his jaw tight. Finally, he let out a breath. "If you die in that ring, I'll burn this city to the ground." "I won't die. I have a score to settle." An hour later, Elena stood at the edge of the challenge ring—a circle of packed earth in the pack's training grounds, surrounded by a crowd of wolves. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the field. Lydia stood opposite her, stripped of her jewelry, her hair tied back, her eyes filled with cold fury. The beta raised his hand. "The challenge begins at the fall of the sun. No weapons. No interference. The first to yield or fall unconscious loses. The winner claims the right to stand as the Alpha's chosen." Elena's blood hummed with renewed power. She rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck. Across the ring, Lydia bared her teeth. The beta's hand dropped. They circled each other, feet light on the dirt, eyes locked. The crowd held its breath. Lydia lunged first.