CHAPTER 7
Anna's POV
My whole body trembles with fear as I stare at Alpha Dylan, bleeding out on the floor. Tears stream down my cheeks, hot and relentless. This is all my fault. None of this would've happened if I hadn't shown my face here. If he dies… how will I ever live with myself?
I try to move, to help, but it's like my feet are glued to the ground. I can't tell if it's pain, fear, or something deeper—something broken inside me that I haven't even begun to understand.
Why isn't he moving? My insides twist and churn as dread swells in my chest. He can't be dead. He's an Alpha, and Alphas are supposed to be stronger than the rest of us. They're supposed to survive things like this. So why is he lying there so still, giving up so easily from a single silver bullet?
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the man who shot him. He's frozen, hand over his mouth, as if he can't believe what he's just done. But the second I turn to look at him, something in his eyes shifts—panic, guilt—and he hurls the gun at me before running away.
I duck just in time, the weapon clattering to the floor behind me, and before I can catch my breath, my body jerks free from its paralysis.
I drop to my knees beside Alpha Dylan. My hands hover uselessly over his body. "Please," I sob, my tears dripping onto his bloodied stomach. "Please wake up. Don't die. Please." I press my hand gently against the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding.
Then I feel it—sharp, brutal pain exploding at the back of my head as something hard slams into me. A scream tears from my throat as everything spins. My vision blurs, the world grows dim, and I collapse.
Darkness takes me, but it isn't quiet.
"Burn her alive."
"Feed her to the crocodiles. Let them eat her flesh."
"Strip her naked and scourge her skin. Tear out her eyes."
Voices echo in my head—spiteful, venomous, relentless. Men and women, all chanting their hate.
"She shot the Alpha," one man roars. "She deserves worse than death. I say we offer her to the goddess Ivanka as this month's sacrifice!"
A deafening cheer erupts from the crowd. My dream is a nightmare. No—it's worse. It feels real.
And then I wake up.
My eyes snap open. My head throbs. My stomach churns and knots as I realize I'm no longer in that dream. I'm in hell.
A massive crowd surrounds me, eyes burning with hatred. I try to move, but when I reach for the pain at the back of my skull, I find my hands chained. My feet too. I'm bound like an animal.
A young man steps forward, his face contorted in fury. "How dare you?" he growls. "How dare a lowly omega like you try to kill the Alpha?" Before I can say a word, his fist crashes into my face. Pain blossoms across my cheek. The crowd erupts in cheers.
"I'm innocent," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I didn't… I didn't try to kill him. Someone else did."
"Liar!" a man yells from the crowd, and before I can locate the source, a rock slams into my forehead. Blood pours down my face, mixing with tears. My vision sways. I turn my head weakly and see the man who threw it—his face twisted in rage, his mouth still spitting curses. No remorse. No hesitation.
Beside him stands Caroline.
Even through the haze of blood and pain, I recognize her laugh. She's always hated me. Of course she'd be here, loving every second of this.
"For Alpha Dylan!" she cries, and hurls another rock. It hits me square in the face.
I suck in the pain and cry silently.
"For Alpha Dylan!" a woman echoes. Another rock. This one hits near my eye. My body jerks with the impact. A strangled cry escapes me, and then the rest of the crowd follows suit—picking up whatever they can find and hurling it at me like I'm nothing.
I can't run. I'm chained. I can't even shield myself. All I can do is beg, plead, cry out for mercy that no one's willing to give. Stone after stone hits me. My skin splits open. My body becomes a canvas of blood and bruises. My soul shatters with every strike.
"Enough," a voice growls.
That voice. That cold, cruel voice that always sends terror down my spine.
Beta Chris.
The crowd parts for him. He strides forward with a wicked smirk painted on his face.
He crouches beside me, grabs a fistful of my hair, and jerks my head up. I can barely lift my eyelids to look at him.
"Look at you," he sneers. "A bloody mess. I almost fell for your lies, you stupid bitch." He leans in closer, his voice a cruel whisper. "Seems like the universe wants you dead as much as I do."
I try to speak, to beg, but only one word escapes. "Please."
"Please?" he scoffs. "Please, my ass."
Then he begins. "I, Chris Holland, reject Anna Winchester as my mate, and I hereby sever every blood bond, every tie, every soul-thread that connects us."
Pain erupts in my chest—not the kind that wounds the flesh, but the kind that tears through the soul. I scream, the sound ripping from deep within. My heart feels like it's being torn apart, shredded into nothing. I can't breathe. I can't think. It's as if the ground has opened beneath me and swallowed everything I am.
The rejection. The beating. The chains. My body can't take any more.
I'm dying.
Chris stands tall, looking down at me like I'm nothing but trash.
"Accept the rejection."
I don't wait to be told twice. "I, Anna Winchester, accept your rejection and sever all ties between us."
I accept the rejection, even though I'm already dying from the pain.
"On behalf of the Alpha," he says coldly, "I sentence you, Anna Winchester, to death by hanging. Take her away," he growled.
Guards appear and grab my arms. My legs are too weak to stand, and I slump between them.
"No! That death's too easy for a bitch like her!" someone from the crowd shouts.
"Tear her limb from limb!" another yells.
"Let me do it!" a man cries out. "I'll rip her flesh and watch her scream."
Tears slide silently down my face. No one wants the truth. No one cares. They've already decided I'm guilty. They won't give me a chance to explain. They want to see me die, slowly and painfully.
The guards begin to drag me toward the gallows.
Then a voice thunders through the chaos. "Let go of her. This instant!"
Gasps ripple through the crowd. Murmurs rise.
"It's the Alpha," someone whispers.
Hope flickers weakly in my chest.
I force myself to look toward the voice, and there he is—Alpha Dylan, dragging his feet, one hand pressed to his stomach. He's pale, unsteady, but alive.
He reaches us. The guards release me. My legs give out. I brace for the fall—but I never hit the ground.
He catches me.
"I've got you," he breathes, his voice barely audible. His arms wrap around me.
"I've got you, Anna… and I won't let anyone hurt you again."
Then, as though his strength runs out with those final words, he collapses on top of me.
We hit the ground together.