CHAPTER 3. Kiss It Goodbye 

The sickening crack echoed in the hallway.

But I am human in all but name. My knuckles instantly shattered against her dense bones. Rachel barely stumbled. A feral, bloodcurdling snarl ripped from her throat.

The retaliation was instantaneous and brutal. Blake and three of her minions descended on me. Heavy boots slammed into my ribs. Claws tore through my blazer, raking agonizingly across my shoulders. I fought back, kicking and thrashing wildly, but I was a fragile, scentless Omega drowning in a sea of shifting predators. A vicious kick to my stomach sent me crashing into the rusted lockers, my vision exploding into white-hot stars.

I collapsed onto the cold floor, coughing violently, the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth.

"Get back!" a voice shouted.

The crowd parted instantly. The oppressive, mint-and-rain scent of an Alpha flooded the corridor. Owen stepped through the sea of students.

I looked up through my swollen, bruised eye. My chest heaved painfully as I reached a bloody, trembling hand toward him. 

Owen looked down at me. His icy blue eyes swept over my battered face, the blood dripping from my nose, and my torn clothes. For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw his jaw clench. But then, his expression blanked.

He stepped over my outstretched hand and kept walking.

He didn't say a word. He didn't issue a command. He just left me there to bleed.

The sheer, agonizing betrayal of it burned hotter than any physical wound. I pushed myself up onto my uninjured elbow, grabbed my heavy, blood-spattered loafer from the floor, and hurled it with every last ounce of strength I had left in my broken body.

The hard heel of the shoe struck the back of Owen’s blonde head with a loud thwack.

The entire hallway gasped in collective horror.

Owen stopped dead. The air pressure in the corridor dropped so drastically it felt like gravity had doubled. Slowly, deliberately, the Alpha Heir turned around. His eyes locked onto mine, blazing. 

My chest heaved, every broken rib screaming in protest, but I refused to look away.

"You bastard," I murmured, the words slipping out as a quiet, definitive vow through my bloody lips.

I turned my back on him, the crowd parting silently as I dragged my battered, aching body down the corridor. With every agonizing step I took, my ears strained, waiting for the heavy, terrifying thud of his boots. I thought he would follow me. I thought he would come after me out of pure, unadulterated Alpha rage, unable to let a lowly Omega’s public insult slide.

He didn't. He stood there and let me walk away.

That was the exact moment the last fragile fragment of my heart turned to stone. The rest of my high school years became an endless, grueling marathon of casual cruelty, physical torment, and utter humiliation. 

I learned to keep my head down, to dodge the shoves in the cafeteria, and to quietly scrub the feral slurs off my locker without shedding a single tear. When graduation day finally arrived, I didn't even bother putting on a dress or attending the ceremony. 

What for? There was no pack waiting to celebrate my achievements. There was no childhood best friend standing by the gates with a proud smile.

My only focus now was one thing: survive, and leave Britton City in the dust.

..

…

….

Three years later.

A ragged, desperate gasp tore through the lavish confines of the Hayes estate.

Owen Hayes was drowning on dry land. His massive, muscular chest seized violently, struggling to pull even a fraction of oxygen into his burning lungs. The heavy, sour scent of panic permeated the massive bedroom, suffocating the usual aura of dominance that radiated throughout the Alpha household.

"Owen! Oh, Goddess, my baby, please, someone help him!"

Rowena, a middle-aged woman who perfectly mirrored Owen’s blonde hair and striking features, was sobbing hysterically by his bedside. She clutched his trembling, icy hand in hers, her tears leaving dark stains on the silk bedsheets. 

What was wrong with her son? How could the Crescent Moon pack’s strongest warrior, an Alpha Heir in his prime, become so horribly weak and sickly in the span of a single day?

Owen stared up at his mother through half-lidded, bloodshot eyes. A profound, crushing sadness weighed on his chest as he watched her weep, but he couldn’t offer a single word of comfort. All he could do was grit his teeth and swallow a string of bitter curses trapped in his raw throat.

He didn't understand. Just yesterday, he had been at the absolute peak of his strength, patrolling the territorial borders with his father. Then, without a single warning, a blinding, soul-tearing agony had ruptured in his chest, and he had collapsed directly into the dirt. Now, he couldn't even lift his arm. 

Every muscle fiber, every dense bone in his body felt as though it was being methodically ground into glass. His inner wolf was completely suppressed, whimpering in the dark, inaccessible recesses of his mind.

The heavy oak doors swung open, hitting the wall with a loud, aggressive thud. The Alpha of the Crescent Moon pack stormed in, his imposing presence followed closely by a frail, cloaked healer he had urgently summoned from a neighboring territory.

"Fix him," the Alpha commanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that rattled the windowpanes. "Do whatever it takes. Heal my heir."

The old healer didn't cower. He approached the bed slowly, his ancient, milky eyes scanning Owen’s paralyzed form. He produced a small vial of foul-smelling, murky liquid, forcing a few drops past Owen’s pale lips to ease his violent trembling. Then, pulling a long, slender silver needle from his robes, the healer firmly pricked the tip of Owen's index finger.

A single bead of dark, almost black blood welled up.

From beneath his cloak, the healer withdrew a heavy, leather-bound book. The thick parchment pages were yellowed with age, yet completely blank. He took Owen's bleeding finger and pressed it directly into the center of an empty page. 

The dark blood soaked into the paper, but it didn't just pool, it spider-webbed, tracing fine, invisible veins across the parchment as if the book were drinking it in.

The healer leaned in, his milky eyes narrowing as he read the blank page with intense, terrifying scrutiny. The room fell into a dead, heavy silence, save for Owen’s ragged, whistling breaths.

Finally, the healer looked up, his expression utterly grim.

"You have been cursed, young Alpha," the old man rasped, his voice echoing eerily in the quiet room. "This is no illness. This is dark magic, woven with pure, unadulterated malice. Someone truly wants you... to suffer before you die."

"Impossible!" The Alpha roared, the sheer, explosive force of his denial vibrating through the floorboards. "No witch or warlock would dare cross into my territory! Who would do this?!"

Rowena collapsed against her husband's broad chest, weeping in utter disbelief. 

"Who would want to torture my boy?!"

Amidst the chaotic, deafening roar of his parents' despair, Owen lay entirely paralyzed against the pillows. The agonizing fire in his veins momentarily faded into the background, eclipsed by a sudden, chilling realization that struck him harder than a physical blow. His icy blue pupils dilated, trembling violently as a buried memory from three years ago clawed its way to the absolute forefront of his mind.

A bloodied, broken girl looking at him with eyes entirely devoid of love. The impact of a shoe against the back of his head. A whispered, broken vow of hatred in a crowded hallway.

His sharp jaw locked. His massive chest heaved one final, shuddering time as his cracked, dry lips slowly parted. Into the horrific chaos of the room, he murmured a single, breathless word.

"Leah, I’m sorry."