I Returned from the Dead to Destroy My Mate

The lock on Marcus Sullivan's office safe clicked open at 2:47 AM.

Isla's hands shook as she pulled the heavy door wide, the stolen access card having granted her entry to the Alpha's private wing. The safe's interior light illuminated stacks of documents, leather-bound ledgers, and a single manila folder marked with red ink: Project Sight.

Her wolf whimpered, sensing danger in those two words.

Isla pulled the folder free. The paper felt obscenely normal beneath her fingertips—just standard office stock, nothing to indicate it contained the kind of secrets that shattered worlds. She flipped it open.

The first photograph stole the air from her lungs.

Tommy. Sweet, gentle Tommy with his amber eyes and shy smile. But this wasn't the Tommy she remembered. This Tommy lay on a surgical table, his face slack and lifeless, his chest marked with precise incision lines. Medical instruments gleamed in the background. A date stamp in the corner: three years ago. The same week Orion's surgery had been scheduled.

Isla's vision blurred. She flipped to the next photo with trembling fingers.

Close-up shots of Tommy's eyes. Those beautiful amber eyes flecked with gold, the ones that had lit up whenever she brought him books to read. Someone had photographed them from multiple angles, documenting the color match with clinical precision. Notes in the margins: "Perfect donor match. Proceed with extraction."

The folder slipped from her hands, papers scattering across Marcus Sullivan's expensive carpet. Isla lunged for the trash bin beside the desk and vomited, her body rejecting the truth her mind couldn't process.

They hadn't just let Tommy die. They'd murdered him. Harvested him like he was nothing more than spare parts.

And Orion—

Isla retched again, bile burning her throat. Every time Orion had looked at her with those restored eyes, every time he'd gazed at her with what she'd desperately wanted to believe was love, he'd been seeing her through Tommy's stolen sight.

Her brother's eyes in her mate's face.

The door to the office opened.

Isla's head snapped up. Dr. Elena Blackwood stood in the threshold, still wearing her white coat, her face pale as death in the dim light from the hallway.

"I knew you'd come here eventually," Elena whispered. "I've been waiting."

Isla pushed herself upright, her legs unsteady. "You did this. You killed him."

"Yes." The word fell like a stone. Elena stepped into the office and closed the door behind her, leaning against it as if she needed the support. "Marcus Sullivan came to me three years ago. Said his son needed a transplant. Said they'd found a donor."

"Tommy wasn't a donor. He was a child."

"I know." Elena's voice cracked. "I know what he was. I know what I did."

Isla crossed the space between them in three strides, her wolf surging forward with a snarl. She grabbed Elena by the collar of her coat, slamming her back against the door. "Then why? Why would you—"

"Because they had my daughter!" Elena's composure shattered. Tears streamed down her face, her words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "Marcus threatened her. Said if I didn't perform the extraction, if I didn't keep it quiet, they'd make sure she had an 'accident' during her next border patrol. She's only nineteen, Isla. She's my only child."

Isla's grip loosened. She stepped back, her wolf torn between rage and a terrible understanding.

"I've been living in hell for three years," Elena continued, sliding down the door until she sat crumpled on the floor. "Every time I see you, every time I treat you, I see what I've done. I see Tommy's face. I see the bond killing you because of the monster I helped create."

The room fell silent except for Elena's ragged breathing.

Isla stared down at the scattered photographs, at Tommy's lifeless face frozen in time. Her wolf keened, a sound of pure grief that had no voice.

"I need your help," Isla heard herself say. The words came from somewhere cold and distant, a part of her that had survived the fall and was already planning the climb back up. "As penance."

Elena looked up, hope and fear warring in her expression. "Anything."

"I need to die." Isla met the healer's eyes. "Not really. But everyone needs to believe I'm dead. Can you do that?"

Elena was quiet for a long moment, her medical mind clearly working through possibilities. "There's a procedure. High-risk. We'd sever the mate bond surgically—it would trigger cardiac arrest. I could revive you after, but the pack would believe you died on the table. It's dangerous, Isla. You might not wake up."

"I'm already dying." Isla gestured to the photographs on the floor. "At least this way, I choose how."

Elena pushed herself to her feet, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "When?"

"Tomorrow night. After the pack gathering." Isla's voice was steady now, her decision made. "I want them all to see me reject him first."

Elena nodded slowly. "I'll prepare everything."

Isla bent down and gathered the photographs, sliding them carefully back into the folder. Evidence. Proof. Justice for Tommy would come, but first, she needed to survive.

She pressed the folder against her chest, feeling the weight of her brother's stolen life, and walked out of Marcus Sullivan's office without looking back.