From Hell to Alpha

Chapter 5 — Speak Plainly

I did not move closer. I looked at her and spoke first.

“Where is Jones?" I asked. “Your message used his initial."

She slid the phone into her pocket. “He is busy," she said. “I sent the text. We should talk."

“Then talk," I said. “Say it in clear words."

She looked at me with a face that asked for pity. “You don't belong with him," she said. “You never did. He kept you because it looked right."

“You are wrong," I said. “He married me. I am his wife."

She tilted her head. “A title is not a heart."

“I am not here to trade lines about love," I said. “I'm here because you lied about me. You said I pushed you before. You know I didn't."

She did not answer that. She changed ground. “When I came back sick, he chose to care for me. That should have told you everything."

“It told me he has duties," I said. “It did not tell me to erase myself in my own house."

She took a slow breath like she wanted me to see how fragile it was. “You call it your house," she said. “It listens to his orders. He wants me safe. He wants me near."

“He can protect you without putting you in my bed, in my rooms, in my hours," I said. “He can buy you nurses. He can pay for a clinic. He can send warriors to guard your door. He can do all that outside my front steps."

Her mouth curved, small and mean. “You think pushing me out makes him yours."

“I think drawing a line keeps me from vanishing," I said.

“You already did," she said softly. “While you were away, he stopped saying your name like it mattered. Do you know what he said when he sat with me at night? He said, 'I made a mistake the day I gave up my first love.'"

I kept my voice steady. “He does not speak that way to me."

She smiled again. “Of course not. He speaks that way to me."

I did not give her the face she wanted. “You want him," I said. “You want status. You want the old story to fit again. But I am not moving for you."

“Then you will be moved," she said. “By how this looks."

“Looks to whom?" I asked.

“To him," she said. “To the Council. To the pack. People see what they want. I help them see it."

I heard her clearly now. There was no fog in her words. “Say what you are here to say," I said. “Use plain sentences."

She straightened a little, as if ready for a photograph. “He loves me," she said. “He will always choose me. If you were not the dead Beta's daughter, he never would have asked you to marry him. He did it to calm a pack and to pay for his guilt. That is all."

“You don't get to rewrite my marriage because it pleases you," I said.

She shrugged. “I am not rewriting. I am saying the quiet part out loud."

“Then listen to my part," I said. “You will not live in my house. You will not call me cruel for asking for basic respect. You will stop using your weakness to pry open doors."

She touched the scarf at her throat. “You talk like you are strong," she said. “But even you have a soft point. Him."

I looked at her without blinking. “I don't need him to stand up," I said. “I stand on my own."

She studied my face. “Not for long," she said.

I took one step closer, slow and careful. I kept my hands down and open. “We are going to end this," I said. “You will get care. It will not be under my roof. Tell him that yourself."

“You want me gone?" she asked.

“Yes."

Her eyes filled the way they do when she chooses to be watched. “You will regret that," she said in a low voice. “Because he will run to me. And then he will blame you for it."

“He can choose where he runs," I said. “But I will not open my door for the running."

Her lips parted on a small, false grief. “Aggressive," she murmured. “So loud. So sure."

“I am clear," I said. “That is different."

She looked past me as if seeing something arrive. “Let me give you one chance," she said. “Step aside. Walk away from him. Leave now. Say you were the one who ended it. You will save your pride."

“I am not the one who broke my vows," I said. “I will not carry his story for him."

She dropped her gaze and then lifted it again with that careful light in her eyes. “Then I will carry it for you," she said.

I felt the ground shift, not under my feet, but in her mind. A plan clicking into place. “What are you doing?" I asked.

“What you can't," she said.

She moved closer to the edge. Her shoes set down in small, exact steps. She looked back at me once like a stage cue. “Remember," she said softly. “People see what they want."

“Don't do this," I said. “This ends with both of us harmed."

She whispered, “Only one of us needs to look harmed."

I stepped in and reached for her arm because I am not a monster and I will not stand still while a body chooses to break. My right hand closed around her left forearm. My fingers felt the fine bones. “Come back," I said. “Right now."

“You are hurting me," she said. Her voice was breathy and sweet. She lifted her chin toward the sky, the way she does when she wants to look innocent from a distance. “Let go."

“No," I said. “Step forward."

Her eyes sparked. “You don't give orders to me."

“This is not an order," I said. “It is a fact. If you lean back, you will fall."

“Maybe you will save me," she said. “Maybe you won't. What will he see when he arrives?"

“He will see me holding on," I said.

She smiled with clean cruelty. She pushed her thumb against my knuckle, hard and quick, and twisted her wrist. Pain shot through my grip. My hand loosened by a fraction. She used it like a door. She tore free.

“No—" The word left me as air. She let her weight roll back. It was not a stumble. It was a choice. Her dress flared. Her eyes stayed on mine. For a second she looked happy.

She went over.

I dropped to my knees and reached empty air. I crawled forward and looked down. The drop had broken into ledges. She lay on the nearest one, ten to fifteen feet below, not moving, then moving, then groaning. Blood marked her shin. She was alive.

“I am going to get you," I said in a flat voice I trusted. I scanned the rock, found a line I could trust, and began to lower myself. My palms skinned on bark. My shoulder throbbed where old damage lives. I went anyway. I do not stop once I start a thing that saves a life.

“Do not move," I called. “Keep still."

She did not answer. Her lashes trembled. A tear drew a line through dust on her cheek. It looked staged even now.

I reached the ledge and set my boots. I crouched near her and kept my hands open. “I am lifting you," I said. “We will go slow."

“Don't touch me," she whispered. “He will see."

“I want him to see the truth," I said. “That I held on."

I slid one hand under her shoulder to brace her. She winced. I waited until the breath passed. “On three," I said. “One."

A shout cut through the air behind me. A voice I knew in my bones and in my scars.

“Isabella!"

I looked up. Jones came out of the trees at a run. Mud on his boots. Rain in his hair. His eyes were black with fury and fear. He saw me. He saw her. His body shifted without asking him. Wolf first, man second. He dropped down the face like he had been born on stone.

He reached her, changed back, and put his hands on her ankle, her wrist, her face. “Where does it hurt?" he asked her. His voice was raw.

She answered in a soft rush. “It was my fault," she said. “Please don't blame her. She didn't mean to—I said cruel things—she tried to help—"

“I tried to help," I said. I heard how flat it sounded and did not try to sweeten it.

He did not look at me. “Breathe," he told her. He lifted her the way you lift a child who has been told that the world will hold them no matter what they do.

He carried her up to the top. I climbed after them. When I reached the ground, he stood between us. His chest moved fast. He did not speak for a few seconds. He looked at her first.

“I'm fine," she whispered. “I scared you. I'm sorry."

He touched her hair like it belonged to him. Then he looked at me. The look was a closed door.

“What did you do?" he asked.

“I kept her from going over the edge," I said. “She pried my hand loose and jumped."

He turned his head as if he did not want the words to touch him. “Guards," he said, voice low and final. “Escort the Luna to the holding room."

“Jones," I said. “She did this on purpose."

“Do not say her name," he said. He did not raise his voice. He did not need to. It cut anyway.

Two guards came from the trees. They did not take my arms. They stood close. One of them looked ashamed.

“I can walk," I said. I kept my back straight. “Send the physician to her."

“He is already on his way," Jones said without looking at me.

I met his eyes one last time. “You are making a mistake," I said.

He bent over her. “I am fixing one," he said.

I went with the guards. I did not struggle. I did not speak again. Words were useless here. The only thing that mattered was what had been true: I met her because she called me with his letter. I spoke plain. She staged a fall. I held on. She made it look like I did not.