Forsaken for Her Sister: The Supreme Alpha's True Mate

Elara POV

A soft knock came at my door.

"Elara, we're heading to the premium restaurant to celebrate! Come down!" Seraphina called out cheerfully.

I opened the door.

I saw Thorne standing right beside her in the hallway.

His large hands were gently adjusting the fall of the collar on Seraphina's elegant dress.

The tenderness in his eyes was a thing I had begged for in the dream—an entire lifetime spent craving a look he had never once given me.

Now, seeing it bestowed upon another, I felt nothing but a hollow calm.

I followed them outside into the cool evening air.

Seraphina linked her arm through Thorne's, walking proudly at the front.

My parents followed closely behind them, laughing and discussing the details of the mating ceremony.

I walked far behind, a silent ghost trailing the procession of a happy family.

We arrived at the restaurant, a lavish wooden building reserved only for the Alpha's inner circle.

We sat down at a large round table.

My father grabbed the menu and immediately ordered the grand feast.

"Bring out the roasted elk," he told the waiter. "And load it up with the mountain spices."

A muscle in my heart skipped its beat.

The mountain spices contained traces of Wolfsbane.

Wolfsbane was a toxic purple flower that acted like a virulent poison to our kind.

Strong Alphas could tolerate tiny amounts of it for the spicy flavor, but for an Omega like me, it was deadly.

My father knew I was severely allergic to it.

He just did not care.

My mother leaned over and patted Seraphina's hand, asking if she wanted extra sweet wine.

No one looked at me.

Twenty minutes later, the waiter placed a massive platter of roasted elk in the center of the table.

The pungent, burning smell of the Wolfsbane hit my nose instantly.

My blood seemed to roil, a violent rejection of the toxin that went beyond mere allergy; a tide of acid rose in my throat, and my canine teeth ached in their sockets, every cell in my body recoiling from the impurity.

I pushed my chair back slightly, trying to get away from the fumes.

Seraphina picked up a piece of the meat with her fork and held it up to Thorne's lips.

"Try it, Alpha," she giggled.

Thorne leaned forward, but before he could take the bite, he suddenly froze.

His eyes darted across the table and landed on my pale face.

"Get that out of here," Thorne commanded, his voice rumbling with a sudden, dark authority.

The entire table went silent.

"Get what out?" my father asked, confused.

"The meat," Thorne snapped, glaring at my father. "Elara is deathly allergic to Wolfsbane. Are you trying to kill her at the dinner table?"

My parents stared at him in pure shock.

My mother quickly tried to smooth things over.

"Oh, Alpha, don't worry about her," she laughed nervously. "Omegas are just dramatic. She's fine."

Thorne ignored my mother completely.

He raised his hand and signaled the waiter.

"Take this away now," Thorne ordered. "Bring pure, unseasoned meat."

The waiter scrambled to remove the platter.

I sat frozen in my chair, staring at Thorne.

He was carefully cutting a piece of bread for Seraphina, acting as if his sudden outburst had never happened.

But I understood the truth. He was not protecting me. He was protecting his reputation. An Omega convulsing and coughing up blood at his dinner table, on the night he proposed to her sister—that would be a stain on his Alpha name. His intervention had nothing to do with concern, and everything to do with appearances.

The dream had taught me to recognize the difference.

I looked down at my empty plate.

When I was eight years old, during a terrible winter, I saw a young boy fall into a frozen lake.

I jumped into the freezing water, dragged him out, and peeled off my own thickest outer layer—not dry, but drier than his soaked clothes, the best I could offer—and wrapped it around him.

That boy was Thorne.

While he was burning with fever in the snow, he held my hand and promised to make me his Luna one day.

But when the pack healers found us, I had passed out from the cold.

When Thorne woke up, Seraphina was sitting next to his bed.

She had already discarded my coat, wrapping him instead in the folds of her own. The scent he woke to was hers, not mine.

He assumed she was the one who saved him.

He never bothered to ask the truth, and my parents forbade me from ever speaking of it so Seraphina could have the glory.

After dinner, we walked back to the Pack House under the moonlight.

As we approached the gates, Thorne suddenly slowed his pace.

He let Seraphina and my parents walk ahead, and he stepped directly into my path.

He grabbed my wrist.

His grip was tight, a brand against my cold skin.

"You've been different lately," he whispered, his voice low and raspy. "Ever since yesterday. The way you look at me—it's changed."

I looked up into his dark eyes.

"I nearly drowned," I said calmly. "Perhaps that changes a person."

Thorne's jaw clenched, his eyes searching my face for something he couldn't name.

He leaned in closer, his scent of wet earth and smoke coiling around me not like an embrace, but like a restraint.

"Listen to me," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "You're going to the border. You'll pack your bags and leave quietly."

He pointed a finger at my chest.

"Don't try to cause trouble at my mating ceremony. I won't tolerate it."

I held his gaze, and for one fleeting moment, the dream flickered behind my eyes—his face in another life, whispering his final wish over my bleeding body. The same face. The same coldness. Only the context had changed.

I said nothing.

He released my wrist, seemingly unsettled by my silence, and strode away to rejoin Seraphina.

I watched him go, rubbing the red marks his fingers had left on my skin, and felt something shift deep in my chest—not fear, but the cold, quiet crystallization of resolve. The dream had shown me the ending. It was up to me to change the path.