My Mate Tried to Kill Me for My Sister

Healer Gregory helped me back onto the cot. My breathing was still ragged, though my mind was crystal clear. Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. The infirmary door swung wide open.

Beta Cole rushed in, his face tight with worry. Behind him stood three pack council members and two tall, broad-shouldered men. The Hamilton Lycan representatives. My mind-link scream had drawn an audience. Perfect.

"What happened?" Cole demanded. "We felt the Luna's pain."

Gregory shook his head grimly. "Claire's wolf is in sympathetic wolf-decay. She cannot be the donor. The shock will kill her instantly."

Low murmurs filled the room. Savanna let out a loud, dramatic sob from her chair. "Then I'm going to die!"

"Not necessarily," Gregory said. He wiped his hands on a white towel. "We can still do the transfer. But only with a donor of equal or greater essence strength. A pure Alpha bloodline would be the strongest match."

The room went dead silent. Every eye turned to Patrick.

This was it. The trap was set. Now, I just had to push him in.

I looked up at Patrick. I let a few tears spill over my cheeks. I reached out with a trembling hand. "Patrick," I whispered softly.

He looked down at me. His eyes were wide and guarded.

"You are so strong. So selfless," I said. My voice carried clearly across the quiet room. "The Moon Goddess paired us for a reason. Maybe this is her plan. To save my twin."

I looked past him, making sure the Lycan representatives were listening. "You wouldn't deny her, would you? You love my family so much. You're a true Alpha."

Cole nodded slowly. "It would be a great honor, Alpha. A true sacrifice for your mate's blood."

The Lycan representatives murmured their solemn approval. Their heavy gazes pinned Patrick in place.

Patrick was entirely cornered. If he said no, he would look weak and selfish before his Lycan family. If he refused a dying girl, the pack council would doubt his honor. He couldn't confess that he only wanted Savanna in his bed, not on his conscience.

His jaw ticked. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He looked at Savanna, then back at me. There was no noble sacrifice in his eyes. Just the frantic, trapped look of a man with no way out.

"Of course," Patrick said. His voice sounded like grinding stones. "I will do it."

Gregory didn't waste a second. He grabbed a silver needle and pricked Patrick's finger. A drop of dark blood fell into a glass vial of clear reagent. Three seconds later, the liquid flared bright gold.

"A perfect match," Gregory announced.

Patrick stared at the glowing vial. He looked sick.

I folded my hands in my lap to hide their shaking. I gave him a warm, watery smile. I played the perfect, devoted Luna. "Thank you, my Alpha."

That afternoon, the infirmary felt like a tomb.

I stood in the observation gallery, looking down through the thick glass window. Below me, Patrick lay strapped to a heavy iron ritual table. Savanna lay on a smaller cot right beside him.

Gregory began the ancient chanting. He held up the runed silver scalpel. He pressed it to the center of Patrick's chest.

Patrick arched his back. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat.

Thick tendrils of glowing golden mist rose from the cut. It was his Alpha essence. The very core of his wolf. Gregory guided the golden mist through the air, pushing it down into Savanna's chest.

A sharp spike of agony hit me out of nowhere. I gasped and gripped the metal railing. The mate bond. I was feeling his pain. In my mind, I heard his inner wolf howling in pure terror. I felt it shrinking. Tearing. Diminishing into something small and broken.

It was the exact pain he had forced me to endure in my past life.

I didn't flinch. I stood tall and watched him bleed.

When the ritual finally ended, the room was heavy with sweat and copper. Gregory unbuckled the leather straps. Patrick rolled off the table. His boots hit the floor, but his knees buckled. He had to grab the edge of the table to stay upright.

I stared at him. The change was shocking.

His eyes, usually a burning, dominant gold, were dull and flat. His skin was pale. But the biggest difference was his aura. An Alpha's aura is supposed to feel like a thunderstorm. It commands respect. It makes you want to bare your neck.

Now? It flickered weakly, like a candle fighting the wind.

Down below, Beta Cole and the other warriors shifted uncomfortably. They exchanged uneasy glances. Wolves respect strength, and the strength in the room had just vanished. The pack dynamic was already cracking.

Savanna sat up on her cot. Her cheeks were pink. She looked revitalized. She reached out her hand. "Patrick," she cooed.

He took her hand. He looked exhausted. Hollowed out.

I looked down at the two of them. My own wolf stretched inside my chest, strong, whole, and restless. I felt no pity. I felt no sadness.

I only felt the cold, hard satisfaction of a debt finally being paid.