Chapter 3

After throwing up the poisoned meat, my weakened wolf shut down. I curled up in bed for the rest of the night.

My dreams were fragmented. Sometimes I saw the bone-chilling light from the Underworld abyss, and other times I saw the bloody image of my adoptive parents torn apart in the pack war.

The only thing missing was any trace of the three men right outside my door.

Near noon the next day, I woke up to playful chatter downstairs.

My wolf had recovered a little, but my limbs felt heavy and lifeless.

I grabbed my phone and glanced at the calendar.

Five days left.

I opened my journal.

[Third wish: Watch Julian finish The Servant of Death, the painting he modeled after me.]

Six months ago, Julian, an elite pack warrior and rising artist, began that piece as the grand finale for the pack's art show.

He said I was his only muse.

Even though he thought my stories were just make-believe, he indulged me. He painted a young girl standing on the waters of the Underworld River.

He promised that after the exhibition, he would hang the painting right above my bed.

I washed my face, changed, and went downstairs.

The living room was empty.

Expensive, empty wine bottles were scattered near the couch, along with torn gift wrap Chloe had left on the floor.

I walked out, called a ride, and headed straight to Julian's private gallery.

The gallery had a "Closed" sign hanging on the door.

Through the glass doors, I saw Julian standing lazily in front of an easel, palette in hand.

Chloe sat sweetly on a stool across from him.

Sunlight poured through the skylight, bathing her in a golden halo.

The door chimed as I walked in.

Julian paused, frowning.

"Who told you to come here?"

His tone was thick with annoyance.

I ignored him, my eyes locked on the massive painting.

It was clearly my Servant of Death.

The dark background was as profound as ever, the Reaper's silhouette just as mysterious.

But the young girl standing above the abyss—the one with my face—had been painted over. Now, she wore Chloe's innocent, pitiful expression.

Even the scythe she used to hold had been replaced by a massive bouquet of Chloe's favorite roses.

My stomach dropped.

I took two stiff steps closer. My fingertips traced the air where my own features used to be.

"Why did you change it?"

My voice was light, yet it sounded incredibly loud in the quiet gallery.

Julian tossed his palette aside, grabbed a rag, and slowly wiped his hands.

"I thought the original face was too plain, so I changed it. Is there a problem?"

He sounded completely justified, not an ounce of guilt in his voice.

"But you swore to the Moon Goddess that this painting belonged to me."

I stared at him. My eyes were so dry I couldn't shed a single tear.

Chloe hopped off the stool and walked over, hooking her arm through mine.

"Amara, please don't be mad."

"I just said my room felt empty. Julian agreed to tweak it for me."

"You know I'm clueless about art, so I just wanted something to share in his talent."

"You've always been so sweet sharing your clothes and jewelry with me. You aren't going to be petty over just one painting, right?"

She blinked, playing the innocent victim.

It was true. Ever since she was adopted four years ago, anything she wanted, the boys made me give it to her.

Dresses, jewelry, my spot at the Academy, and even my fated mate.

"I don't mind."

I brushed her hand off, surprising myself with how calm I felt.

"Since it's hers now, let's make it complete."

I walked up to the easel. Under Julian's shocked gaze, I ripped a small section off the bottom right corner of the canvas.

Painted there was a tiny mark—a crescent moon intertwined with a scythe.

It was his exclusive signature, a secret code he left on every piece just for me.

The ripping sound was loud in the quiet room. The painting now had a massive hole in the corner, like an ugly scar.

"Amara! Are you crazy?!"

Julian charged over and shoved me.

The strength of a fully grown male werewolf was overwhelming. My weakened wolf couldn't withstand it. I stumbled back, crashing into the paint buckets next to the easel.

Metal buckets knocked over, spilling thick oil paint all over the floor. Paint splattered across my clothes, and blood trickled from my nose from the hard impact.

Hearing the crash, Julian glanced at me. He took a half-step forward, then stopped.

He touched the torn edge of the canvas, anger flaring in his eyes.

"Do you know how many all-nighters I pulled for this? And because you're jealous, you destroyed it?"

"Amara, what happened to you?"

Chloe hid behind him. "Julian, stop yelling. She didn't mean it."

Pushing against the slick floor, I slowly stood up.

My palms had been sliced open by the sharp metal. Bright red blood mixed with the red paint, creating a sickening sight.

I clenched the torn canvas in my bleeding palm.

"This mark is mine. I'm taking what belongs to me."

"You two can admire the rest."

I didn't look at them again. Dragging my aching body, I walked out of the gallery.

Through the door, I could still hear Julian muttering about how unreasonable I was.

At the street corner, I pulled out my journal and drew an X over my third wish.

It was fine. I wouldn't need this body much longer anyway.

The real pain wasn't physical anyway.

Compared to the mate bond tearing at my soul day and night, what was a little fall?