Possessed Wolfless: From Rejected to Vengeful Lycans' Queen-Chapter 17: Making A Deal

Lethia lay motionless, struggling to rise, yet her body remained rigid against the scorching rooftop. The heat pressed against her skin, and every nerve in her body screamed for her to find shelter, but she couldn't move.

'I can't move again.' Lethia groaned inwardly.

["Of course... I'm making sure you can't."]

"Wait, can you read my mind?"

["I can't. I am your mind. Ha ha ha..."]

'Wouldn't it be better to laugh once we move from here? You said you're inside me—so if I die from skin cancer, you would too.'

["Die? Who? Me? You? Us? Ha ha ha... Don't worry, I won't let you die... yet."]

The sun's scorching bite against her skin slowly melted into something cool and soothing—like she was lying beneath the shade of a giant tree, a gentle breeze caressing her.

'Are you... my wolf?'

["How dare you compare me to that cursed creature?"]

'But you exist inside the mind of that cursed being, don't you?'

Control returned to her limbs, and Lethia pushed herself up, though a strange coolness lingered despite the relentless midday sun.

"Is this your power? Who and what are you, really?" Lethia snapped, Her patience was paper-thin.

No answer rang through her mind. Instead, her legs moved of their own accord, carrying her toward the glasshouse—a greenhouse sanctuary where patients could breathe in the crisp air and clear their thoughts.

Her steps faltered, her balance wavering as though she might collapse at any moment, yet her feet stepped forward with unwavering determination.

She came to a halt before the glasshouse, her reflection staring back at her. But then... it flickered. Her reflection bled away, replaced by something else.

A beast.

Its fur burned crimson with streaks of white, three fluffy tails swaying behind it like shifting embers. Its sharp, pointed ears and lean body gave it the shape of a civet more than a dog.

The creature had four legs, yet now it stood upright on just two, using the other two like hands.

This long-whiskered civet struck a pose like a model—one hand on its hip, one leg extended forward in a perfect tiptoe, its chin lifted high as if waiting for a photographer to capture its moment of glory.

Lethia bewildered at the spectacle before her. Her jaw dropped, disbelief flooding her as her reflection twisted into something both sly and ominous, shifting between different poses like a model on the catwalk.

'Since when do animals have three fluffy, wiggly-ass tails like that?' Was she so close to death that she'd been cursed even further? Or had her wolf mutated into something stronger, now boasting three tails?

"I'm not a dog, a civet, or a wolf. Have you never heard of the holy, almighty spirit foxes—the divine beings that guard the mountains and keep the balance of the wild?"

The fox protested, its voice laced with irritation.

Lethia flinched for a moment when she realized whatever she thought could be read by this self-claimed almighty being.

"It's not self-claimed, it's the truth," the fox retorted.

Lethia scoffed. "So you're that ancient spirit fox from fairy tales? But every legend I've read says those creatures have nine tails. And, we don't even have mountains in this country, so what are you? An immigrant?"

She frowned as the fox's reflection burst into laughter.

"You living beings are so ignorant of history. Hundreds of years ago, before doomsday, this land was once a breathtaking mountain range, full of with untamed wilderness—"

"I couldn't care less about your fairy-tale history that has nothing to do with me. You should know better—what I really want to know is why the hell you crawled into my body and decided to do whatever the fuck you want with it."

"Amusing. I've never met a wolfless who became my vessel and still had the audacity to speak to me like this."

"Vessel?"

"Hm. Since doomsday, we spirit foxes have lost our power, our tails stripped away until only one remained. To reclaim them, we need a living vessel—someone to ignite our spirit beads and awaken our tails, one by one, until all nine are restored."

Lethia let out a bitter, mocking laugh. "Hah. What a load of bullshit."

"Whoa, you really don't have a shred of fear in you, do you?"

'Fear?'

Lethia gritted her teeth and drew in a heavy, deep breath.

"And why the hell should I? What worse could possibly happen to me?" Her voice dripped with venom. "I was rejected on the day I was supposed to become Luna, kidnapped, stabbed, and robbed of everything I owned." Her breath hitched, her lips trembling as she clenched her fists.

"And now, on top of all that, I have a damn spirit hijacking my body, treating me like some fucking puppet. So tell me, what else is there to be afraid of? Tell me if there's anything left for me to lose!"

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her voice cracking, tears spilling freely down her cheeks.

She wiped them away hastily, rubbing at her face as if she could erase the evidence of her own suffering.

The fox crossed its arms, its lips curling into a sharp, scornful smirk—completely unfazed by her pain.

"Ungrateful bitch. I should've just let your baby die instead of wasting my energy keeping it alive."

The mention of her baby hit Lethia like a dagger to the heart. She had almost forgotten. Her hand swung to her stomach, clutching at the fabric of her clothes.

She had been too caught up in surviving, running, escaping, being cast aside—so much so that she had nearly forgotten that she was pregnant.

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The memories of the past year clawed their way back—the endless IVF procedures, the grueling cycles of hope and heartbreak.

Her grip tightened. Was the diagnosis even true? That she could never conceive naturally? Or had that been a lie too?

Lana's confession echoed in her mind—how she and Varrel had planned everything from the very beginning. A sickening twist churned in her stomach.

'Had the IVF been part of their trap too? Was this child even Varrel's? Was it truly Karmen's?'

Lethia clenched her teeth, fighting back the sting in her eyes.

But it was useless.

The moment she lowered her gaze, noticing her bare feet clad only in socks, the tears spilled over.

A quiet sob wracked her body.

Was she even fit to be a mother at this point? What kind of fate awaited this child once it was born?

Fear crept in.

Lethia—who hadn't so much as flinched when faced with the astral being possessing her body—felt a deep, gnawing dread at the thought of what lay ahead for her baby.

Then, across the street from the hospital, a holographic billboard flickered to life.

The news flashed before her—Ashcroft Ranch & Cheese Farm donates 10 million creds to Lykon Haven and officially joins forces with one of the leading parties in the next election.

The footage cut to Varrel Quinnel, his sickening wide smile spread across his face as he shook hands with a member of parliament.

Lethia's breath hitched. A crushing weight pressed against her chest. Her fingers curled into her palm, gripping her own hand so tightly it hurt.

"What do you want from me?" Her voice was low and steady, but her gaze remained locked on the hologram.

"Hm? Why? Thinking of making a deal with me?" The fox chuckled. "Oh, dear, what makes you think a weak little thing like you has anything to bargain with an almighty like me?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, the scent of the greenhouse garden mixing with the sterile air of the hospital ward, fueling the anger and resentment simmering inside her.

Then, Lethia's gaze turned to her reflection smirking back at her from the glass wall.

"You've only got three tails when you're supposed to have nine." Her voice was like a blade. "Let's be useful to each other and get what we both want."