The scent of herbs and damp stone filled the dimly lit chamber as Regina moved carefully, setting a steaming cup of medicinal tea before the dying Alpha. The weight of the tray was nothing compared to the years of servitude she had endured, but as she watched the frail man before her, she felt something she hadn't expected.
Nothing.
Alpha Sirus, once a towering force of dominance, now sat slumped in his grand chair, his body betraying him more each day. His skin, once sun-kissed and unyielding, had turned pale, almost gray in the flickering candlelight. His once-powerful hands trembled as he reached for the cup, fingers struggling to wrap around the handle. The veins on the back of his hands bulged, his knuckles protruding against thinning skin.
Regina said nothing as she stepped back, hands clasped before her. Nobody knew exactly what had happened to him.
One day, he had returned from a hunt, shoulders broad, his sword still dripping with the blood of whatever poor beast had crossed his path. The next morning, he had collapsed, unable to rise from bed. The pack whispered behind closed doors. Some said it was a slow-acting poison. Others claimed it was the curse of an enemy he had slaughtered.
Whatever it was, it was eating him alive.
And she had been the one chosen to keep him alive—for now.
Regina had never been given anything in this pack, but her hands had always been useful. She knew herbs, knew how to mend wounds, how to brew medicine that could soothe even the strongest warriors. And so, even as a slave, she had been granted a small space—a room of her own, no longer forced to sleep among the filth of the slave house.
Still a prisoner, but one with four walls.
Sirus took a slow, agonizing sip of the tea, his breathing uneven as the warmth settled into his decaying body. The moment the cup touched the saucer again, his hand shot out.
Regina didn't flinch when his fingers twisted into the fabric of her sleeve, pulling her toward him.
His grip was weak. It used to terrify her. Now, it only felt like an inconvenience.
His breath was rancid, thick with sickness, and when he spoke, it was barely a whisper. "G-girl..." His lips trembled, as if the words took everything out of him. "I... I should have killed you when I had the chance."
Regina stared at him, her expression unreadable.
She didn't fight his grip. She didn't speak.
She only looked at him.
There was no need to respond.
He knew it too.
His breathing became labored, his grip loosening, fingers slipping from her sleeve. He sagged back into his chair, exhausted from the sheer effort of spitting out the last bit of venom he had left in him.
Regina didn't linger. She stepped away, gathering the tray, moving as if nothing had happened. Because nothing had.
Sirus was dying.
And she would outlive him.