The Alpha's Regret: Murdered By Her Mate

Zora POV:

The hospital corridor was blindingly white. The smell of antiseptic stung my nose, warring with the metallic tang of blood that constantly coated my tongue. I was shuffling toward the prep room, escorted by a warrior guard as if I were a flight risk, when a hand slammed against my chest.

Simon.

"Where are the notes?" he demanded.

I blinked, swaying. "What notes?"

"The research notes on the Wolfsbane antidote variants," he snapped. "Laila needs them. She said she left the final calculations with you to double-check because she was too weak to hold a pen."

I let out a dry, rattling laugh. It hurt my ribs. "You mean the research I did? The research she's been presenting as her own for three years?"

Simon grabbed my shoulders and shook me. "Don't you dare slander her! Laila is the youngest potion master in the history of the Silver Moon Pack. You're just her assistant. Now give me the notebook."

"It's in my bag," I whispered, pointing to the worn canvas tote the guard was carrying.

He ripped the bag from the guard's hand and rummaged through it until he found the leather-bound notebook. It contained months of my work. My handwriting. My genius.

My mother walked up behind him, her heels clicking sharply on the tile like gunshots. "Did you get it?"

"Yes," Simon said, clutching the book like a holy relic. "She tried to claim it was hers again."

My mother looked at me with pure disgust. "You are pathetic. Stealing your sister's glory even when she lies on her deathbed. The pack comes first, Zora. Laila is the future. You are nothing but a stain we have to wipe away."

Just then, the door to the VIP suite opened. Laila was there, sitting in a wheelchair, pushed by a nurse. She looked pale, beautiful, and fragile-the perfect victim.

She saw Simon holding the notebook and offered a weak, trembling smile. "Oh, Simon... thank you. I was so worried Zora would... lose it."

She looked at me then. Her blue eyes didn't hold sickness; they held triumph. She let her gaze travel down my body, mocking my inability to shift, mocking the weakness that she had caused by poisoning me for months.

She leaned back into Simon as he rushed to her side. I saw her hand brush his arm, and I saw the spark of static electricity. *It wasn't the mate bond-it was stolen magic. She was siphoning the energy from the essence she had butchered out of me five years ago to mimic the connection.*

"I'm done," I said, my voice hollow. "Take the book. Take the essence. Take everything."

I turned and walked toward the prep room, ignoring the guard. I needed to sever the last threads.

Inside the small waiting room, I found the few personal items I had left. A scarf I had knitted for Simon for the upcoming winter. A photo of my parents from before I turned eighteen.

I walked over to the bio-hazard incinerator in the corner.

I threw the photo in. Then, I held the scarf. It was soft, made of the finest grey wool. I had poured my love into every stitch, hoping he would wear it and finally smell me on it.

I dropped it into the flames.

"Goodbye," I whispered.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea hit me. I doubled over, retching. *Thick, black sludge splattered onto the pristine white floor.* My inner wolf howled-a sound of pure agony that echoed in my skull. The wolfsbane had reached my heart.

The door banged open. Simon and Laila were there again. Laila was crying hysterically.

"She ruined it!" Laila screamed, pointing at me. "She changed the numbers! The dosage is wrong! If I had used this, I would have killed the test subjects!"

Simon stormed over to me, stepping right in the puddle of my toxic blood without even noticing it. He grabbed me by the hair, forcing my head up.

"You vicious little snake," he snarled, his face inches from mine. "You tried to sabotage her work? You tried to make her look incompetent to the Council?"

"I didn't..." I gasped, blood bubbling past my lips. "Those are... the correct... formulas..."

"Liar!" Laila shrieked from her wheelchair. "You want me to fail! You want Simon to hate me!"

My mother entered, took one look at the scene-me on my knees, bleeding black, Simon holding me by my hair-and made her judgment instantly.

"Apologize," she ordered. "On your knees, Zora. Apologize to your sister, the future Luna, for your treachery."

I looked at my mother. I looked at the man who was supposed to be my soulmate.

"No," I said.

Simon growled, a deep, animalistic sound. "Do not defy us, Zora."

"I won't apologize for the truth," I said, a strange calm washing over me. "And I won't apologize for dying."

Simon shoved me backward. I hit the wall with a thud.

"Get her prepped," he commanded the nurses hovering nervously in the hallway. "Cut the essence out. I'm done dealing with her."