The Alpha’s Healer

Viktoria POV: The Set Up “Marco, please—wait!” My voice breaks, its shrillness echoing down the corridor of the Alpha mansion, cutting through the muffled roar of music and laughter spilling from the ballroom. My vision blurs with tears as I run after him. Marco’s strides are long and furious, his broad shoulders stiff, his fists clenched. I can feel his anger like heat, radiating from his back as he storms away from me. People walking into the ballroom look at us as I chase after him but I don’t care if anyone sees us. I don’t care if the entire pack is watching. All I know is I can’t let him walk away believing what he thinks he saw. My heart pounds painfully as I finally catch up with him. I grab his arm just as he stops, spinning around, his eyes, those storm-gray eyes that usually soften at the sight of me. Oh how angry they look now. Before I can speak, he glances past me. I follow his gaze just in time to see Elon, Marco’s best friend, stumbling toward us with a sloppy grin. He sways like a tree in the wind before his legs buckle. With a heavy thud, he crashes onto the marble floor face-first, his bottle of rum rolling out of his hand. It clinks across the tiles before coming to rest against the wall, spilling the last of its contents in a dark stain. The smell of liquor rises in the air and hits my nose. Marco’s voice is cutting. “So this is what you do? On my night of celebration? You sneak off to kiss my best friend?” “No!” I cry, the word ripping out of me. I shake my head desperately. “Marco, no, that’s not what happened. I didn’t kiss him—he kissed me!” I point toward Elon, sprawled and snoring on the floor like the fool he is. “Look at him. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing. He’s drunk out of his mind.” But Marco’s hard and cold eyes never soften. They stay locked on me, the kind of look I’ve never seen him give me before. “But you do,” he says flatly. “You know exactly what you’re doing.” The accusation hangs in the air and it smells bad. My throat constricts and I can’t get enough air through. I shake my head again, reaching for him with trembling hands. “Yes, I do know what I’m doing—and I was trying to push him off me. I tried to stop him, Marco. But he’s heavier than he looks, and he reeked of liquor. He was so far gone, I didn’t want to strike him and cause a scene. Please, Marco,” I clutch at his sleeve. “You have to believe me.” His eyes shift, darting to Elon sprawled in a graceless heap, drooling onto the floor. But when Marco looks back at me, that tiny spark of doubt turns into something worse: disappointment. “Well,” he says, his tone very cold. “You can have him.” The floor tilts beneath me. My mouth opens, but I'm unable to speak. Finally, I choke out, “What do you mean?” He turns sharply, raising his voice. “Omegas!” Two young wolves appear within seconds, bowing their heads. Marco jerks his chin toward Elon. “Take him out of here.” They move quickly, lifting Elon’s limp form between them, dragging him down the hall. Elon mumbles incoherently but doesn’t wake up. “Marco—” I start again, but the words wither in my throat. Because he’s walking away. He's not looking back or even listening. He disappears around the corner, his back straight, his steps hard against the floor. I stand there looking around, not knowing where to go or what to do, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I call his name again, “Marco!" but the walls answer me with their echoes. A sigh shudders out of me, broken and angry. I press a hand to my chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart. When I finally turn, I nearly stumble back. Lucille is there. She stands there in the hallway like a shadow waiting for me, her lips pursed, her eyes glittering with the kind of satisfaction only cruelty can conjure and my stomach sinks. Of course. Hours earlier, she had been the reason I ended up in this part of the mansion at all. When I first arrived at the celebration, I came with gifts for her. A token of respect. A silk scarf my mother had embroidered with silver thread, folded neatly in a box lined with lavender petals from our small garden. I had spent hours arranging it, telling myself maybe, just maybe, Lucille would see my sincerity, see that I was trying. But when I handed it to her at the door, she looked at me with that same disdain she always carries. She took the box, opened it briefly, then with a twist of her wrist tossed it into the dirt outside. The petals were scattered and crushed beneath her slipper. “You thought you could waltz into the Alpha’s celebration with this?” she sneered. “You don’t belong here, Viktoria. Don’t delude yourself.” I had swallowed my shame then, biting back tears, reminding myself that this celebration wasn’t about her. It was about Marco. I stayed quiet. I had kept my distance. But now, standing in the dim corridor with Elon’s drunken mess still lingering, she looks at me like a wolf circling her prey. “I heard,” she says smoothly. “I heard you got inappropriate with Elon. How low of you. I always knew you couldn’t be trusted.” She lets her gaze sweep over me slowly. “You’re not fit to be my son's Luna. You never will be.” My fists clench, the nails biting into my palms. ‘That’s not up to you,’ I remind myself fiercely. I want to strike her if I could. Out loud, I force my voice to stay calm. “Lucille, I didn’t do it. Believe whatever you want, but you don’t decide my worth.” I walk past her, my legs trembling. I have to find Marco. He has to listen to me. He has to know the truth. The night air outside is cool, carrying with it the sound of celebration, the music, the laughter, the clinking of glasses. My eyes scan desperately across the courtyard until they find him. Oh, there he is. Relief washes over me. Marco stands at the edge of the garden, lamps casting yellow light across his profile. But my relief shakes when I see who stands beside him. It is a girl. She’s tall and striking, her dress flowing like liquid moonlight, there are jewels in it. Its nothing like any dress I have. Her hair spills down her back in glossy waves, and when she laughs, it’s soft, practiced, and rich. And standing right beside them, smiling like a queen who has won, is Lucille. My stomach suddenly feels escavated. Who is she? What’s going on? I take a shaky step forward, then another, my voice breaking as I call out, “Marco!” He looks at me, our eyes locking briefly. And then, without a word, he turns around and walks away. The strange girl glances back at me with curiosity in her bright eyes. I stand rooted to the spot, the cold seeping into my bones. My heart is crumbling under the weight of Marco's silence. What's going on? Who's the girl?