“I… can’t… breathe,” I whispered, my throat closing fast. I coughed, the taste of blood filling my mouth. “Alpha Darrell, please. Help me…”
He finally turned, one step closer.
Then Carla whimpered.
“My stomach… it hurts, Alpha Darrell. Something’s wrong!”
He didn’t hesitate. Not for a heartbeat.
He scooped her into his arms like she was breakable glass, his face full of worry. “What is it, Carla? Talk to me.”
I watched through tear-filled eyes, unable to move. My wolf howled in my chest, furious and wounded.
“Darrell…” I croaked again.
Silence fell.
The crowd turned to me. I was swaying on weak legs, blood at the corner of my mouth, choking on the very poison he’d handed me.
And still—he scowled.
“What now, Debbie?” he barked. “Carla needs a healer. Stop pretending. Stop being jealous all the time.”
Pretending?
Jealous?
Those words cut deeper than my body’s reaction.
I collapsed to my knees, the world tilting and spinning. Darkness clouded my vision.
You loved me once.
Now, you’re letting me die.
And somehow… I’m still the villain in your story.
I hate you, Darrell Armstrong.
With every breath I can’t take, I hate you.
And as everything faded to black, one thought lingered—
Is this how my story ends?