Mated To The Crippled Alpha

Chapter 491: The Fight

The blade caught the light like a cold warning, held steady in Silas’s grip. My heart slammed against my ribs, but I refused to let him see that. I turned my eyes toward the security camera mounted on the wall and made sure he followed my gaze. "Kill me," I said quietly, "and you won’t walk away from this." Something flickered in his eyes. His hand tightened around the hilt, then slowly, he sheathed it.

That was all I needed.

I spun on my heel and ran.

The estate stretched out ahead of me, wide and empty, the kind of silence that presses down on you. Every instinct I had pushed my legs harder, faster. Two years had passed since I last trained, but the body remembers what the mind forgets. Vito had drilled endurance and self-defense into me like ritual, and right now, every rep, every early morning, every protest I had made was paying off. My muscles found their rhythm as if no time had passed at all.

Behind me, I heard Wisteria’s sharp, furious voice cut through the night. "What are you standing there for? Go after her!" She was bleeding, her palm pressed to the side of her head, her foot stamping the ground like a child in a rage. Silas hesitated just long enough to glance at her injury before choosing to obey.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

My chest tightened, not just from the exertion. I could feel the familiar pressure building low in my sternum, the warning signal I had learned to recognize. The medication had kept it quiet for years, but right now my body was working too hard, and the symptoms were crawling back. My breaths came in shorter bursts. My legs felt like they were being dragged through water. A wave of dizziness swept over me, and I blinked hard against it, refusing to stop.

There were no people out here. No buildings. This was private land, closed off and dark, and Silas was closing the gap between us with every second. I had to do something now, or it would all be over.

Then headlights swept across the driveway to my left.

A black car rolled out slowly, unhurried, like it had no idea what it was driving into.

I didn’t think. I ran straight into its path.

The tires screamed against the pavement. The car stopped inches from me, and I didn’t wait for an invitation. I yanked the door open and threw myself inside, gasping, barely holding myself upright against the seat.

The man sitting in the back barely had time to react. He was young, dressed in a clean white shirt, a medical journal open across his lap. He looked at me the way people look at something they can’t quite explain , not afraid, just surprised. "You," he started.

I grabbed his wrist before he could finish. "Please. That man wants to kill me. Please just drive." My voice came out steadier than I felt. Something in his expression shifted, settled. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t push me out. He simply looked at his driver and said, "Drive."

The car moved. Silas fell away behind us.

I managed a soft "thank you" before everything went dark.

When I opened my eyes, the room was quiet and warm, sunlight pressing gently through a hospital window. I blinked at the ceiling for a moment, then turned my head and found him there , the same young man from the car, sitting beside the bed with a book in his hands. The white of his shirt caught the morning light, and there was something calm about him, the kind of stillness that doesn’t need to announce itself.

"You’re awake," he said, closing the book.

"You saved me?" My voice came out rough.

"You have a heart condition." He said it plainly, without pity. "Running like that was dangerous."

I let out a slow breath. He wasn’t wrong. "Thank you. What’s your name?"

"Luther Donovan."

I almost gave him my real name. The word was right there, ready to fall off my tongue. But something made me pause, some flicker of caution that lives deep in the instinct you learn to trust. "I’m Alice," I said instead.

Luther studied me for a half-second longer than necessary. "Where’s your family? You didn’t have a phone on you."

The word landed somewhere tender. Family. My mind went immediately to the Sanders , they were close, in this same city. Vito wasn’t around, but if I went back to the Sander Residence, I could warn them about the Blackwells. This was a real opening. I could actually do something. I took a breath and started, "My family,"

But then I saw Vito’s face in my mind. Every small kindness he had shown me over the years. The way he had always shown up when I needed him. And then, quieter, that gravestone on the island. Whatever he was hiding, whatever complicated truth lay beneath all of it , it was tangled up with the only warmth I had ever been given. I didn’t know what to do with that.

"What’s wrong?" Luther asked.

I pressed my fingers into the blanket, gripping the fabric tight. "It’s nothing. Could you help me contact the Sand,"

The door opened.

Vito stood in the frame, breathing hard, like he had run the entire way here. His eyes found me immediately. Something cracked open in his expression , relief so raw it almost looked like grief.

"Rosy."

He crossed the room in three steps and pulled me into his arms. He was trembling. I could feel it in his hands, in the way he held on too tight and didn’t seem to care. His voice dropped low against my hair. "I’m sorry. I was too late."

"I’m fine," I said. "Luther saved me."

Only then did Vito pull back and look at him properly. He nodded once, deep and sincere. "Thank you for saving her." Luther gave a small nod in return and reached for his book. But I caught the moment Vito’s gaze dropped to the bracelet on Luther’s wrist, and something in his face changed , briefly, quietly, the way a door closes before you can see inside. "I have something to take care of," Luther said simply, and left.

I turned to Vito once he was gone. "I didn’t have my phone. How did you know where I was?"

His eyes moved to the necklace at my throat. "I checked the surveillance footage. Saw you get into the car." He reached out and brushed his fingers gently along my cheek. "I should have planned better, Anna. I almost got you killed."

"Don’t do that," I said. "I’m here."

But the truth was heavier than either of us said out loud. My heart was getting worse. The episodes were coming back. Sooner or later, a transplant wouldn’t be optional anymore , it would be survival. Vito seemed to already know this. "Rest for a few days," he said. "When you’re stronger, we’ll move forward with the surgery. I’ve already found a donor."

Something cold settled at the base of my stomach. "Where did the heart come from?"

I had carried a memory from when I was five for a long time , something I had never fully understood, something Vito had been present for. I had never asked directly. But I was asking now.

He paused before answering. "A terminal patient. They signed up for organ donation voluntarily."

The tightness in my chest loosened slightly. "Okay," I breathed. "Okay, that’s good."

Vito stayed a little longer, then stepped into the hall to make a call. I stared at the ceiling, listening to the hospital’s quiet hum, and felt the weight of everything I hadn’t said pressing down on me. I had been so close. If he had arrived just a little later, I could have reached them. I could have warned them.

For the first time in a long while, the thought of leaving settled in my chest like something real. Wisteria’s appearance had shaken something loose in me that I couldn’t push back down. I wanted to go back. I wanted to go home , and I was no longer sure those were the same place.