The current pulled me under, icy water filling my lungs as the Wolfsbane burned through my veins. Darkness closed in from all sides as I surrendered to the numbness. This was my choice—my escape from a world that had betrayed me.

Then strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me upward. I gasped as my face broke the surface, coughing up river water and black blood.

"Stay with me, Ashlyn," Griffin's voice penetrated the haze of pain. "Don't you dare give up now."

I couldn't speak. The poison had paralyzed my vocal cords, and my wolf—my beautiful, loyal wolf—was dying inside me. I felt her fading, her howls growing fainter as the Wolfsbane did its work.

Griffin dragged me to shore, his breathing heavy. In the moonlight, I saw his face—determined, afraid, but resolved.

"I won't let you die," he said, slicing his palm with a silver blade. Blood welled up, black in the darkness. "Not after what they did to you."

He pressed his bleeding hand to my chest, directly over my heart. Words I didn't understand flowed from his lips—ancient, forbidden words that made the air around us shimmer.

"By blood and bone, by moon and shadow," he chanted, "I bind the wolf within."

Pain exploded through me as Griffin's blood mingled with mine. I felt something snap inside—not breaking, but changing. My wolf didn't die; instead, she retreated deep within me, sealed away by Griffin's magic.

"What have you done?" I whispered as the pain subsided.

"Saved your life," he said, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. "But there's a price."

I tried to reach for my wolf, to feel her presence as I always had. There was nothing but emptiness. "She's gone."

"Not gone. Hidden." Griffin helped me sit up. "The Wolfsbane would have killed you both, but this way—"

"You've made me human," I finished, understanding dawning with horror.

"I've made you alive," he corrected, lifting me into his arms. "And we need to move. They'll be searching the river."

---

Five years later, I stood over an operating table in Dr. Peter Carpenter's underground clinic. My hands moved with practiced precision as I stitched closed a rogue's infected wound.

"Another perfect job, Elliott," Peter said, using the name I'd adopted in my new life. "You're the best damn surgeon I've ever seen."

I nodded curtly, removing my gloves. "The next patient?"

"Taking a break first," Peter insisted. "You've been operating for eight hours straight."

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 6 AM. Time for my morning ritual.

In the privacy of my quarters behind the clinic, I opened a small wooden box and removed a tiny vial of pale green liquid. Wolfsbane—diluted to a micro-dose that wouldn't kill me but would keep my scent masked and my wolf comatose.

One drop on my tongue, and I swallowed. The familiar burn spread through my system, reinforcing the barrier between me and my imprisoned wolf.

"Another day," I whispered to my reflection in the mirror.

The woman who stared back was a stranger—pale skin, hollow eyes, a jagged scar running from her collarbone to her jaw. I touched the scar gently, remembering the silver whip that had carved it into my flesh.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Elliott," Griffin called softly. "There's news from the south."

I opened the door. Griffin stood there, his silver-streaked hair catching the dim light. The magic he'd used to save me had marked him permanently—a reminder of what we'd both sacrificed.

"The Sovereign Moon Pack has a new Beta," he said, his voice low. "And Aiden..."

"He's still alive?" I asked, surprised by the flicker of emotion that crossed my heart.

"Barely." Griffin handed me a folded paper. "Rumors say he's dying. Something about 'Mate Sickness.'"

I scanned the document, my expression carefully neutral despite the storm inside me. "It doesn't concern us."

---

The clinic's waiting room was unusually crowded that afternoon. Rogues from three different territories had come seeking treatment.

"Elliott," Peter called from the front desk. "We have an emergency."

I stepped through the curtain to see a figure slumped in a chair—tall, gaunt, his skin yellowed with disease. Even in this state, I recognized him instantly.

Aiden Grant.

His eyes lifted to mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of the Alpha he once was—powerful, commanding. Then it faded, leaving only desperation.

"You," he whispered, his voice cracking. "The healer."

I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind me, Griffin tensed, ready to intervene.

"I'm dying," Aiden said, reaching toward me with trembling fingers. "Please."

The word hung between us—a plea from an Alpha who had never begged for anything in his life.

I stepped back, my face a mask of professional detachment even as memories flooded through me.

"I'm sorry," I said coldly. "We're fully booked today."

As I turned away, I heard him collapse to the floor, his breathing labored and weak.

I pulled on latex gloves with a snap, my face hidden behind a surgical mask as I entered the examination room. The scent of antiseptic couldn't quite mask the unmistakable odor of decay—the unmistakable smell of an Alpha dying from Mate Sickness.

"Patient is a thirty-two-year-old male," I read from the chart, keeping my voice clinically detached. "Presenting symptoms include jaundice, muscle atrophy, insomnia, and hallucinations."

Aiden Grant lay on the examination table, his once-powerful frame now gaunt and yellowed with disease. His eyes—once bright with Alpha authority—were cloudy and sunken. Even in this state, I could see the ghost of the man who had once commanded an entire territory with a word.

I approached him with measured steps, reaching for his wrist to check his pulse. The moment my fingers touched his skin, a violent static shock blasted through the room. Sparks actually visible between our flesh—the remnant of our severed mate bond protesting the contact.

Aiden's head snapped up, his clouded eyes widening as they locked onto mine. His hand shot out, gripping my wrist with surprising strength for a man so close to death.

"Ashlyn?" he gasped, his voice breaking on my name.

I didn't flinch. Five years of practice had perfected my mask of indifference. I gently but firmly pulled my wrist from his grasp, taking a step back.

"My name is Elliott," I said, my voice flat as I checked his chart again. "And you are dying, Alpha."

---

"You're lying," Aiden insisted, his eyes never leaving my face. "I know what I felt. You're her—my Ashlyn."

I sighed, replacing his chart at the foot of the bed. "This is a common symptom of late-stage Mate Sickness. The brain, deprived of the mate bond, begins to create hallucinations—usually manifesting as seeing the deceased mate in strangers."

"I am not hallucinating!" Aiden's voice rose, a shadow of his former Alpha command. He tried again, focusing his remaining power into his words. "Look at me, Ashlyn. I command you as your Alpha."

Nothing happened. No compulsion. No response.

I smiled thinly behind my mask. "As I explained, I am Elliott, a healer. And you are experiencing neurological degradation. Your Alpha commands have no effect on me because you're too weak to project them properly."

Aiden's face crumpled in confusion. He reached for me again, but I stepped back, removing a syringe from my pocket.

"This will help with your symptoms," I said, injecting him before he could protest. "The hallucinations will subside temporarily."

As the sedative took effect, I watched his eyes struggle to focus on me. Doubt crept into his expression for the first time.

"Am I... going mad?" he whispered before slumping back onto the pillow.

---

I was documenting Aiden's condition when the door burst open. Griffin stood there, his arms laden with medical supplies, his eyes immediately locking on our patient.

"What is he doing here?" Griffin demanded, setting down the supplies with a thud.

Before I could answer, Aiden's eyes flew open. Despite the sedative, he was still conscious enough to recognize the man standing over him.

"Griffin," he rasped, his voice filled with sudden fury. "Traitor."

Griffin's expression hardened as he approached the bed. "You don't get to call anyone a traitor, Aiden. Not after what you did."

Aiden tried to rise, but his weakened body betrayed him. Griffin placed a hand on his chest, shoving him back down with barely contained violence.

"You killed Ashlyn Stone five years ago," Griffin said, his voice low and dangerous. "This woman is Elliott. Nothing more."

Aiden's eyes darted between us, confusion and desperation warring on his face. "She's lying. You both are."

I stepped forward, positioning myself between them. "Enough, Griffin."

Griffin stepped back at my command, but his eyes never left Aiden's face. "If you touch her again, I will finish what the sickness started."

I turned to face Aiden fully, allowing him to see my eyes—cold and empty of any trace of the love we once shared. My gaze traveled deliberately over the scar on my neck, a permanent reminder of what he had allowed to happen.

"Get some rest, Alpha," I said, my voice dripping with disgust. "You have a long recovery ahead."

As I turned to leave, I saw something break in Aiden's eyes—something far more devastating than any physical blow could inflict.

The blizzard howled outside, trapping everyone inside the clinic. I sat alone in my quarters, reviewing patient files by the dim light of a lamp. The storm had hit suddenly, forcing Aiden to stay another night. The thought of him being mere walls away made my skin crawl.

I took another drop of Wolfsbane, letting it burn down my throat. The familiar numbness spread through me, reinforcing the barrier between my wolf and the world.

Sleep came fitfully. In my dreams, I was back at the execution post, chains biting into my wrists as the silver whip tore into my flesh again and again.

"Twenty lashes for treason," the Enforcer's voice echoed in my nightmare.

I screamed as the whip cracked across my back, the silver shards embedding in my skin. The pain was so real, so visceral—

"Ashlyn!"

Someone was calling my name. Not Elliott. Ashlyn.

My eyes flew open as I thrashed against the sheets, drenched in sweat. The door to my room crashed open with such force that it splintered against the wall.

Aiden stood in the doorway, his gaunt frame silhouetted against the hallway light. His eyes widened as he took in the scene—me, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets, my back exposed where the hospital gown had ridden up.

"No," he whispered, stepping forward. "No, no, no..."

I scrambled to cover myself, but it was too late. He had seen the scars—the distinctive pattern of silver whip marks that crisscrossed my back and neck.

"Ashlyn," he said again, his voice breaking. "It is you."

I reached for my wolfsbane vial on the nightstand, but he was faster. He knocked it away, grabbing my wrists instead.

"Let go of me!" I snarled, thrashing against his grip.

"You're having night terrors," he said, his eyes filled with a mixture of horror and understanding. "About the whipping."

The mention of it sent a fresh wave of nausea through me. I jerked away from him violently, doubling over as bile rose in my throat. I vomited onto the floor, my body convulsing with the force of my revulsion.

"Don't touch me!" I screamed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Don't you dare touch me!"

Aiden backed away, his face ashen. "Ashlyn, please—"

"GET OUT!" My voice cracked as I shrieked it. "GET OUT!"

He stumbled backward through the broken door, leaving me alone with my shame and rage.

---

Three days later, I was treating a rogue with a silver bullet wound when I noticed Aiden slip into the laboratory. I pretended not to see him, focusing instead on my patient's injury.

"Hold still," I instructed the rogue as I extracted the silver fragment from his shoulder. "This will hurt."

The rogue hissed as I poured antiseptic over the wound. "You're good at this."

"Practice," I replied tersely, stitching the wound closed.

I didn't realize Aiden had returned until I heard the laboratory door close behind me. I turned to find him standing there, a glass slide in his hand.

"What are you doing?" I demanded.

He held up the slide—one I had used earlier to test my own blood. "Analyzing a sample I found."

My blood ran cold. "That's private."

"So is poisoning yourself." He placed the slide under the microscope. "May I?"

I said nothing, watching as he adjusted the focus, studying the sample with growing horror.

"Wolfsbane," he said finally, his voice hollow. "Enough to kill any werewolf."

"Not enough to kill me," I corrected coldly. "Just enough to keep her quiet."

Aiden's eyes met mine, filled with dawning understanding. "You're poisoning yourself to suppress your wolf."

"To suppress my scent," I clarified. "To make sure no Alpha could ever track me again."

The realization hit him like a physical blow. He staggered back against the lab table.

"You'd rather die slowly than be found by me," he whispered.

I turned away, busying myself with cleaning instruments. "The dose is carefully controlled. I won't die."

"But you're suffering."

"That's the point."

---

I was preparing dinner in the kitchen when Aiden slammed the lab results on the counter in front of me.

"Why?" he demanded, his voice raw with emotion.

I continued chopping vegetables, refusing to look at him. "No more games, Elliott."

"Answer me!" His fist crashed down on the counter, making me jump. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

I dropped the knife and slowly turned to face him. Something in me snapped—five years of carefully constructed walls crumbling all at once.

"Because of you," I said, my voice eerily calm despite the storm raging inside me. "Because I would rather die slowly than be your mate."

I stepped closer, dropping all pretense of being Elliott. "I didn't survive to return to you, Aiden. I survived to make sure you died alone."

His face crumpled as I unleashed five years of repressed rage. "Do you know what it's like to be chained to that post? To feel the silver tear into your flesh while your mate watches without blinking?"

I traced the scar on my neck with trembling fingers. "To hear him plan his next conquest with another woman while you're still bleeding?"

"I never—" he began, but I cut him off.

"I heard you," I hissed. "In your office. With Reina. 'It's done. The Stones are ruined.'"

Aiden's eyes widened in shock. "Ashlyn, I can explain—"

"Explain what?" I laughed bitterly. "How you used me to destroy my family? How you let them take my baby?"

My voice broke as I mentioned my child for the first time in five years. "How you let them tell me he was a monster?"

Aiden reached for me, but I recoiled from his touch. "I didn't know about the baby. I swear it."

"You knew enough," I spat. "You knew exactly what you were doing when you let them whip me. When you let them break me."

I stepped back, my eyes cold despite the tears threatening to fall. "And now you're dying. Alone. Just as you deserve."

Aiden's face went white as he realized the full weight of what he had done—and what I had become because of it.