The Weak Omega's Secret: Rise of the Alchemist

Jenna POV:

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and despair.

Corbett had rushed Ivana to the pack hospital immediately after the "attack," claiming her delicate throat needed scanning. It gave me a window.

I wasn't packing clothes. I was packing my life's work.

In my studio stood the Essence Organ—tiered cedar shelving holding over five hundred vials of rare extracts. My father, the former Grand Healer, had built it. I carefully placed the vials into a shock-proof metal case.

My phone buzzed.

ALPHA CORBETT SPOTTED FEEDING SWEETS TO SISTER-IN-LAW. IS SHE THE TRUE LUNA?

The photo showed Corbett holding a spoon to Ivana's lips. He looked attentive. Gentle.

The front door slammed. He was back.

I slid the metal case under my workbench and smoothed my shirt. He was in the kitchen, placing a small white box on the granite island.

"How is she?" I asked, voice flat.

"Traumatized," he sighed. "But physically fine. No bruising."

Because I didn't touch her.

He pushed the white box toward me. "Macarons. From that bakery downtown. A peace offering."

I stared at the box. "I'm not hungry."

"Just eat one, Jenna. Please." He opened the box and picked up a green one. "Pistachio. Your favorite."

I froze.

"I'm allergic to pistachios, Corbett," I said quietly. "Anaphylactic."

He blinked. "What? No, Elenor was allergic to strawberries. You eat these all the time."

"Elenor loved pistachios," I corrected him. "I die if I eat them."

He frowned, genuinely confused. Three years, and he didn't know what killed me.

"You're being dramatic," he scoffed, holding the cookie out. "Just take a bite. Show me you accept my apology."

"Corbett, I can't—"

"Eat it."

His eyes flashed red. The Alpha tone laced his voice, grabbing my motor functions like a puppeteer. My hand shot out against my will, snatching the cookie. I tried to clench my jaw, but the Command pried it open.

I shoved the cookie into my mouth and bit down.

The taste was sweet, nutty, and instantly metallic.

The burning started before I could even spit it out.

I dropped the rest of the cookie. "Corbett..."

My throat began to close like a fist tightening inside my windpipe. I clawed at my neck.

Corbett rolled his eyes. "Oh, stop it. You barely swallowed a crumb."

I fell to my knees. This wasn't normal. It was too fast. My inner wolf let out a high-pitched scream.

Wolfsbane.

The macaron was laced.

"C-Cor...bett..." I gasped, face turning purple.

He finally looked at me. Really looked. Panic flickered. "Jenna?"

Suddenly, a shriek came from the living room. Ivana had followed him home.

"Corbett! I can't breathe! The trauma! It's coming back!" Ivana screamed, her voice perfectly clear and loud.

Corbett’s head snapped toward the living room. He looked at me, dying on the floor. Then toward the living room.

The choice took him less than a second.

"Hold on, Ivana! I'm coming!"

He stepped over me.

He physically stepped over my convulsing body.

I watched his back retreat. I listened to him cooing at her while I lay on the cold tiles, suffocating.

Not like this.

I dragged myself across the floor, fingernails scraping grout, reaching for my purse.

My EpiPen.

My fingers fumbled with the zipper. Open. Open, damn you.

I jammed it against my thigh and leaned my entire body weight onto it.

Click.

Adrenaline flooded my system. I gasped, a ragged, horrible sound, as a tiny sliver of air forced its way into my lungs.

I lay there, shivering, the taste of poison and betrayal heavy on my tongue. Corbett never came back.