The Mate Who Burned Me

The sage’s warning drummed in my skull hour after hour: “Your lineage is miracle and menace at once.” Sleep abandoned me; I lay staring at the ceiling, muscles limp, thoughts whirling like a storm. If my blood truly contained that kind of force, then the moment Monica absorbed it she should have been unshakably tethered to me—not to Tommy. Why, then, did she still worship the Alpha? I refused to drown in questions. I would dig out the truth.

Long before sunrise’s first ember, I slipped into Tommy’s private library, heart battering my ribs. The room smelled of dust, leather, and secrets. Candle stubs guttered on high shelves, casting restless shadows across ancient tomes. I rifled page after page, scroll after brittle scroll, until my fingertips brushed a cracked manuscript, its lettering almost erased by age. I inhaled hard as the text revealed itself: a forbidden rite, steeped in blood‑magic, designed to bend any transfusion recipient into unquestioning obedience. My stomach lurched—Monica’s devotion was no romance; it was sorcery shackles welded by Tommy’s hand.

Worse horrors waited below the incantation. A list. Name after name—an entire ledger of she‑wolves bearing uncommon blood types. Every entry concluded the same way: sacrificed, drained, erased. My fist crumpled the parchment, rage shaking my arms. I had never been cherished; I had simply been slotted in line for slaughter.

The healer’s earlier instructions resurfaced: “You must rebuild your strength.” I choked down the acrid tonic she had left, its bitterness scorching my throat. Then I retreated to my chamber and stayed there, motionless, mourning in silence. They buried Susie without me—no notice, no farewell, no dignity—while the pack prepared to toast Monica’s continued heartbeat.

A thunderous crash yanked me from half‑sleep. My door swung wide, and Tommy swaggered in, golden eyes alight with mirth. “Sulking all afternoon, little wolf? Poor manners. Tonight matters—you’ll attend Monica’s fête.”

I pushed to a seated position, bones leaden, voice iced over. “Leave this room.”

His smirk deepened as he advanced. “Miss it? The whole pack will celebrate. Magnificent affair.”

Fingernails carved crescents into my palms. “My sister was placed in the ground today.”

With theatrical exasperation he sighed. “And Monica nearly perished yesterday. Your blood spared her. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

I glared, bile rising. He delighted in twisting the knife. “Dress yourself, Alice,” he ordered. “I expect to see you downstairs.” Resisting him now would bring only punishment—I needed time, not vengeance yet—so I obeyed.

The banquet hall glistened under chandeliers; laughter ricocheted across polished walls. Candlelight gilded the revelers’ faces—wolves who once called me pack, now clinking goblets like no tragedy had stained our territory. Susie might never have walked among them.

At the room’s heart stood Tommy and Monica. His hand rested at her waist with practiced tenderness that made my skin crawl. Draped in silvery silk, she positively glowed, fingertips skating across his chest as she whispered conspiracies into his ear. Then she pivoted—directly toward me.

A sly, triumphant curl lifted her lips.

My lungs stalled when I noticed the necklace gracing her throat: Susie’s pendant, the keepsake I’d gifted my sister on her last birthday. The hall blurred; roaring filled my head; my fingers shook uncontrollably.

“You’ve gone sheet‑white, Alice,” Monica purred, canting her head as though inspecting a wilting flower. “Feeling faint? Or does witnessing reality simply sting?”

Tommy emitted a leisurely chuckle. “Easy, dear. Don’t bruise her tender feelings.”

Every heartbeat knocked like a drum of war inside my chest. Betrayal, humiliation, and grief crashed together in a tidal wave. My hands rose by their own will. His gaze narrowed—too late. I hooked nails beneath the brand marking me as his and tore. Agony flared, molten and bright, yet I refused to cry out. Warm blood tracked down my collarbone, painting my gown.

Silence knifed through the revelry.

Then amusement rippled from Tommy, a deep, sardonic laugh that set the crowd snickering. Monica blinked, momentarily startled, before dissolving into high, brittle giggles while clutching his arm.

“Symbolic theatrics?” Tommy drawled, shaking his head. “You were never my equal, Alice. Just a rare vein I had to keep pumping.”

Monica lifted her manicured hand, diamond flashing like ice. “Sweetheart, did you truly picture yourself on his throne? How precious.”

The onlookers roared approval; some tossed handfuls of glittering confetti. I scanned those faces, desperate for a single ally, any soul who still remembered mercy.

I found none.

Lowering my bloodied hand, I spoke, voice steadier than steel. “Rejoice while you can, Alpha. This celebration will sour sooner than you dream.”

Monica scoffed, swirling her wine. “Oh? And what grand feat will you attempt?”

Wordlessly I pivoted, spine straight, dignity intact. No pleading, no tears. They’d stolen everything—sister, sanctuary, future—yet they had gifted me purpose in return.

I would repay them in kind.