The Rejected Healer: Her Rise as the White Wolf

Aliana POV:

The hours before the party were a blur of cold efficiency.

I returned to the apartment I shared with Ivan one last time. He was getting dressed for the "border patrol"—his cover story for Leo's birthday party.

He stood in front of the mirror, struggling with his tie.

"Here," I said, stepping forward.

I reached out and adjusted the silk knot. My fingers brushed against his carotid artery. I could feel the strong, steady pulse of his life beneath my fingertips.

My claws itched to extend. It would be so easy. One swipe.

No, my wolf cautioned. Death is too quick. He must suffer.

"Thanks, babe," Ivan said, checking his watch. "I have to go. Don't wait up."

He leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head at the last second, so his lips brushed my cheek.

"Good luck, Ivan," I said. My voice was devoid of warmth.

He didn't notice. He never noticed. "See you tomorrow."

The door clicked shut.

I didn't cry. I didn't collapse. I moved with surgical precision.

I packed one bag. My medical journals. My silver scalpels. The few photos I had of my grandmother.

I stripped the bedsheets. I took every piece of clothing that carried my scent and shoved it into trash bags. I wiped down every surface with bleach.

By the time I was done, the apartment looked sterile. Like a hotel room. Like I had never existed.

I walked out onto the balcony. The full moon was rising, huge and yellow over the city skyline.

Tonight was the night. The night they planned to break me.

I looked at my hand. The skin was tingling, glowing faintly under the moonlight. The power I had suppressed for so long—the legacy of the White Wolf that my grandmother had whispered about—was waking up.

"Let's go to a party," I whispered to the wind.