CHAPTER 144: YOUNG LILITH XVI

*~Lilith’s POV~*

Weeks bled into months, and months became a blur of exile. I had left New Orleans far behind, cutting every tie, every memory, of what once made me whole Not because I wanted to—but because I had no choice.

The Crescents had turned their backs on me, cast me out, stripped me of any right to call them family. My secret was no longer a secret. The entire supernatural underbelly of New Orleans now knew I was a Crescent. To them, I was now nothing but a traitor who had betrayed her own pack for love.

And Marcus... Marcus and his wolves had been hunting me relentlessly. A shadow in every alley. I didn’t care anymore. All I knew was that survival meant running. So I ran.

Far.

Now, I was in Paris. I had taken a seat in the dim light of a bar tucked away in Montmartre, where the air smelled of cigarette smoke and desperation. My cocktail sat half-empty before me, untouched. I wasn’t drinking for pleasure. I was drinking to clear my head

"Hey, gorgeous," a voice drawled. French accent thick, confident. A man slid into the stool beside me, his cologne sharp, predatory. "You look good tonight."

I turned, forcing a polite smile. "Bonsoir," I murmured. Hi.

I started to rise, but his hand clamped around my arm, yanking me back down with surprising strength. My body stiffened instantly.

"You don’t walk away from a gentleman, my lady. That’s disrespectful." His grin widened. "And I don’t mind being disrespectful to you."

I swallowed back the growl building in my throat. "I’m sorry. I have to go now."

But he was on his feet before I could move, stepping into my path, his posture casual yet blocking every escape. His eyes gleamed with something darker, something feral. "I didn’t know there was such a gorgeous in Paris," he whispered, his tone shifting from flirtatious to calculating. "Interesting. That means I’ll have to make you mine."

My pulse spiked. Like I need another man to come mess me up again....I shoved him aside, forcing my voice steady. "Move."

But he leaned in close, his breath hot against my cheek. "I don’t want to move. I want you. In my bed." His gaze swept over me, drenched in lust.

Disgust twisted my stomach. Rage burned through my veins.

"Versa."

My hand snapped his neck in one swift movement. His body crumpled to the floor with a sickening crack. Screams erupted across the bar, glasses shattering, chairs scraping back. People ran for the door, shrieking.

"That’s what you get when you harass women," I spat, stepping over his corpse.

But then—something hit me. Hard...The air grew heavy. My head spun violently, as if a weight had been dropped onto my skull. My body buckled, legs weak, arms trembling.

What—what was happening?

My vision blurred. The world tilted sideways. Panic shot through me. I stumbled, clutching a nearby table. My throat tightened, bile rising—then I vomited right there on the floor. The crowd screamed louder, the sound twisting into a distant echo.

No. This wasn’t right. Had he poisoned me? Drugged me? Was this some kind of trap?

My heart thundered, fighting to stay conscious. I clawed for balance, tried to pull in air—but every breath made the dizziness worse.

The last thing I saw was a pair of legs walking towards me....Then darkness swallowed me whole.

When I woke up, the fear of my surroundings jolted me before I even opened my eyes. My body tensed, instincts sharp. The air was thick, heavy, laced with a dampness that clung to my skin.

I sat up too quickly, the dizziness still there, my breath ragged. My gaze darted around—stone walls, cracked and ancient, moss crawling like veins across them. The place smelled of dust, herbs, and something rotten. It was no bar anymore. I was in a hovel, dark and suffocating.

"What the hell...?" I muttered, pressing a hand to my forehead. How did I get here? Was it the man from earlier? Did he drag me here before I—

The thought froze when the door creaked open.

An old woman shuffled in, her back bent, a crooked smile splitting her wrinkled face. She carried a calabash bowl in her hands, leaves floating in some dark, pungent liquid. Her eyes glimmered as if she had been waiting for me to wake.

"Hello, gorgeous," she croaked, voice disturbingly sweet, mocking.

My body stiffened. I leapt to my feet, ready to defend myself. My claws pricked under my skin, my Crescent blood demanding I attack.

"Who are you? What do you want from me? Are you working with Marcus?" My voice cracked like a whip.

But then—something strange. A voice, soft and distant, like it had been carried on the wind from Mjolnir itself, pressed against my skull: Be still.

I froze. My claws retreated. My lips clamped shut. My breathing was sharp, unsteady.

The woman’s smile deepened. She set the bowl down slowly, then wagged a finger at me. "Spicy werewolf. But calm yourself. You don’t need to endanger your lives"

"My... lives?" I echoed, glaring.

"Yes." She stepped closer, the air around her heavy with the scent of sage and blood. Her gaze burned through me. "You fainted because your body is weak. Too much stress. Too much running around."

"What are you saying?"

Her crooked grin widened as she reached into the calabash, fingers stirring the leaves with reverence. Then she looked up, her voice low, final.

"You are pregnant, child."

The words shattered the room around me.

I stared, unblinking, my breath caught in my throat. "Pregnant...?" My hand went instinctively to my stomach, heat rushing through me like wildfire.

Her eyes never wavered. "Yes. That is why you collapsed. That is why your strength is slipping. Your body is protecting more than just you now."

"What do you mean I’m pregnant?" My voice cracked, rising into a scream before I could stop it. "No. No, no, no. I cannot be pregnant!"

My hand flew to my mouth as if I could shove the words back in, as if I could suffocate the truth before it existed. My chest heaved, lungs burning.

"Pregnant... how?" My knees wobbled. My stomach twisted violently. "This is wrong. This is—this is bad. This is so bad."

I stumbled back, shaking my head so hard it hurt. "You’re lying. You have to be lying. That man..the one from earlier...he must’ve spiked my drink or something! Yes, that’s it! That’s why I fainted. There is no way..no no possible way...I’m pregnant!"

But then—

A memory slammed into me like a punch.

The rooftop. The night sky spread wide above us. Marcus’s hands were trembling against my skin, my breath catching as the city lights burned around us. His eyes—so blue, so desperate—and the heat of him pressed into me, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

"No..." I whispered. My hands clawed at my hair. "No, it was just once. Just one time. My first time. That....that can’t possibly make me pregnant!"

My voice shattered into a scream that tore through the old walls. The woman just stood there, watching me unravel.

I collapsed against the wall, trembling so violently I thought my bones would crack. Tears blurred my vision, rage and fear twisting inside me until I couldn’t breathe.

The old woman finally moved. With deliberate calm, she set the calabash bowl onto a nearby stool. The herbs inside shimmered faintly under the dim light.

"I prepared this for you," she said softly, her tone oddly patient for someone watching me break apart. "It will soothe you. Strengthen your body again."

She stepped closer, her shadow spilling across me.

"If you don’t take it, the child inside you" she paused, her crooked smile fading into grim finality "the child is very weak. If you keep fighting yourself, if you keep denying what is... You will risk its life. And it might die."