Too Late, My Alpha: You Killed Me
My sister, the pack's beloved future Luna, was dying of kidney failure.
Axel, the Supreme Alpha and the man I had secretly loved my entire life, used his Alpha Command to force the pen into my trembling hand.
"Sign the papers, Jana," he growled, his eyes glowing with a predatory red light. "Stop being selfish. Kyleigh needs a transplant, and you are the only match."
I tried to beg. I tried to tell him that I couldn't survive the surgery.
I tried to tell him that I had already secretly donated a kidney to our father five years ago—a sacrifice my sister had claimed credit for.
But Axel threw a stack of falsified medical scans in my face.
"Stop lying to save your own skin," he spat. "You are a useless, Wolfless Omega. This is your only chance to be of value to this pack."
He didn't know that Kyleigh had been poisoning me with Wolfsbane for a decade to suppress my inner White Wolf.
He didn't know that the anesthesia wouldn't work on my poisoned body.
I felt every inch of the silver scalpel as they cut me open to harvest my only remaining kidney.
I died on that table, listening to the man I loved call me dramatic.
But death was not the end. My spirit floated above the chaos, watching as the surgeon's face turned pale with horror.
"She only had one!" the doctor screamed, holding up the blackened organ. "Alpha, look at the old scars! We just killed her!"
Only after my heart stopped did the scent-masking drugs fade.
Axel fell to his knees in the blood-soaked room, finally smelling the scent of rain and pine he had been searching for his whole life.
He realized he had just butchered his true mate to save a liar.
"Jana?" he howled, clawing at his chest.
But I was already gone.
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Chapter 5
Jana POV:
The cold of the operating table seeped through the thin gown, a deep, invasive chill that felt like it was settling in my bones. I was floating, detached, watching the scene from somewhere above my own body. The bright, sterile lights of the operating room were a distant sun.
Dr. Sanchez stood over me, his face a mask of concentration beneath his surgical cap. The scalpel in his hand gleamed. I felt no fear, only a profound weariness. He made the first incision, a clean, red line blooming across my abdomen. It didn't hurt. Nothing hurt anymore.
The monitors beside the table kept a steady, rhythmic beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound of a life that was no longer mine.
"Doctor," a young nurse's voice was a nervous whisper. "Her pressure is dropping faster than anticipated."
"It's the anesthesia," Dr. Sanchez snapped, his voice tight with a stress I could feel even from my detached state. The Alpha's orders weighed on him. "Monitor it. Do your job."
The beeping of the monitor hitched, a single, sharp alarm that cut through the room's tension. My heart, the one still beating in the body below, had faltered.
From a speaker on the wall, Axel's voice crackled, distorted and impatient. "What was that? Sanchez, report."
I could see him in my mind's eye, pacing behind the observation glass like a caged predator.
"A minor reaction to the anesthetic, Alpha," Dr. Sanchez lied, his hands never ceasing their work. "It's under control."
He pushed aside layers of tissue, his gloved fingers probing deep into the cavity. Then he stopped. His brow furrowed above his mask. I saw the subtle shift in his posture, the sudden stillness of his hands. He felt it. The wrongness.
He was expecting to find a healthy, firm kidney. Instead, his fingers met only empty space and the rough, scarred texture of old connective tissue. A ghost of an organ.
A single bead of sweat broke free from his hairline and traced a path down his temple. He didn't believe it. He repositioned his hands, exploring from a different angle, his movements becoming more frantic, less precise. The result was the same. Nothing.
His fingers brushed against the internal wall, tracing the unmistakable line of a surgical scar, old and long-healed from the inside. A wound no one had ever seen.
And in that moment of his shocked stillness, the world stopped.
The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was replaced by a single, piercing, unbroken tone. A flatline.
Chaos erupted.
"She's in V-fib! Get the paddles!"
"Push one of epi!"
The speaker crackled to life again, Axel's voice no longer a command, but a roar. "SANCHEZ! WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?"
They pushed down on my chest, the rhythmic thud of their compressions a brutal, useless drumbeat. They shocked my body, making it arch violently off the table, but the long, damning note of the monitor never changed.
"We're losing her," the senior nurse said, her voice trembling with disbelief. "Doctor, it's not working… The pre-op report said she was in perfect health!"
The words "perfect health" seemed to break something in Dr. Sanchez. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with a horrifying realization. He looked from my lifeless body to the monitor, then back again. The perfect report, provided by the Alpha himself. The empty space where a kidney should be. The old scar.
The lie pieced itself together in his eyes.
He knew.
He stumbled back from the table, ignoring the frantic efforts of his team. He was a healer, a man sworn to preserve life, and he had just been made an executioner.
He ripped his mask from his face and staggered toward the intercom on the wall, his movements jerky, uncoordinated.
"Answer me!" Axel's voice boomed from the speaker, laced with a fury that promised death. "What is her status? Kyleigh is waiting for that kidney!"
Dr. Sanchez slammed his palm against the talk button, his whole body shaking. He closed his eyes, took a deep, ragged breath that sounded like a sob, and screamed a truth that would shatter their world.
"She doesn't have a right kidney, you fool!" he howled, his voice raw with grief and rage. "She only has one!"
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8.6
In my past life, the Cerberus strain leaked, turning the world into a blood-soaked hell of rotting flesh and mutated monsters.
I thought my boyfriend Declan and my best friend Hailee would have my back as we fled the quarantine zone.
Instead, when the surging crowd of the infected cornered us, they didn't hesitate.
They shoved me backward into the horde just to buy themselves three seconds to run.
As I fell into the mud, I saw them fleeing without a single backward glance.
"She's dead weight anyway!" Hailee screamed.
"Just keep running, she'll distract them!" Declan yelled back.
I was torn apart, feeling the agonizing tear of rotting teeth sinking into my neck and the hot spray of my own blood.
Before the apocalypse, my greedy uncle had locked away my ten-million-dollar trust fund, leaving me with nothing but a fake boyfriend who only wanted me for my money.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand how the people I loved most could trade my life for a head start.
Why did I blindly trust them? Why didn't I see through their perfectly choreographed lies?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of decaying flesh vanished, replaced by the sterile smell of my college dorm room.
Hailee and Declan were standing over my bed, faking tears of concern over my meningitis fever.
I was back exactly seven days before the world ended, and my spatial vault ability had come back with me.
This time, I'm extorting my uncle for every cent, hoarding the city's supplies, and leaving them all to rot.
9.0
I died alone in the medical wing giving birth to our son.
"Tell her to calm down and stop the theatrics."
Those were the last words my mate, the Alpha, said about me while I bled out.
Instead of passing on, my soul was tethered to the packhouse. I was forced to watch my best friend Seraphina seamlessly step into my life, taking my baby and my husband before my body was even cold.
To secure her place, she planted my blood-soaked birthing blanket in the woods to frame me for faking my own kidnapping.
Ryker swallowed her lies completely. He refused to send a search party, telling the entire pack my disappearance was just a pathetic plea for attention and money.
As a helpless ghost, I watched Seraphina brainwash my one-year-old son into calling her his mother and teach him to joyfully trample my beloved garden.
"Bad mommy ran away. Don't love Kaelen."
Hearing my own child parrot those venomous words was a dagger to my soul.
Whenever anyone questioned my absence, Ryker fiercely defended her, dismissing the desperate warnings of my loyal friends and his own elders.
The man I loved and died for treated my memory like a malicious joke, grateful for an excuse to replace me while living with my murderer.
But when Seraphina's mask finally slipped, and the horrifying truth of my death crashed down on him, it was far too late.
Seeing him crumble in agonizing regret brought me no comfort.
I no longer wanted his love or his desperate apologies.
Now, I only wanted his absolute ruin.
9.3
Halie woke up to a sharp pain and a terrifying reality. She was in a new body, her face covered in a hideous web of scars, and her spiritual power reduced to a pathetic D-Class.
Before she could even process the memories of being framed, her bedroom doors were violently kicked open.
Her sister Seraphina sauntered in with a venomous sneer, followed closely by Halie's S-Class fiancé, Jett.
"Look at the disgrace of the Avila family. What a waste," Seraphina mocked, throwing a mirror at her bed.
"I can't be tied to a cripple. As an S-Class, I have to break our engagement," Jett added, his gaze full of disgust.
The nightmare didn't stop there. Her father called, screaming about how she had shamed the family name. He officially stripped her of her inheritance, froze all her accounts, and exiled her to the decaying Southern District to rot.
To make matters worse, a cold, mechanical voice suddenly echoed in her skull, warning her of an impending genetic collapse. Without an immediate energy infusion, she would face total organ failure in thirty days.
A ruined face, a treacherous family, a world that wanted her dead, and a literal death clock ticking in her brain. The original owner had died in absolute despair, a tragic victim of sheer cruelty.
But if they thought she would just sit there and die, they were severely mistaken.
Armed with a mysterious system and her brilliant scientist mind from her past life, Halie packed her bags. She chose the craziest survival quest: head to the slums, find the exiled, sterile S-Class "madman" Coleman, and cure him to harvest his life energy. It was time to start her counterattack.
9.2
At the absolute summit of her pop-star career, the stage collapsed beneath Catherine's feet, plunging her into a mechanical black hole.
When she opened her eyes, she wasn't in a hospital, but a savage, primitive forest.
Before a fire-breathing beast could tear her apart, a massive black snake crushed it with a single strike.
The terrifying serpent then transformed into Amon, a towering, heavily scarred man with golden slitted eyes, who swore his life to protect her.
He brought her to his tribe, but instead of safety, they were met with ravenous hunger and disgust.
The tribe's males stared at Catherine's fragile human body like a rare breeding prize, while treating Amon like garbage.
"He's a cursed, cold-blooded freak! His rut will tear you to pieces!"
The Chief sneered, pointing a thick, accusing finger at Amon.
"By tribal law, you must mate with our strongest tiger and bear shifters to give us powerful cubs!"
Humiliated, Amon's broad shoulders slumped, his fists trembling in suffocating shame as he prepared to back away.
Catherine's heart pounded with fierce, burning anger.
When she was about to be eaten, Amon was the only one who bled for her.
Where were these arrogant bullies then? Why should she let them treat her savior like a monster?
As the tribe's strongest warriors swarmed forward to claim her, Catherine stepped directly in front of Amon's lethal claws.
"I don't need any of you," she declared, her voice cutting through the chaos.
"I will mate with Amon and take his beast mark today!"
8.2
To save my brother's life, I married a dead billionaire.
My new home was a freezing, high-tech mausoleum where I was ordered to hold a year-long vigil beside Byron Hyde's cryogenic pod.
But I wasn't alone in the dark.
Every night, a terrifying shadow smelling of whiskey and sandalwood pinned me to my narrow bed.
It tore my clothes and brutally claimed my body, leaving me bruised and trembling until dawn.
When I begged the housekeeper for help, showing her my torn skin, she just smiled cruelly.
"It seems the master's spirit has accepted you."
I thought I was being haunted by a vengeful ghost, until Byron's arrogant nephew broke into the tomb to assault me.
His tampering triggered the life-support system, and the heavy lid of the pod hissed open.
Byron Hyde sat up, his eyes lethal and his skin shockingly warm.
He was alive.
Looking at his broad shoulders, I caught the faint scent of whiskey and sandalwood.
The horrific truth hit me like a physical blow.
My nightly tormentor wasn't a ghost. It was my living, breathing husband.
When I confronted him, his eyes were cold and clinical.
"That was a necessary test. I had to know if my wife would break."
A white-hot rage choked me, but I didn't scream or run.
He slipped the priceless, heavy sapphire of the family matriarch onto my finger, offering me absolute power over the treacherous relatives who wanted us both dead.
To fight a monster, you can't be a victim.
I looked into his deep, dangerous eyes and accepted the ring.
If this was a cage, allying with the keeper was the only way to find the key.
9.7
Eighteen months ago, the man I loved shattered my heart, claiming everything between us was a mistake. Now, he's back, a ghost of his former self, a rookie tryout in my pro esports team. And I will make him regret crawling back.
Clifton, captain of a legendary esports team, was secretly battling a severe wrist injury that threatened his career, every match a fight against his own body. He pushed through the pain, ignoring doctors' warnings, desperate to maintain his god-like status.
His world was already on the edge, but nothing prepared him for seeing Justice Terry again in the team basement. Justice, pale and trembling, his eyes wide with naked terror, was now a rookie tryout.
Clifton had spent a year and a half trying to forget that rainy Chicago alley, the raw revulsion in Justice's eyes, the whispered "it wasn't real" that had left him heartbroken. Justice had vanished, and Clifton had erased every trace. Now, the boy who once looked at him like he was the sun was back, flinching at his touch, displaying a deep, primal fear. Amidst sponsor pressure and whispers of being "washed," Clifton saw Justice's return as a chance for vengeance. He publicly humiliated Justice on a live stream, forcing him into a suicide mission, then coldly benched him.
Yet, the satisfaction never came. Instead, a hollow emptiness and a torrent of questions: What had truly happened in the past? Why was Justice here, and what trauma had carved such fear into his bones?
Clifton, unwilling to be fooled again, swore to uncover every secret and every lie. He would force Justice to explain why he had returned, even if it meant tearing down everything they both had left.