Chapter 383: A Dead Alpha
Jared took the first sip, then another. It was warm, and it was clear that he very much admired the taste as he went ahead to drink more, taking slow, satisfied swallows.
Clara, on the other hand, no longer sipped from her cup.
She simply stood there.
And stared at him.
At first it wasn’t noticeable. The room was quiet, each person absorbed in their own thoughts, their own worries about what they had seen that night. But gradually, her stillness began to stand out.
Falson, who had been staring absently into his cup, lost in thought, had no choice but to look up.
Especially when she began to speak.
His mouth dropped half open in shock.
"...Jared, I think you’re the worst thing that ever happened to us werewolves. And for me, you’re the worst husband in the world!"
Her voice carried a sharp indignation, the words rushing out of her chest as if she had been holding them back for far too long and was determined to say everything while he could still hear it.
Jared instantly jerked to the side.
His eyes widened as he slammed the cup in his hand hard onto the table. The liquid inside sloshed over the rim as he got to his feet and strode directly toward her, his movement sharp and challenging.
He was trying to calm himself.
But the tension rolling off him only made the air in the room feel heavy, difficult to breathe.
Even worse was the fact that Clara had no intention of backing down.
"What? Am I wrong?" she asked, her tone steely.
Her expression darkened as she stepped closer to him instead, closing the distance between them while he looked furious enough to tear her apart.
But Clara might as well have been blind to the danger.
"...after all you saw, you still think you can kill him?" she continued, her eyes filled with open defiance as she stared straight at him.
She even let out a short chuckle when he nodded.
"Power and strength is not the only way to defeat a man!" he barked.
His spit struck her face, but she didn’t even flinch. She didn’t wipe it away. She simply stood there as he moved right up to her, his face inches from hers.
"Are you defying my authority? Is that what this is?"
The anger in his eyes had reached a dangerous level, the kind that suggested he was only moments away from attacking her outright. His body was tense, muscles coiling, the shift of his form already threatening beneath his skin.
Clara wasn’t even surprised when it happened.
His hands shot out and wrapped around her throat.
He squeezed.
Falson took a step forward instinctively—then froze when Jared’s eyes flicked toward him in warning.
All he could think was one thing.
Why isn’t she fighting back?
Clara did absolutely nothing.
She didn’t claw at his hands. She didn’t struggle.
She simply accepted it.
Her arms hung at her sides as Jared slowly tightened his grip around her neck, almost as though she had already accepted her death.
"Alpha!" Falson started, preparing to intervene. It would not look good if the Alpha killed his own Luna.
But he had barely spoken when Jared snapped back, his voice thick with rage.
"...she deserves to die."
His fingers tightened further.
He did not loosen his hold even as Clara’s face began to turn red, her breathing growing strained. And still, she did not resist.
"Anyone that cannot be loyal to me deserves to—"
He stopped.
A cough cut through his words.
Jared frowned, confusion flashing across his face as he coughed again.
This time, blood spilled from his mouth.
It dribbled down his lips like dark spit.
The fury in his expression vanished, replaced by shock. His hands released Clara’s throat as he staggered back, bringing his fingers to his mouth and wiping at the wetness there.
When he looked at his hand, it was red.
Falson stared, just as stunned, before rushing toward him.
Jared swayed.
A sudden weakness seemed to flood his body, draining the strength from his bones. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the ground hard, coughing violently.
Each cough sounded worse than the last.
Behind him, Clara stumbled back a step of her own, lifting a hand to her neck as she coughed lightly, trying to ease the pain there. Her throat burned, tears stinging her eyes from the pressure he had put on it.
But her gaze remained fixed on Jared.
He was coughing so violently now that it sounded as though something inside him was tearing apart. Blood streamed from his mouth in thick amounts, staining the floor beneath him.
It was obvious.
He wasn’t just sick.
He was dying.
"King Jared!" Falson shouted, panic rising in his voice.
He dropped to his knees beside him, unable to understand how a werewolf—one with powerful regenerative abilities—could suddenly collapse like this.
"We need to help him!" he snapped at Gregory.
Gregory hurried over, but once he reached Jared’s side, it was clear he had no idea what to do. Jared’s breathing had become ragged and shallow, his body trembling as if it were shutting down from the inside.
Clara, however, did not move toward them.
She walked slowly back toward the door.
Then she slid down against it until she was sitting on the floor, her expression cold as she watched the frantic scene in front of her.
She remained silent for a long moment.
Then she spoke.
"Don’t bother. He’s going to die."
Both Falson and Gregory snapped their heads toward her, horror filling their eyes.
"...what? He was going to kill us all! You heard him!" Clara continued with a small shrug, a wry chuckle escaping her as she shook her head.
"...even after watching Zyren fight that monstrosity, he still somehow believes he can kill him. All because Aira is his mate. Is that the kind of person you want ruling you?"
Her voice sharpened, the words edged with something heavy—something that sounded very much like regret.
"A man who puts his desires above all our lives!"
Her voice rose, anger finally bleeding through.
She wondered how she had ever sat beside him, how she had endured being treated like nothing for so long. The memory of the way Zyren had looked at Aira—protected her, valued her—made her stomach twist with bitter fury.
Jared continued to tremble on the floor, struggling desperately to breathe.
The sight only made her angrier.
For a brief moment, she felt the urge to stand, to grab a blade, and end his suffering herself.
But she didn’t.
They needed the body.
And she already knew what she would say.
They would blame his death on the poison still lingering in his old wounds.
The same poison that had once stopped his arm from growing back.
Now, it had finished the rest of him.
