His Witchy Mate

Alicia’s POV:

He assumed an elegant posture in the chair before me, yet the telltale signs of his recent tears were undeniable. Elara occupied the seat beside him, a silent presence in the unfolding drama.

The interrogation began with a question that hung heavily in the air, “Who amongst you saw my sister first?”

The guard beside me wove a fabricated tale, alleging that he witnessed me pushing Lucian’s sister off the stairs during an argument. Shock gripped me, and I found myself questioning his motives.

“Why would he lie this way? What have I done?” I asked, seeking an explanation, yet he averted his gaze, tearfully apologizing. The truth became clear – a pawn in Elara’s calculated game.

Attempting to defend myself, I insisted, “You shouldn’t believe what he is telling you. He is just lying.” However, Lucian’s anger drowned out my pleas.

“Will you just shut up! I know what you are capable of doing! Who else would want to harm my sister if not for you? I bet you still have that hatred in your heart after she wasn’t in support of our relationship,” he erupted, refusing to allow me a chance to explain.

“Is this the right way to judge, huh? Are you not supposed to hear me out first or something? How could you accuse me based on only one person’s words?” I challenged, met with a dismissive scoff.

Elara proposed introducing an eyewitness, and Lucian, without hesitation, approved. A seemingly ordinary guy entered, claiming to have seen me push Lucian’s sister off the stairs during an argument the previous day.

Lucian’s voice, laced with anger, cut through the tense air, “What do you have to say? Do you think they are still lying against you? You really killed my sister, Alicia.” His words hung heavily, leaving little room for my defense as the weight of his anger and grief overshadowed reason.

Silenced by false accusations, I gazed at Elara and detected a smirk on her face, as if orchestrating this cruel spectacle. Recollections of the previous night flooded my mind-specifically, the peculiar attire she wore. Could she be the mastermind behind Lucian’s sister’s demise? Accusations without evidence seemed unjust, especially considering her status as the lycan’s mate.

Lucian, unmoved by my pleas, instructed the guards to return me to the dungeon. “I am so sorry, Lucian. I hope you can accept my apology. I am not responsible for your sister’s death,” I implored, my words falling on deaf ears as I was forcefully dragged away from the room.

Alone in the dungeon, my futile knocks echoed against the unforgiving iron door. Hunger gnawed at me, yet I knew I needed to conserve my strength. Tears streamed down my face as I sank to the cold, unforgiving floor.

Why was this happening to me? Must I endure such suffering before finding reprieve? Questions swirled in my mind, questioning the fairness of my destined life. Was it wrong to desire a simple, normal existence as a commoner?

With no apparent escape, the only option that loomed before me was to end my own suffering. The thought of my mother finding solace in my demise, and escaping the clutches of those who wished me harm, clouded my thoughts. My stomach grumbled again, accentuating the profound despair that enveloped me.

“Please!” I sobbed, the pain and stench overwhelming. My blood-stained clothes bore witness to the night’s tragic events. My gaze fixated on the hairpin on the floor, contemplating its potential as a means to end my torment.

“How about I just leave this world now? No one cares about me anyway,” I whispered, the weight of despair suffocating my resolve.

Lucian’s POV:

I rose from my bed as soon as Elera entered the room. Her presence felt like a balm, a fleeting comfort in the midst of overwhelming grief. She approached me with a gentle reassurance.

“You should rest. I’m sure your sister wouldn’t want to see you like this. All she would want is for you to exact justice on the one who caused her harm,” Elera spoke, her hand tenderly rubbing my chest.

She, my mate, remained unmarked, a connection I held off, using her presence strategically in my vendetta against her father.

“You should rest now, Lucian,” she softly urged, to which I expressed gratitude amidst the weariness that clung to me.

My sister now rested six feet under the ground, a consequence of events set in motion. The regret lingered – perhaps I shouldn’t have urged her to attend the concert, shouldn’t have invited her over.

Elera, sensing my internal turmoil, inquired about the fate of the accused. “What are you going to do about her? Are you going to kill her or?” Her question resonated, yet I found myself grappling with the suitable punishment.

As the weight of indecision pressed upon me, a knock echoed through the room. “Come in,” I commanded, observing the messenger’s visible unease.

“The person you ordered to be locked up attempted suicide,” he informed, delivering news that sent a shiver down my spine. The gravity of the situation intensified, leaving me to confront the consequences of a broken soul seeking escape in the darkness of despair.

The news of Alicia attempting suicide hit me like a sudden storm. Why would she resort to such a drastic measure? Was her despair so overwhelming that death seemed a preferable option?

“I’m coming; I’ll be on my way soon,” I assured Elera, my mind grappling with the realization of what could have transpired if Alicia had succeeded in her desperate act. Regret gnawed at me, and I followed the guard who had brought the distressing information.ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

Upon entering the room where Alicia was being treated, I beheld her almost lifeless form on the bed, attended to by the doctor. Suppressing a surge of unexpected concern, I inquired about her condition.

“How is she doing, doctor?” I questioned, seeking reassurance in the face of this unforeseen crisis.

The doctor, ceasing his examination, stood and respectfully bowed his head. My focus, however, was solely on Alicia’s well-being, and I cared little for formalities at that moment.

“Thank goodness she was attended to promptly. She was on the brink of death; it seems she used a pin to slit her wrist,” the doctor relayed, offering a glimpse into the severity of her actions. I halted him; I had heard enough. What mattered now was her recovery.

“Ensure she recovers well, and inform me if there’s a need for my assistance,” I instructed the doctor, who nodded and excused himself from the room. Left alone with Alicia, I took a seat on the stool beside her, contemplation and concern etched across my features.