The Mate Who Burned Me

Tommy’s voice ricocheted through my skull, each syllable cutting fresh grooves as though barbed wire were being dragged across my heart. Instinctively, my hands balled tight, half‑moons blooming in my palms where nails dug deep. Anger—white‑hot and caustic—pressed against the foggy weakness settling over my limbs. I yearned to burst in, stare him down, and ask how a wolf who once vowed to protect could turn so monstrous.

I lurched toward the door, prepared to fling it wide, and that was when my body betrayed me. Liquid fire raced along every vein, scorching muscle and marrow alike. The corridor twisted, the world pitching off its axis, and before a gasp could clear my throat, gravity dragged me under.

I slammed into the floor.

Unforgiving tiles bit into my skin, sending bolts of pain up my spine. Air escaped in a harsh wheeze; every shallow inhale tasted of iron. The dizziness spiraled, the ceiling and walls whirling together in cruel circles. I stretched a trembling arm, groping for a chair, a wall, discarded linens—anything to anchor me. Nothing greeted my grasp.

Time blurred. Seconds, perhaps hours, bled together while I lay sprawled, unseen and unmissed. The pack’s bustle continued somewhere distant; not a single footstep paused, not one voice asked if I still breathed. My pulse thundered—not from injury, but from blistering rage. That fury became fuel.

With a ragged grunt, I wedged elbows beneath me, then palms, every muscle shrieking. Teeth clenched, I dragged myself forward, inch by painstaking inch, toward the exit. I would not die on the tiles that had soaked up Susie’s blood, nor beneath a roof that had already labeled me expendable.

Somewhere inside these walls Tommy lurked, undoubtedly tending to the she‑wolf who had stolen everything. Monica. Even thinking the name tasted of poison. Bracing against plaster, I hauled upright on quaking legs and hobbled down the passage. Each shuffle felt like stepping on shattered glass, yet fury kept me moving.

I had to see them with my own eyes.

Crossing the threshold of the recovery suite, I nearly reeled. Tommy stood at a canopied bed, arms folded, golden gaze tender upon the patient. Monica reclined in a cocoon of satin, pallid but serene, as if calamity itself existed only to pamper her. A queen clothed in stolen grace—mine, and Susie’s.

Sensing me, Monica’s lashes fluttered. A languid, victorious smile unfurled. She lifted her hand with theatrical ease, letting lamplight waltz across an enormous diamond now nesting on her ring finger. The sight punched the air from my lungs. An engagement ring—while my sister lay in the ground.

Shock hadn’t settled before Tommy turned, face carved from ice.

“You… you murdered Susie!” I rasped, voice splintering.

“Alice?” he replied, faux‑innocence dripping.

“I despise you,” I hissed.

His tone stayed arctic. “You should feel fortunate, Alice. Your blood revived the woman who truly matters.”

“You swore you’d save my sister!” The words ripped free.

Unmoved, he shrugged. “Monica offers far more to this pack than Susie ever could.”

Nausea churned. “More valuable? She hurled Susie to rogues!” The accusation split the air. Tommy merely sighed, as if humoring a child.

“Monica suffers from a rare ailment,” he said, voice eerily gentle. “The healer told me only one cure existed—your blood.”

The floor seemed to pitch. My blood. He’d orchestrated carnage for that?

He stepped closer, gaze locked. “I tried persuasion first, wanted you to volunteer. When you wouldn’t, I forged another path.”

Then the axe fell. “I ordered Monica to deliver Susie to the rogues.”

Frost spread through my veins. Breath halted. My world shattered. All I managed was a tremulous whisper: “You let her die? You traded my sister’s life for hers?”

Monica, admiring her jewel, offered a mocking pout. “Spare us the dramatics, Alice. Your sister was never Luna material.”

Something primal cracked. I lunged, intent on shredding that smug grin. Before claws met flesh, Tommy’s iron grip closed around my wrist.

“Enough,” he growled. “You will not touch her.”

Eyes that once warmed for me now glittered like frozen amber. “Understand, Alice—Monica is my future. She is this pack’s only future.”

I wrenched free, panting. “Was I ever anything but a walking blood bank?”

He answered with a careless smirk. In that moment I knew: to him I had never been mate nor partner—only resource.

Despair wrapped barbed wire around my ribs. The room narrowed, walls pressing inward; air wouldn’t reach my lungs. I staggered back, vision swimming, heart battering. Susie—gone. Alpha—betrayer. Home—rubble. Reason—extinct.

I don’t recall slipping out of the compound. What I do remember is thunderous water guiding me. Moonlight silvered a cliff’s jagged lip, wind tearing at my hair, spray rising from the abyss. Below, black water churned, violent and inviting.

One step, and pain would cease. No more treachery. No more ghosts. I inhaled, body tipping forward—

“Child.”

A voice older than the forest sliced the wind. I spun, heart thundering.

An elder wolf—robes billowing, hair the hue of frost—regarded me with eyes that housed centuries. “You cannot discard a gift you have yet to comprehend,” he intoned.

I clenched aching fists. “I have nothing left.”

He studied me, then stepped closer until moonlight etched deep lines of wisdom in his face. “Your blood is sacred,” he murmured, reverent yet grave. “But woven into that holiness is a binding hex.”

My breath caught. “A hex?”

He nodded slowly. “Your life‑blood can heal, yet it can also destroy. To some it is miracle; to others, weapon. And to those obsessed with power, it is worth any atrocity they can devise.”

A chill sharper than night air seeped into my bones. Questions swarmed. What curse? How deep did this abyss go? Had tonight merely opened the first door to a darker labyrinth?

I swallowed, the waterfall’s roar pounding in my ears.

The nightmare, I feared, had only just begun.