After My Mate Called Me a Traitor, He Begged

The current pulled me under, icy water filling my lungs as the Wolfsbane burned through my veins. Darkness closed in from all sides as I surrendered to the numbness. This was my choice—my escape from a world that had betrayed me.

Then strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me upward. I gasped as my face broke the surface, coughing up river water and black blood.

"Stay with me, Ashlyn," Griffin's voice penetrated the haze of pain. "Don't you dare give up now."

I couldn't speak. The poison had paralyzed my vocal cords, and my wolf—my beautiful, loyal wolf—was dying inside me. I felt her fading, her howls growing fainter as the Wolfsbane did its work.

Griffin dragged me to shore, his breathing heavy. In the moonlight, I saw his face—determined, afraid, but resolved.

"I won't let you die," he said, slicing his palm with a silver blade. Blood welled up, black in the darkness. "Not after what they did to you."

He pressed his bleeding hand to my chest, directly over my heart. Words I didn't understand flowed from his lips—ancient, forbidden words that made the air around us shimmer.

"By blood and bone, by moon and shadow," he chanted, "I bind the wolf within."

Pain exploded through me as Griffin's blood mingled with mine. I felt something snap inside—not breaking, but changing. My wolf didn't die; instead, she retreated deep within me, sealed away by Griffin's magic.

"What have you done?" I whispered as the pain subsided.

"Saved your life," he said, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. "But there's a price."

I tried to reach for my wolf, to feel her presence as I always had. There was nothing but emptiness. "She's gone."

"Not gone. Hidden." Griffin helped me sit up. "The Wolfsbane would have killed you both, but this way—"

"You've made me human," I finished, understanding dawning with horror.

"I've made you alive," he corrected, lifting me into his arms. "And we need to move. They'll be searching the river."

---

Five years later, I stood over an operating table in Dr. Peter Carpenter's underground clinic. My hands moved with practiced precision as I stitched closed a rogue's infected wound.

"Another perfect job, Elliott," Peter said, using the name I'd adopted in my new life. "You're the best damn surgeon I've ever seen."

I nodded curtly, removing my gloves. "The next patient?"

"Taking a break first," Peter insisted. "You've been operating for eight hours straight."

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 6 AM. Time for my morning ritual.

In the privacy of my quarters behind the clinic, I opened a small wooden box and removed a tiny vial of pale green liquid. Wolfsbane—diluted to a micro-dose that wouldn't kill me but would keep my scent masked and my wolf comatose.

One drop on my tongue, and I swallowed. The familiar burn spread through my system, reinforcing the barrier between me and my imprisoned wolf.

"Another day," I whispered to my reflection in the mirror.

The woman who stared back was a stranger—pale skin, hollow eyes, a jagged scar running from her collarbone to her jaw. I touched the scar gently, remembering the silver whip that had carved it into my flesh.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Elliott," Griffin called softly. "There's news from the south."

I opened the door. Griffin stood there, his silver-streaked hair catching the dim light. The magic he'd used to save me had marked him permanently—a reminder of what we'd both sacrificed.

"The Sovereign Moon Pack has a new Beta," he said, his voice low. "And Aiden..."

"He's still alive?" I asked, surprised by the flicker of emotion that crossed my heart.

"Barely." Griffin handed me a folded paper. "Rumors say he's dying. Something about 'Mate Sickness.'"

I scanned the document, my expression carefully neutral despite the storm inside me. "It doesn't concern us."

---

The clinic's waiting room was unusually crowded that afternoon. Rogues from three different territories had come seeking treatment.

"Elliott," Peter called from the front desk. "We have an emergency."

I stepped through the curtain to see a figure slumped in a chair—tall, gaunt, his skin yellowed with disease. Even in this state, I recognized him instantly.

Aiden Grant.

His eyes lifted to mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of the Alpha he once was—powerful, commanding. Then it faded, leaving only desperation.

"You," he whispered, his voice cracking. "The healer."

I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind me, Griffin tensed, ready to intervene.

"I'm dying," Aiden said, reaching toward me with trembling fingers. "Please."

The word hung between us—a plea from an Alpha who had never begged for anything in his life.

I stepped back, my face a mask of professional detachment even as memories flooded through me.

"I'm sorry," I said coldly. "We're fully booked today."

As I turned away, I heard him collapse to the floor, his breathing labored and weak.