Riley’s POV
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My gaze was empty, unfocused, until it finally sharpened–andnded on him.
Ronan Duskcliff.
Hatred surged through me like a predator breaking from its cage. I didn’t bother hiding it; my lips curled in disdain.
“I don’t even have enough time in this life to hate you fully,” I said, my voice cold as frost over a grave.
His face drained of color, his mouth trembling. “You… hate me that much?”
“Yes!” I snapped, the growl in my chest almost slipping past my human voice. “I hate you! I wish you’d die-”
Because if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be like this.
I wouldn’t be half–crippled, my wolf poisoned and caged, my body decaying from the inside out.
And now–now I finally knew why.
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Finished
Just few minuts ago, the truth had been shoved into my hands in the form of sterile hospital paper and cold, clinical words.
Alpha ric had poisoned me.
Eight years ago. On the very day he brought me back.
I could still see it if I closed my eyes–my younger self stepping off the transport, thinking my nightmare was finally over. Thinking maybe, just maybe, the Alpha of the Ebonw Pack had forgotten what I truly was.
But he hadn’t.
He’d smelled my wolf instantly, hidden beneath the prison soap and stale air. And instead of chains, he’d given me something far worse: wolfbane.
Not enough to kill me–no, that would have been too merciful. Enough to rot me slowly from the inside, its venom lying in wait, patient as a viper.
Eight years. Eight years of a slow death ticking away inside me, and I hadn’t even known.
I thought my weakness was my fault. My failing. But it had been him all along. Him, and the cruelty of letting me believe I <b>was </b>free when he’d already set the hourss running out.
If I hadn’t been thrown into prison back then, I would have gone to Ashmoor Academy like I’d dreamed.
Five yearster, I would have graduated, taken a good position, built a life with pride.
And if I’d met Lucien Duskgrave then, I wouldn’t have felt so small, so unworthy.
I finally liked someone–truly liked someone–and yet I couldn’t stand at his side.
Couldn’t give him a future. Couldn’t even give him myself.
Hot tears burned my eyes and slid down my cheeks before I could stop them.
Why is my life this cursed? Sometimes I wish I’d never met him at all-
Because then I wouldn’t have to endure the ache of knowing we could neverst.
Revenge <b>was </b>supposed to feel good.
It didn’t
No amount of blood or justice could piece my body back together.
“Ronan Duskcliff,” I said, my voice low and sharp, “don’t ever show your face to me again. I despise you.”
It hit him like a de between the ribs.
Those three words–I despise you–kept echoing in the air like a cruel chant.
Suddenly, he lunged forward, crushing me into his arms as if he could fuse my body into his.
Finished
“Riley, don’t do this to me… please,” he begged, his voice shaking. “I love you. Hit me, curse me, anything–just give me one more chance.”
I shoved at him, but he only held me tighter.
“You got your revenge on me yesterday,” he said, his voice breaking. “My debt to you is paid. Let’s start over. I swear, for the rest of my life, I’ll spend every breath making it right. Please… believe me.”
But his repentance meant nothing to me.
It was toote.
3
The river had already run dry, and a shattered bond never bes whole again.
My voice was ice. “Let go of me.”
“No,” he rasped, stubborn as a wolf with its jaws locked on prey.
A bitter smirk pulled at my mouth. “I have something to show you. Then I want you gone.”
He hesitated, then slowly released me. “What is it?”
I mmed the thick stack of test reports into his chest.
He looked confused, but began flipping through them one by one.
With each page, I saw his pupils dte, his breathing grow ragged, his hands start to shake violently.
“No… this can’t be real. I don’t believe it.”
But the tears betrayed him, spilling over even as he denied it.
Then his knees buckled, and he copsed with a thud at my feet.
He clutched my waist like a drowning man clinging to thest piece of driftwood, sobbing, “Riley… I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry…”
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t need to. I already knew what was pouring out of his mouth–more apologies, more regret, all of it useless.
My gaze stayed fixed on the far end of the hospital corridor. People passed by, some staring at us with curiosity or pity. <b>I </b>couldn’t care less.
I was already dying.
What use was anyone’s opinion?
When he looked up at me again, he froze.
I saw the horror in his eyes at the emptiness in mine–the dead stillness that no amount of begging could stir.
Then, in a sudden burst of desperation, he grabbed my hand and mmed it against his own face.
“Hit me,” he gasped. “If it makes you feel better, keep hitting me.”
I stood there, unmoving, my hand limp in his grip.
His voice cracked, and the sound was almost feral. “If I’d known what my actions would do to you–how they would shorten
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your life, tear you apart–I never would have…”
Toote.
Always toote.
No matter how he wed at the past, it wouldn’t change. He had set the trap, and now I was rotting in it.
He kept forcing my hand to strike him again and again.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
PINT
ich
The sharp sound echoed down the hall, drawing more stares.
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Red marks bloomed across his pale skin, but I felt nothing.
I was no longer the girl who could feel anything for him–only the poisoned wolf, counting down the days until her body gave outpletely.