My Mate Tried to Kill Me for My Sister

I jolted upright, a silent scream tearing at my throat. My chest burned with phantom fire. I clawed at my collarbone, expecting to feel the gaping, bloody void where my wolf had been ripped from my soul. But my fingers met only smooth, unbroken skin.

I gasped for air, cold sweat dripping down my face. *Where am I?* The sharp, clinical scent of rosemary and rubbing alcohol hit my nose. I blinked against the harsh morning light, my vision slowly focusing on the pale green walls of the Ironcrest Pack infirmary.

I pressed both hands flat against my chest. Beneath my ribs, a warm, steady heartbeat answered. My wolf. She was whole. She was alive, pacing nervously in the back of my mind, whining with deep confusion.

Across the room, the pack healer, old man Gregory, was humming quietly. He was laying out silver extraction tubes and a heavy, runed scalpel on a metal tray. The instruments of my death.

I stared at the tray as the memory of my past life crashed into me. The agonizing wolf-essence transfusion. The cold, creeping numbness of my death while my fated mate marked my twin sister in the very next room. The Moon Goddess had sent me back. Back to the exact morning I was supposed to sign my life away.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. Heavy, familiar Alpha boots, paired with a soft, dragging shuffle.

I closed my eyes and whispered to my inner wolf. *Never again.*

The door creaked open. Patrick Hamilton stepped inside. He was the Alpha heir of the Ironcrest Pack, carrying the prestigious Hamilton Lycan bloodline. He was also my fated mate. The man who had kissed me, claimed to love me, and then killed me.

Clinging to his arm was Savanna, my twin sister. She looked incredibly fragile, her body draped in an oversized sweater. Her pale face was buried in his shoulder, playing the part of the tragic, dying she-wolf to absolute perfection. Her inner wolf had gone dormant, and her human body was failing because of it.

Patrick guided her to a chair with sickening gentleness. Then, he turned to me. He placed a thick parchment on the small table beside my cot. The consent form.

"Claire," he said softly. His voice dripped with practiced sorrow. "It's time. I know this is hard, but you're doing the right thing. For family."

He looked like a devoted mate making a heartbreaking choice. But looking into his eyes now, the illusion was gone. I didn't see grief. I saw relief. He was just moments away from securing his perfect life: saving his secret obsession while keeping his fated mate as a convenient, broken shell.

I needed a new plan. Fast. My eyes darted to the supply shelf next to my bed. A small vial of blood-root tincture sat near the edge—a strong herbal stimulant used to spike the heart rate in emergencies.

I swung my legs over the side of the cot. "Okay," I whispered, letting my voice tremble.

I stood up. One step. Two steps. As I brushed past the shelf, I swiftly palmed the small vial. I popped the cork with my thumb and swiped the bitter liquid onto my tongue under the cover of a fake cough.

Then, I let my knees buckle.

I hit the stone floor hard. I threw my head back and let out a blood-curdling scream. I didn't just scream in the room. I ripped open my mental barrier and flooded the entire Ironcrest pack mind-link with raw, unfiltered terror.

*Pain! Help me! It burns!*

Every wolf in the territory would feel that spike of agony. I thrashed on the cold tiles, mimicking a violent convulsion. The blood-root hit my bloodstream like a freight train. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. My skin flushed dangerously hot.

"Claire!" Patrick yelled, dropping to his knees beside me. His hands hovered over my shaking body, panic breaking through his calm facade.

"Move!" Healer Gregory shoved Patrick aside. The old man dropped beside me, pressing two trembling fingers to my neck.

I gasped for air, forcing my breathing into a rapid, shallow panic. "My wolf," I choked out, grabbing the healer's white coat. "She's fading! The proximity... Savanna's dormant wolf is pulling mine down into the dark! It's sympathetic wolf-decay!"

It was a rare but terrifying condition. A desperate lie, but the blood-root pumping through my veins sold the symptoms perfectly.

Gregory's eyes widened in horror. "Her pulse is erratic! Her temperature is spiking dangerously high." He looked up at Patrick, his wrinkled face grim. "Alpha, we cannot proceed. If we extract even a drop of essence from Claire right now, the shock will kill her instantly."

Patrick froze. His Alpha aura, usually so dominant and heavy in the room, wavered and shrank. The color drained completely from his handsome face, leaving him looking sickly gray. He stared at the consent parchment, then down at my trembling body. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

His perfect, twisted plan was crumbling to dust right before his eyes. He couldn't force a dying mate to give up her essence. Not with the pack healer as a witness. Not with the whole pack feeling my agony through the mind-link.

Savanna let out a high, pathetic whimper from her chair. "Patrick... what about me?" she sobbed, realizing her easy cure was suddenly out of reach.

I kept my eyes squeezed shut, letting out another weak groan for the healer's benefit. But inside, my wolf was sitting up, baring her teeth in a vicious, silent snarl. The game had just changed. And this time, I was the one holding the knife.