30 Days to Love Me, Alpha

The sterile, stinging scent of bleach and rubbing alcohol inside the Drake Sovereign Pack’s medical center did nothing to mask the suffocating stench of fear. Elora sat frozen in the leather chair, her fingers digging so hard into her own thighs that her nails left crescent-shaped bruises through her jeans. Across the heavy oak desk, Dr. Aldous Corin refused to meet her eyes. He kept pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, his hands trembling as he stared at the medical file resting between them. "I am so incredibly sorry, Luna Elora," Dr. Corin finally whispered, his voice cracking under the agonizing silence. "The tests confirm our worst fears. Mia has Blood-Vein Decay." The words hit Elora like a physical blow to the chest, driving the air from her lungs. Blood-Vein Decay. It was a genetic death sentence—a rare, incurable resonance failure where a young shifter’s inner wolf essentially starves, slowly eating away at their host's immune system. "No," Elora breathed, her voice completely hollow. "No, you said it was a stubborn flu. You said she just needed rest." "The deterioration has been shockingly rapid," Corin murmured, his eyes darting nervously toward the door as if he expected someone to burst in. "There is no cure, Luna. The cellular collapse is absolute." Elora’s vision blurred. She turned her head slowly, looking through the glass partition into the adjacent observation room. Her six-year-old daughter, Mia, sat on the examination bed, swinging her little legs. Mia had inherited her father’s raven-black hair, but her luminescent amber eyes—eyes she got from Elora—were sunken and bruised with dark, exhausted shadows. When Mia caught her mother looking, she offered a weak, gap-toothed smile that shattered what was left of Elora’s heart. For five years, Elora had endured the cold, unyielding cruelty of her mate, Supreme Alpha Lucian Drake. She had swallowed the humiliation of his public rejection. She had silently endured the agony of watching him parade his first love, Vivienne, around the penthouse. She had survived all of it because Mia was her anchor. Mia was the only pure, beautiful thing in Elora's isolated world. "How long?" Elora demanded, her voice suddenly dropping its tremble, replaced by a chilling, desperate edge. Dr. Corin swallowed hard. "A month. Thirty days at most. I recommend keeping her comfortable here in the medical wing." "Thirty days," Elora repeated, the words tasting like ash on her tongue. A month. Just long enough for Mia's seventh birthday. Elora stood up abruptly, snatching the medical file from the desk. She didn't weep. The luxury of breaking down was gone; maternal instinct, fierce and violently protective, overrode her despair. She walked out of the office and into the observation room. The moment she crossed the threshold, she forced a bright, convincing smile onto her face. "Mommy!" Mia reached out her small, frail arms. "Can we go home now? I don't like the smells here." "Yes, baby, we're going home," Elora said softly, lifting her daughter into her arms. Mia felt terrifyingly light, like a hollow bird cage. Elora buried her face in Mia's neck, breathing in her sweet, powdery scent, fighting the tears burning the back of her throat. As they walked out into the crisp evening air, heading toward the waiting black SUV, Mia rested her head against Elora’s shoulder. "Mommy? My birthday is coming soon." "I know, sweetheart. We're going to have a beautiful cake. Anything you want." Mia was quiet for a long moment. Her little fingers curled into the fabric of Elora's shirt. "Can... can Daddy come this time? I promise I won't be too loud. I just want him to eat cake with us." The innocent request felt like a knife twisting straight through Elora’s ribs. Lucian had missed Mia's fifth birthday because he was out of the territory. He had missed her sixth because he was supposedly "busy" integrating Vivienne into the pack's upper management. He barely looked at the child, treating Mia as an unfortunate byproduct of a marriage he despised. "I'll make sure he is there," Elora swore, her voice carrying a terrifying vow. "I promise you, Mia." As soon as they arrived at the penthouse, Elora tucked an exhausted Mia into bed, lingering just long enough to hear her daughter's breathing even out into sleep. Then, Elora walked into the dark, cavernous living room overlooking the glittering city skyline. Her hands shook as she pulled out her phone and dialed the private number she had sworn never to call again. It rang three times before the line clicked open. "I am in the middle of a pack expansion meeting, Elora," Lucian’s deep, gravelly voice vibrated through the speaker. Even through the phone, the raw baritone of his voice sent a wicked, involuntary shiver down her spine—a bitter reminder of the mate bond her body violently craved, even as her heart hated him. "I don't care," Elora said, her tone completely devoid of its usual submissive softness. "You need to come home. You need to spend time with Mia." Lucian let out a harsh, mocking scoff. "Is this your new tactic? You know Vivienne needs help settling Julian into the academy this week, so you use the child to demand my attention?" The mention of Vivienne’s son made Elora's blood boil. Her mate was playing father to another woman's child while his own flesh and blood was dying. "Lucian, listen to me," Elora’s voice cracked, a single tear slipping down her cheek in the dark. "Mia is sick. She has Blood-Vein Decay. Dr. Corin says she only has thirty days left." Silence hung on the line for a fraction of a second before Lucian’s voice returned, colder and more ruthless than before. "You are truly shameless, Elora. To fabricate a terminal illness just to manipulate me into playing house? To stop me from filing the divorce papers?" "I am not lying!" Elora screamed, the sound echoing off the high glass walls of the penthouse. "Enough!" Lucian snarled, his Alpha command lacing the word with heavy, suffocating pressure. "I told you, the only thing I want to hear from your lips is that you are signing the annulment. I want my freedom. I want this farce of a marriage over." Elora closed her eyes. The profound, suffocating weight of her five-year heartbreak suddenly vanished, replaced by an icy, absolute clarity. If freedom was the only currency Lucian Drake understood, she would use it to buy her daughter’s dying wish. "Fine," Elora whispered into the receiver, her voice suddenly terrifyingly calm. Lucian paused, clearly caught off guard by her tone. "...What did you say?" "I said fine, Lucian. You win," Elora replied, staring out at the city lights. "I will give you the divorce. I will sever the mate bond. I will walk out of this penthouse and let you marry Vivienne." "You're agreeing?" he asked slowly, suspicion dripping from his words. "Just like that?" "On one condition," Elora said, her grip tightening on the phone. "You have thirty days. You will come to this penthouse every night. You will eat dinner with Mia. You will tuck her into bed, and you will stay for her seventh birthday. You will play the devoted, loving father she so desperately wants." She took a slow, steadying breath. "Give my daughter thirty days of your time, Alpha. And on the thirtieth day, I will sign the papers and disappear from your life forever."