Banished by Family, Claimed by the Alpha King

At three in the morning, harsh coughing broke the silence of the apartment.

I shot up in bed, feeling something ripping at my throat, warm liquid running down the corner of my mouth. When I lifted my shaking hand, the bright red blood looked especially vivid in the moonlight.

"No... this can't be happening..."

I stumbled toward the cracked mirror in the corner. The she-wolf staring back at me was terrifyingly thin, with sharp cheekbones and hollow eye sockets—nothing like what a twenty-two-year-old werewolf should look like. My once thick black hair now hung in sparse strands against my scalp, and my pale skin was almost see-through.

This was late-stage werewolf blood sickness.

I gripped the edge of the sink, my knuckles white from the pressure. The reflection in the mirror looked like a dying flame, ready to go out at any moment.

Am I really going to die this time?

Before I could finish the thought, another coughing fit hit me, worse than before. I covered my mouth, but blood still leaked through my fingers, dripping onto the floor to join the dark red stains already there.

I knew I couldn't wait any longer.

Despite dreading it, I shakily made my way to the living room and picked up the phone I rarely used. I knew the number for the Moon Shadow Pack Medical Center by heart—not because I called often, but because I'd stared at those digits so many times, desperate.

"Ring... ring... ring..."

Each tone felt like a weight pressing on my chest.

"Moon Shadow Medical Center, this is Dr. Thompson on night shift." The voice sounded tired but professional.

"Hello, this is Evira Blackwood. I'm... I'm coughing up blood again. It's really bad this time." I tried to keep my voice steady, but the shake gave away my fear.

"Blackwood?" There was a pause. "You're from the Beta family of the Moon Shadow Pack...?"

"Yes, but I live alone now." I gritted my teeth. "I need treatment right away."

"I'm sorry, Miss Blackwood. According to pack regulations, treatment for late-stage blood sickness like yours requires a signature from an immediate family member and a $50,000 advance payment. Without these, we cannot schedule your treatment."

Fifty thousand dollars? I looked around at my rundown apartment where even the heating was broken, and let out a bitter laugh. My entire monthly expenses barely reached five hundred dollars.

"Doctor, I'll... I'll figure something out," I managed before quickly hanging up.

The moment the call ended, all my strength gave out. I sank onto the couch as tears poured out. Why? Why did I have to go through this? What had I done wrong?

Through blurred vision, I spotted a photograph on the coffee table—a picture of my mother and me when I was ten, before she died. In the photo, she held me close, her eyes full of love.

"Mom... if only you were still here..." I touched her face in the photograph, aching with loss.

When my mother was alive, I was the beloved daughter of our home. My father, Damon, though strict, was always especially gentle with me. Our home was filled with warmth and laughter, and I thought that happiness would last forever.

But twelve years ago, everything changed.

Less than six months after my mother died in an accident, my father brought home Claire—a beautiful but cruel she-wolf—and her daughter Selina, who was two years younger than me.

From the moment Claire stepped through our door, my nightmare began.

"You worthless burden, you might as well die already! Then the three of us can finally be a real family." That's what Claire would hiss at me whenever my father wasn't around.

And Selina, that seemingly sweet but calculating little sister, always played the caring sibling in front of my father.

"Dad, Evira's not eating again. Is she faking being sick again?"

"Dad, Evira says she doesn't feel well, but I just saw her running in the yard."

"Dad, does Evira not like me and mom? She's always avoiding us."

Each comment was like a poisoned dart, perfectly aimed at my father's trust in me. Gradually, he began to doubt me, thinking I was lying out of jealousy and deliberately causing trouble.

When I actually got blood sickness, their first reaction wasn't worry but assuming this was just an upgraded version of my "fake illness" routine. It wasn't until doctors diagnosed me with a rare werewolf blood disorder that they realized this wasn't an act.

Even then, Claire still suggested to my father that the disease might be self-inflicted, a physical result of my psychological problems.

"Damon, look how healthy and strong Selina is. Why is Evira always so sickly? Maybe there's something wrong with her mentally that's causing her physical problems."

Though my father never said it directly, I could feel his attitude changing. From initial worry, to doubt, and finally to irritation.

Three years ago, on my nineteenth birthday, I finally found the courage to move out. I couldn't stand that house full of hatred anymore, couldn't bear seeing the disappointment in my father's eyes, and couldn't tolerate Claire and Selina's fake concern hiding real cruelty.

I'd rather face poverty and illness alone than continue being treated as a burden in that house.

But now, death was really calling to me. I could feel my life draining away, like sand in an hourglass, quietly falling to the bottom.

I slowly stood up and walked to the window. In the distance, the brightly lit luxury neighborhood held my former home, probably now the scene of Damon, Claire, and Selina's happy family time. They probably never thought about the daughter they hated, now facing death alone.

But I refused to accept this fate.

I refused to die like this, refused to let Claire get what she wanted, refused to let Selina never again worry about having a sister who might steal her father's love.

I had to survive, if only to prove I wasn't a burden. I had to live.