Semua Bab The Doctor's Alpha Mate: Bab 111 - Bab 120

Hope's POV.Branches whip against my arms and legs, but I barely feel them. My lungs burn. My heart is a drumbeat of fear in my chest. Emory is just behind me, and Morgana leads the way like a woman possessed, tripping over roots, stumbling, gasping — but she doesn’t stop. None of us do.Not when her voice cracks with fear. Not when dread coils tighter and tighter around my ribs with every step. Because something is wrong. Deeply wrong. And the closer we get, the more I feel it — like a sickness in the air, clinging to the wind, seeping into the ground.When the trees finally part and the pack house comes into view, I think — No. No, this isn’t real. This can’t be real.But it is.Bodies lie scattered across the grass — wolves I know, wolves I love. Velara is slumped against the porch, her usually regal form trembling. One of the pups is curled in a tight ball beside her, whimpering softly. I spot Vladimir near the steps, doubled over and clutching his side, blood dripping from his mo

Hope's POV.The silence is deafening.It presses in from every side, thick and heavy, like the mist curling outside the windows. My ears ring from the absence of sound — not even the whimper of pain or the shuffle of footsteps. Only the slow, unbearable echo of my heartbeat, thudding in my chest like a drum of mourning.My head hangs between my knees. My hands tremble. They’re slick with blood.I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here.There’s something under my fingernails. Something sticky, dark, and wrong. My arms, my clothes, my hair — all of it smells like iron and bile and death. The stench clings to me, seeps into my bones. I think I might vomit again, but there’s nothing left to bring up.My breath hitches. My heart aches.My senses are on fire — too sharp, too loud. I can hear every creak in the wooden floor, every snap of a branch outside. But still… it’s so quiet. No crying. No howling. Just this… silence.I try to think, to focus on something. Anything. But there’s not

Hope's POV.The sky outside is the color of ash.Muted gray clouds roll low across the treetops, casting the forest in a dull, bruised light. Rain hasn't come yet, but I can smell it in the wind — sharp, earthy, like a promise half-kept. The storm hovers on the edge of the world, holding its breath. So am I.I sit on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, my hands limp between them. My clothes are neatly folded beside me — black, of course. As if the color could somehow be enough to match the weight in my chest. As if mourning could be wrapped up in fabric and made to look proper.I haven't slept. Not really. I closed my eyes and drifted in and out of a haze where memories clawed at me from all sides — Morgana’s scream, the boy’s still body, the sting of grief laced into every breath. My own helplessness. My own failure.I press my hands to my face, breathing deep, as if I could inhale enough courage to get through the next hour. The next day. The next forever.He should not be dead

Hope's POV.I run.Branches tear at my arms. Roots rise like claws from the earth, trying to catch me, slow me down. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop.My lungs burn, but it’s nothing compared to the fire inside my chest. Everything hurts. My legs. My ribs. My heart.Tears stream down my face, hot and silent. I don’t even wipe them away. What’s the point?The words echo over and over in my mind like a curse I can’t shake."You don’t belong here.""You’re not one of us.""This is all your fault."I try to breathe, but it’s like I’m drowning in it — grief, shame, guilt. I push harder. Faster.If I run fast enough, maybe I can escape it. Maybe I can leave all of it behind. The heartbreak. The loss. Me.But I’m not fast enough.No matter how far I go, I can still feel it clinging to my skin, in my hair, under my nails. The weight of it, the truth of it — at least the truth Morgana believes.Maybe she’s right. Maybe I don’t belong. Maybe I never did.I stumble, my foot catching on a root, and

Hope's POV.They’re all talking at once.Malakar’s voice is low and steady, like he’s trying to calm a storm that hasn’t started yet. Lucian paces, running through the timing again like it’ll somehow make this safer. Aarden’s asking questions no one is answering. Emory keeps watching me out of the corner of her eye, like she’s waiting for me to crack. Talon’s arms are crossed, brows drawn, the word “reckless” hanging unsaid between every breath. And Dorian—quiet, focused—just watches us all like he’s already thinking ten steps ahead.I sit in the middle of it, nodding like I’m listening.But I’m not.I’ve heard the plan a hundred times.Get close. Tell him what he wants to hear. Make him believe I’ve turned. Make him believe I want to be with him.It won’t be hard. Not really.I know what he wants. I know how to say the words, how to look at him like I believe them. I’ve lived a lie before—this won’t be the first time I’ve hidden my truth under someone else’s expectations.But still.