Third Person’s POV
“You’re all useless…”
Rosemary was still spitting venom when a sharp, crushing pain hit her chest<b>. </b>
“Help… save me…” she wheezed, her fingers wing desperately at the bedsheets. Ulrik, his expression stony and detached, sent someone to fetch the doctor.
That doctor had been over several timestely and had already called it: she wasn’t making it to the next
year.
After a quick round of emergency vitals and a grim diagnosis, the doctor stepped out of the room, pulled off his stethoscope, and gave Ulrik a heavy shake of his head.
“It’s a matter of days now, Alpha Ulrik. You should start making arrangements,” the doctor whispered.
“It’s going to get ugly. Between theck of oxygen and the toxins building up, she’s likely to start hallucinating. She might see things, say things that don’t make sense. If she starts pointing at thin air and iming she sees dead people or old enemies, don’t let it spook you. It’s just the terminal restlessness setting in.”
The doctor sighed, tucking his prescription pad away.
“There’s no point in more meds. At this stage, forcing her to swallow pills is just prolonging the suffering. Just try to make her asfortable as possible for whatever time she has left.”
True to the doctor’s word, during ate–night blizzard, Rosemary spiraled into a severe terminal hallucination.
She suddenly seemed more energetic than she had all day–she even managed to bolt upright in bed, pointing a shaking finger at an empty corner and screaming at the top of her lungs.
“Get out! All of you, get out! You’re all worthless… everyst one of you!”
Suddenly, her eyes went wide with a terror so pure it looked like she was staring at a demon.
“Tamara! You bold little bitch! You darey a hand on me? I am the Luna of the Bloodmoon! You’re a dead
woman-
”
Her own hands flew to her throat, her fingers digging deep into her sagging skin.
Her face turned a horrific shade of purple–ck from theck of air, her eyes bulging. Since the doctor had already warned them about this behavior, nobody thought it was an actual ghost; it
was just the mind failing.
Ulrik rushed forward, prying her hands away and shouting, “Mother! There’s nobody in the corner!
?
W
O
Mon<b>, </b>Jan iz
Tamara isn’t here!
“She’se for revenge… she hates me…”
Rosemary grabbed Ulrik’s sleeve, her ferocity instantly reced by sheer panic.
“You see her too, don’t you? That bitch… tell her I didn’t mean to push her to it! It was for the pack! I had to teach her a lesson… Argh! Get away! Tamara! Ger your filthy hands off me!”
Sheshed out wildly, her palms striking Ulrik’s face over and over.
He didn’t flinch or dodge, just letting Rosemary vent her final, frantic madness.
An hourter, Rosemary finally ran out of steam and copsed onto the bed.
Her breathing became shallow and hitched.
Every so often, she’d force her clouded eyes open, searching the room for Simon.
Her cracked lips moved, a faint sound escaping, “Simon…”
Ulrik, still sitting by the bed, took her ice–cold hand. “Mother, do you need water?”
“Simon… where’s Simon?”
Ulrik’s eyes went red, and he told a soft lie.
“Simon’s out handling some urgent business. He’ll be back any second.”
Wilmot, standing by the wall, finally snapped.
“Simon’s a heartless bastard!” he roared. “Mother spoiled him rotten, and now that she’s dying, he can’t even be bothered to show his face!”
She was dying? Yes, she could feel the Reapering for her.
But her favorite son and daughter hadn’t even bothered to visit.
Was she really that hated?
A massive wave of despair swallowed her.
She couldn’t ept this! Everything she’d done–every scheme, every dirty move–had been for the Bloodmoon Pack. She wanted them back at the center of power. Wasn’t it all for her children?
It was so cold… a soul–deep chill swept through her, making her body quake.
Tamara was dead, Gloria hated her, and everyone else had run for the hills.
“I… regret it…
Two murky tears tracked down her wrinkled face—her final words to the world.
As for what exactly she regretted? Was it pushing Tamara to the edge? Or a lifetime of petty schemes
Nobody knew, and frankly, nobody cared.
At 11:00 PM, Rosemary took her final breath.
Even after her heart stopped, her eyes remained wide open, as if she were still demanding to know why the Moon Goddess gave her such a hollow ending.
Ulrik wept at her bedside. No matter how toxic she had been in life, she was still his mother.
The funeral was a rushed, lonely affair.
With the New Year just days away, the city was already in full holiday mode. The service was stripped- back, attended only by the core members of the Bloodmoon Pack. Most Lunas from other packs didn’t bother showing up, sending only formal condolence letters.
Even though there was a public holidaying up, Adide was busier than ever. The security pressure during the festivities was immense, and she couldn’t afford a single slip–up.
She made it home asionally, but most of her time was spent patrolling the various sectors.
The news of Rosemary’s passing hit the ckthorn Pack the next day.
The reaction was lukewarm at best–everyone had known she was a goner for weeks.
Caldwell, however, looked up from his paperwork with a knowing expression.
“Ulrik’s definitely going to be taking leave for the funeral. I wonder if he can still handle his duties at the Pce. This is the busiest time of the year.”
Besides, everyone knew Lycan Erasmus was looking to shake up the Royal Guard. Maybe he’d use this as a reason to reconsider the leadership.
After all, Ulrik wasn’t exactly “irreceable” anymore.
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<strong>Olivia Harris</strong> is an emerging author celebrated for her captivating romantic and steamy novels. With a talent for crafting deep emotional connections and fiery chemistry between her characters, Olivia’s stories offer readers an escape into worlds filled with passion, intrigue, and heart-stopping drama.