Page 46 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
The word “friend” catches me off guard. I’ve never had a friend before—not in the facility, certainly, and not really here at the palace, either. The realization that I’m leaving behind someone who genuinely cares about me creates a complicated ache in my chest.
“I’ll miss you, too,” I admit softly.
Maya helps me pack a small suitcase, but there isn’t much I want to take with me from my time here—just a few books, the sketchbook I’ve filled with drawings, and the clothes on my back. Everything else feels like it belongs to a different life, a different person.
As the hour of my departure approaches, Jerry comes to say goodbye. The old healer looks troubled, but he respects my decision.
“Take this,” he says, pressing a small pouch of herbs into my hand. “Brew it as tea if the symptoms get bad. It won’t cure anything, but it will ease the pain.”
I thank him, touched by his concern.
Maya gives me a case full of the small, blue-silver vials containing the treatment that will suppress my wolf. “Take the first dose as you leave,” she instructs. “Then once weekly afterthat. I’ve prepared enough to last you six months. By then, I’ll have refined the formula and can send you more.”
Assuming I live that long, I think but don’t say.
“The car will be waiting,” Maya says, glancing at the clock. “We should go now, while most of the palace is at dinner.”
I take one last look around the room that has been my sanctuary these past months. Despite everything, there’s a pang of sadness at leaving. My wolf whimpers inside me, as if she knows what’s coming.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her, though I don’t know if she can understand me. “But this is better for both of us.”
The car idles at a side entrance, away from curious eyes. The driver stands beside it, a young man I don’t recognize—probably chosen specifically because he doesn’t know me.
I hug Maya goodbye, surprised by how natural the gesture feels. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”
“Be safe,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “And remember your promise to Griffin. If things get worse—”
“I’ll call,” I assure her, though we both know I probably won’t.
I settle into the back seat of the car, my small suitcase beside me. As the driver closes the door, I take out one of the blue-silver vials and contemplate it as I turn it between my fingers. My future, however brief it may be, is contained in this tiny, glass container.
The car begins to move, carrying me away from the palace, away from the only safe place I’ve ever known. Away from Erik.
My wolf howls mournfully inside me, sensing what I’m about to do. For a moment, I hesitate, her grief resonating through me like physical pain.
But then I remember the whispers, the stares, the feeling of not belonging. I remember Erik walking with Elina, the casual touch of her hand on his arm, the way they shifted together as if they’d done it a thousand times before. I remember his words: “I don’t want a mate.”
I uncap the vial and bring it to my lips. The liquid tastes strangely sweet, with an undertone of something ancient and powerful. I swallow it all in one gulp.
For a few moments, nothing happens. Then, slowly, I feel it: a warmth spreading through my veins, followed by a curious sensation of something inside me retreating. It’s my wolf, fading back into some deep, unreachable part of me.
The pain in my chest eases for the first time in weeks. My breathing becomes less labored. The constant tension I’ve been carrying in my muscles begins to release.
I watch through the rear window as the palace grows smaller in the distance. When I can no longer see it, I sit back against the seat. The forest gives way to open fields, then eventually to roads leading to the human world—to cities and towns and all the experiences I’ve been denied.
A curious emptiness settles inside me where my wolf once prowled. Not painful, not yet—just quiet. For the first time since reclaiming my freedom, I am alone in my own skin. Just me. Just Fiona.
I close my eyes, exhaustion claiming me as the drug continues its work. As I drift toward sleep, I allow myself one last thought of Erik—his green eyes, his gentle hands, the way he looked at me that night in the forest when he helped me shift voluntarily for the first time.
“Goodbye,” I whisper, even though he can’t hear me. “Be happy.”
The car continues its journey, carrying me away from the world of shifters and royalty, away from the mate who didn’t want me, toward an uncertain future of my own choosing.
For better or worse, I am free again.
Chapter 8
Erik
