This is bad.
This is really, really bad.
Luther is lying on the surgical table, motionless.
His head is still bleeding—slow, dark drips trailing down his temple and into his hair.
That bastard must have struck him hard.
Too hard.
That could leave a scar.
God. A scar on Luther.
It makes my stomach turn.
This is my fault.
All of it.
I’m the reason my childhood best friend is bleeding out.
I’m the reason he was dragged out of his life and dumped into this hell.
He might die.
Luther might die.
The weight of that presses down on my chest like a slab of concrete.
I can’t breathe.
"Pull yourself together", barked Emiliano.
Easy for him to say.
This is just another lab rat for him.
But Luther is everything to me.
I can’t lose him again.
Back then, he wasn’t like this.
He was bright.
Curious.
A little lonely, maybe, but never bitter.
He laughed freely when I made dumb jokes and clung to me like I was his lifeline.
Maybe I was.
He was homeschooled. His parents told everyone it was because of some illness, but we both had our doubts.
In truth, Luther lived like a ghost in his own mansion—hidden away, locked up, shielded from the world.
Only a few teachers... and me... were allowed near him.
I was the highlight of his day.
So I made every visit count.
I brought him sweets—strictly forbidden, of course—stories from the outside, and most importantly, I brought myself.
He smiled for me.
Laughed for me.
We snuck out into the gardens when no one was looking, and I’d swear the sun always shone a little brighter when we were out there together.
His family must have known, but they never stopped us.
Maybe even they saw what we had.
Then came that day.
It was my twelfth birthday. I’d snuck a tiny cake and two forks in my backpack, praying the cream wouldn’t melt.
I was so excited to share it with him—my person.
Marlena, his mother, greeted me with her usual tight smile and stiff congratulations, but I barely heard her.
I just wanted to see him.
I sprinted down the halls, fixed my crooked tie, and opened the door to his room.
Luther launched into my arms before I could say a word.
"Happy birthday," he whispered breathlessly.
"You shouldn’t run like that," I tried to scold him, but my smile gave me away.
I broke from the hug, trying to act older—mature, composed, like a proper man—but his eyes still shimmered with affection.
"I brought something."
His face lit up when he saw the slightly melted cake and the barely visible ’12’ candles.
"You brought cake!"
"And forks. But we’ve gotta be quiet or the adults will meddle and destroy everything."
He nodded in such a serious manner, I melted a little more inside.
We snuck to the garden through our usual route, though the rain had left the grass wet.
I laid down my uniform jacket so he wouldn’t get damp.
My mom would scold me for ruining my clothes again, but I didn’t care.
Luther’s happiness was worth it.
I lit the candles.
"We’re gonna make a wish."
"But it’s your birthday," he frowned.
"I’ll share it with you. But you have to keep it secret—or it won’t come true."
He nodded like it was a sacred vow.
We counted.
"One, two, three!"
Only he blew the candles out.
His face crumpled in horror.
"I-I stole your wish!"
I laughed.
I took a bit of frosting and gently dabbed it on his bottom lip.
"I’ll make my wish come true anyway," I said softly. "But you’ve gotta help me."
He sniffled and nodded.
I guided him, telling him to press his lips together like this.
And then I kissed him.
Just a light peck.
Just a little frosting.
Just enough to say what I didn’t know how to yet.
Then everything shattered.
His face twisted in horror.
He cried—sobbed.
And then... darkness.
I woke up three months later in a hospital bed.
Choking on air.
My head splitting open with a thousand unexplained urges.
Rage. Heat. Hunger.
They told me I was an alpha now.
That Luther’s pheromones had triggered something in me.
That I’d gone into some kind of coma from the reaction.
Nothing worked. Not the meds. Not the restraints.
The emptiness was endless.
I remembered screaming.
Throwing a chair at the wall.
Grown men trying to restrain me.
My mother crying. My father yelling in desperation.
"I want to see him!" I shouted.
"You can’t," my mother sobbed.
"Why?!"
"Because for an alpha... Luther is poison," my father said.
Those were the last words I ever heard from them.
They ripped me from his life.
They turned our kiss into a curse.
And I hated the world for it.
And now... years later... here he is.
Still beautiful.
Still mine.
Lying broken and bleeding in front of me.
They want to use him.
Cut him open.
But I’ll be d—ned if I let them destroy what little of him I have left.
I will fix this.
I will make it right.
And if I can’t...
I’ll burn down the world before I lose him again.
"Can you fix him?" I stumbled the same question to Emiliano.
I must have asked a thousand times before.
I know he was tired of it.
I was tired of the same answer:
"I’ve fixed you, haven’t I?" mumbled annoyed Emiliano.
But his voice—
There was something off in it.
Sharp, yes, but... breathless. Strained. Uneasy.
Then the monitor next to Luther let out a shrill, unnatural screech.
My blood froze.
The line on the screen flatlined.
Luther’s heart had stopped.