His Defiant Luna: The Alpha Prince's Secret Healer

Florence POV:

My head felt like it was splitting open. A sharp, hammering pain pulsed behind my eyes, synchronized with the thumping bass of the music.

Muffled voices buzzed around me, a swarm of insects I couldn't swat away.

I forced my eyelids open. The crystal chandelier above shattered into a thousand dazzling fragments of light. Smirking faces slowly came into focus, their eyes filled with undisguised mockery. A girl in a lavish pink gown stood over me, her blonde hair glowing like a perfect halo as she looked down with cold arrogance.

"Florence, stop playing dead!" she snapped, her voice sharp and triumphant. "It's your engagement day to Prince Alaric. Even for a wolfless like you, it's an honor to take my place."

A torrent of memories surged into my mind-my own, from a life before this one, flooding back all at once.

I was Florence Sharpe. A "wolfless" who had never awakened her wolf, I had been treated as a disgrace and an outcast within my own family. My stepsister, Clara-the blonde girl standing in front of me-had poisoned me out of jealousy and left my face scarred beyond recognition. And now, they were forcing me to take Clara's place and fulfill the engagement with the prince.

A tall man with contempt in his eyes scowled down at me. Prince Alaric.

"Lady Barb," he said coldly, his voice filled with disdain, "is this really the best you could find? She's a complete disgrace. Get her up before she makes a fool of herself and humiliates us all."

Clara looped her arm through Alaric's, her voice turning sickly sweet. "Alaric, don't be angry. My sister is just... not used to these grand occasions." Her eyes, however, danced with pure, venomous joy.

I pushed myself up, my hand gripping the edge of a table for support. The biological toxin still lingered in my system, a familiar, low-grade poison.

In my past life, I had been a bio-engineer from a future far beyond this world-and with that knowledge now awake in me, neutralizing it would be simple.

But first, I needed to collect some interest.

Whispers slithered through the crowd. "Look at the scar on her face, how hideous." "A wolfless dares to marry the prince?" "The shame of the Sharpe family."

The noise was like flies buzzing over a corpse.

Seeing me stand, Clara assumed I had submitted. A victorious smile spread across her face as she reached out to "help" me. "Come, sister. It's time to complete the ceremony before the Elders."

The moment her fingers brushed my arm, I moved.

My hand shot out, clamping around her wrist like a steel trap. Her smile froze.

Crack.

The sound was crisp and clear. A sharp slap echoed through the suddenly silent hall.

Everyone stared, their mouths agape.

Clara clutched her cheek, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You... you hit me?" she shrieked.

A cold smile touched my lips. I slapped her again, harder this time. "Hit you? I'm going to kill you."

I didn't stop. Left, right, my hands became a blur, each slap a repayment for the pain and humiliation this body had endured. I struck her thirty times, until her face was a swollen, purple mess and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

"You lunatic! Stop!" Prince Alaric roared, finally breaking from his shock and charging toward me.

I let go of the whimpering Clara and snatched a heavy crystal vase from a nearby table.

He didn't slow down, not expecting any real resistance.

I didn't hesitate.

The vase shattered against his skull with a sickening crunch. Blood streamed down his forehead, mingling with the water and flower petals.

He staggered back, his hand flying to his head, his anger replaced by a flicker of fear.

I walked to the center of the hall, my gaze sweeping over the stunned guests. My voice was clear and cold. "I, Florence Sharpe, hereby formally dissolve my engagement to Prince Alaric. Anyone who wants this piece of trash is welcome to him."

I then walked to the sniveling heap that was Clara and plucked a long, sharp silver pin from her elaborate hairstyle.

The Royal Guards finally drew their swords, forming a hesitant circle around me.

I ignored them.

I walked directly to the dazed Prince Alaric.

As he tried to scramble away, I moved like lightning, pressing the sharp point of the hairpin against his throat.

The cold metal froze him in place. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing against the pin.

"If you want your prince to live," I said calmly to the guards, "you will all back away."

They exchanged nervous glances, their swords wavering. Slowly, they retreated.

I kept the pin pressed against Alaric's skin, dragging him backward with me toward the grand entrance. My eyes found my stepmother, Barb Foreman, in the crowd. Her face was a mask of pure hatred.

I pricked Alaric's neck, drawing a thin line of blood. "Get me the fastest carriage," I whispered in his ear. "Now."

He nodded, his body trembling, and croaked the order to his men.

The heavy doors swung open behind me, revealing the deep, endless night.

Florence POV:

The carriage rattled down the dark, unpaved road. Prince Alaric sat across from me, clutching his bleeding forehead, his eyes burning with a venomous hatred that was almost comical.

I watched him, my face impassive. From the sleeve of my ruined dress, I produced a slender silver needle, as fine as a strand of hair, taken from the sewing kit I had grown up with in this life.

Alaric's eyes widened in alarm. "What do you think you're doing?"

I didn't answer, simply waiting. My body was already working, my advanced knowledge of biology allowing me to break down the lingering toxins molecule by molecule.

The carriage hit a rough patch of road, lurching violently as it entered the winding mountain pass.

This was my chance.

I lunged forward, my movements a blur. The silver needle found its mark, sliding precisely into a nerve cluster at the base of his neck.

Alaric let out a choked gasp and went limp, slumping against the velvet seat. His entire body was paralyzed. Only his eyes, wide with terror, could move.

I leaned over him, a cold smile playing on my lips. "Don't worry," I whispered. "It's only temporary. You should be thanking me. This is far more merciful than the poison you and my dear sister planned for me."

I ordered the terrified driver to continue deeper into the Foggy Mountains. Buried in my memories was a place-New Moon Manor, an abandoned Sharpe property with a natural healing spring. It was my destination.

When we reached a sharp turn at the edge of a cliff, I told the driver to stop.

I opened the door and dragged Alaric out of the carriage like a sack of garbage.

I hauled his useless body to the cliff's edge. Then, I forced the driver to guide the horses until the wheels of the magnificent royal carriage teetered on the precipice.

With a final, satisfying shove, I kicked him.

He tumbled into the abyss, followed by the carriage, a final, crashing symphony of splintering wood and royal arrogance.

After dealing with the trash, I moved alone through the woods, relying on memory to guide me toward New Moon Manor. The terrain was difficult, but my past life as a special operative had given me a physical foundation that my body was quickly re-learning.

Half an hour later, I saw it-an ancient manor shrouded in moonlight and mist.

I expertly navigated around the few decaying traps on the manor's perimeter and found the natural hot spring, glowing under the moon.

The water smelled faintly of herbs, exactly what I needed to purge the last of the poison.

I shed the cumbersome gown, ready to step into the healing water.

But I stopped.

My senses, honed by years of survival, screamed a warning.

Through the rising steam, I saw the silhouette of a man. He sat with his back to me, his broad shoulders and the powerful lines of his back stark against the moonlight.

My private sanctuary was occupied.

I moved silently, creeping closer to identify the intruder.

As if sensing my presence, the man slowly turned.

His face was breathtakingly handsome, with features so sharp and deep they looked carved from stone. A pair of dark blue eyes, as sharp as a hawk's, met mine through the night.

But his face was pale, his lips pressed into a thin line, as if he were enduring immense pain.

He was sitting on the stone steps of the spring, his legs submerged in the water. Beside him rested an exquisitely crafted wheelchair.

My voice was laced with ice. "Who are you? And what are you doing in my spring?"

The man's gaze swept over me, lingering for a fraction of a second on the ugly scar on my face before moving on. His tone was flat, yet held an unquestionable authority. "Your spring? This manor, and the entire mountain it sits on, were purchased by me three days ago."

I froze. My last refuge, the one place I thought I could recover, was gone?

The poison inside me, agitated by the night's exertions, surged again. A wave of dizziness washed over me.

I had to get into that water. Now.

I looked at the powerful man before me and knew this night was far from over.

Florence POV:

I fought back the wave of nausea, my eyes narrowing as I studied the man. He was sitting, yet the aura of power rolling off him was more intense than anyone I had ever met, Prince Alaric included.

A humorless laugh escaped my lips. "Purchased? That's interesting. I wasn't aware the Sharpe family was selling off ancestral property."

The man's blue eyes narrowed slightly, as if he were assessing a new piece on a chessboard. "You have a connection to the Sharpe family?"

I ignored his question. "And who are you? Soaking in someone else's spring in the middle of the night. You look like a pervert."

A cold, dangerous smile touched his lips. "My name is Gideon Carlisle. As for being a pervert... you haven't taken your clothes off yet, miss."

Carlisle. The royal family name. I remembered now. He was Alaric's uncle, the "Iron Prince," who had supposedly been crippled by a silver weapon on the battlefield three years ago, losing the use of his legs.

His sharp gaze raked over me again. "I've heard rumors of a mysterious 'Phantom Healer' in this area, whose skills are divine. Your appearance here, in the dead of night, is quite a coincidence. What is your relationship with her?"

He was testing me. It was clear now. He'd bought this land to find that healer for his legs.

I decided to play along, a mysterious smile gracing my lips. "Guess."

I circled the edge of the spring, my eyes fixed on his legs submerged in the water. Then, I spoke, my voice low and deliberate. "You're wasting your time. This isn't a simple injury. It's a compound poison-silver dust mixed with the neurotoxin of a black widow spider. It's been corroding your nerves for three years. This spring can only offer temporary relief, not a cure."

The calm mask on Gideon's face finally cracked. The appraisal in his eyes morphed into shock, then into a flash of pure, unadulterated killing intent.

This was his deepest secret. Only a handful of people in the royal court knew the exact nature of the poison. And this scarred, unknown woman had seen it with a single glance.

His voice dropped, becoming a low, menacing growl. "Who are you?"

I ignored him. The poison in my veins was reaching its peak. I had to get in the water.

I walked directly toward the spring and began to unlace the remnants of my dress.

"Stop!" Gideon's voice was a whip crack. "Who gave you permission to enter?"

I didn't even turn around. "A cripple who can't even stand is trying to give me orders?" I scoffed.

The words had barely left my mouth when a powerful gust of wind exploded behind me.

Gideon launched himself from the stone steps, his hand shooting toward my neck like a viper. His legs weren't completely useless at all!

But I was ready. I dropped into a low crouch, his fingers grazing the air where my throat had been.

We exchanged a flurry of blows at the water's edge. His upper body strength and speed were astonishing, even with his impaired legs.

I used my agility to weave around him, my mind racing. The power of the Lycan bloodline was truly formidable. This world's lore spoke of it as a special, high-tier lineage, and I was seeing its power firsthand.

After a few moves, he cornered me against the spring. There was nowhere left to run.

Just then, the poison inside me detonated. My vision went black, and my body went limp.

Gideon seized the opportunity, his hand clamping around my arm, pulling me against him. His other hand closed around my throat.

The lack of air forced my eyes open. I was staring into his icy blue depths.

He loomed over me, his voice a chilling whisper from the grave. "Now, tell me your connection to the Phantom Healer. Or I won't hesitate to snap your neck."

I looked at him, and against all odds, I smiled. "Kill me," I rasped, "and you'll never walk again."

His fingers tightened for a terrifying second, the pressure building, but he didn't follow through.

I used that moment of hesitation. I threw my body backward, plunging into the hot spring. The water enveloped me like a soothing blanket.

I sank beneath the surface, focusing all my energy on expelling the poison, ignoring the man on the bank whose face was a storm of conflicting emotions.

Gideon stood there, watching me, his eyes filled with suspicion, calculation, and a flicker of another emotion I couldn't quite place.