Chapter 5

LEXA POINT OF VIEW

A scream tore through the pack house, ripping me from sleep.

I bolted upright on the couch, my heart hammering against my ribs as footsteps thundered down the hall. Damian burst from the bedroom, yanking on a shirt.

"What's happening?" I gasped, but he was already gone, the door slamming behind him.

More shouting. More running feet. Something huge was happening.

I jammed my feet into shoes and chased the noise. Pack members rushed toward the hospital wing, their faces tight with fear and hope. No one noticed me trailing behind, invisible as always.

Outside Sara's room, a crowd packed the hallway. I stood on tiptoes, trying to see past bodies. Through tiny gaps, I caught flashes of movement inside.

"It's a miracle," someone whispered, voice trembling.

"After all this time," another added.

My stomach twisted into a knot. Only one thing could cause this much excitement.

"Let me through!" Alpha Gregory's voice boomed as he shoved through the crowd. Linda followed, her face flushed with emotion.

"My daughter! Let me see my daughter!" Catherine's voice cracked as she elbowed her way forward, her perfect appearance now a mess from rushing to her daughter's side.

Damian stood frozen in the doorway, staring inside like a man seeing the sun for the first time.

"Sara," he whispered, her name falling from his lips like worship.

I pushed forward, desperate to see for myself. Pack members moved for the Alpha family but closed ranks against me. Still, I squeezed through enough to see the hospital bed.

Sara was sitting up.

After three months of lying like the dead, my half-sister's eyes were open. Her golden hair hung limp around her pale face, but those blue eyes—Father's eyes—were sharp and alert. A nurse held her back while Dr. Marshall checked her vital signs.

"Remarkable," the doctor muttered. "Full consciousness with no apparent brain damage."

Catherine rushed to the bedside, shoving past Linda to grab Sara's hand first. "My baby! My precious girl!" Tears streamed down her face as she kissed Sara's forehead again and again.

"Mother," Sara whispered, her voice weak but clear.

Linda stood on the other side, stroking Sara's hair. "We've been waiting so long, darling."

"Damian," Sara said, her gaze finding him in the doorway.

Just his name, but it pulled him forward like he was on a chain. He dropped to his knees beside her bed, taking her free hand and pressing it to his forehead in a gesture that made my heart crack open.

"You're back," he whispered. "You're really back."

Alpha Gregory placed a hand on Sara's shoulder. "How do you feel, child?"

"Weak," she answered, her voice scratchy from disuse. "Confused."

"That's normal," Dr. Marshall assured her. "Your muscles have wasted from lying still. You'll need therapy, but werewolf healing should speed things up."

Sara nodded slowly, then frowned. "How long was I...?"

"Three months," Catherine answered, stroking her daughter's cheek. "Three months I've sat by your bed, praying for this moment."

Sara's eyes went wide. "Three months?" Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the crowd, the machines, the calendar on the wall. "But the last thing I remember was..."

She trailed off, her expression changing. The softness vanished, replaced by something hard and cold. Her eyes kept scanning until they found me, half-hidden in the crowd.

"You," she hissed.

That single word turned my blood to ice.

Sara's finger jabbed toward me, shaking with effort. "What is SHE doing here?"

The crowd shifted, all eyes turning to stare at me. Damian's head snapped around, his face darkening as he noticed me for the first time.

Catherine's head whipped around, her eyes narrowing to slits. "Get her out! How dare she show her face here!"

"She shouldn't be here," Linda agreed, glaring at me. "This is family only."

I stepped backward, but Sara's voice stopped me cold.

"No, let her stay." Her voice grew stronger with each word. "Let her face what she did."

Whispers rippled through the pack. Dr. Marshall frowned, checking the monitors. "Sara, you need to stay calm. Your heart rate is spiking."

"How can I be calm when the person who tried to KILL me is standing right there?" Sara demanded.

The room went dead silent. Even the machines seemed to hold their breath.

"What did you say?" Alpha Gregory asked, his voice deadly quiet.

Sara's eyes never left mine, blue ice boring into me. "She pushed me down the stairs. Lexa tried to murder me."

The accusation hung in the air like a living thing. I felt the weight of every stare, the judgment in every breath.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I didn't—"

"LIAR!" Sara's voice rose to a shriek. "I remember everything now! We argued at the top of the stairs. You were jealous—you've always been jealous. You said if you couldn't have Damian, neither could I."

My mouth opened but no sound came out. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't real.

"Then you shoved me," Sara continued, tears streaming down her face. "I felt your hands on my back, pushing hard. I tried to grab the railing but it happened so fast." Her voice broke. "I remember falling, tumbling, the pain..."

Catherine's face twisted with rage. She lunged toward me but was held back by another pack member. "You monster! I always knew you hated her! I told Thomas you were dangerous, but he wouldn't listen!"

"Oh, Sara," Linda whispered, pulling her close. "My poor, poor girl."

Damian rose slowly from his knees, turning to face me. His eyes had changed—no longer just cold, but burning with a hatred that scorched my skin.

"Get her out of here," he growled.

Two pack warriors grabbed my arms, their fingers digging into my flesh.

"Wait!" I struggled against their grip. "It's not true! I never pushed her!"

Sara's sobs grew louder. Dr. Marshall moved to inject something into her IV.

"She needs rest," he said. "This much stress after waking isn't good."

"Take her to the holding cell," Alpha Gregory ordered, his face like stone. "We'll deal with this once Sara is stable."

"No!" I twisted, trying to break free. "Please, you have to listen! I was in the kitchen when she fell! Ask Martha, she saw me there!"

But no one listened. The warriors dragged me backward through the crowd. Pack members stepped aside, faces twisted with disgust. Someone spat at my feet. Another hissed "murderer" as I passed.

"You'll pay for this!" Catherine shouted after me, her voice sharp with hate. "I'll make sure of it myself!"

Outside Sara's room, I saw my father pushing through the crowd, his face pale with shock.

"Father!" I called out desperately. "Tell them I wouldn't do this! You know me!"

He looked at me, and for one brief moment, I thought I saw doubt in his eyes. Then he looked past me to Sara's room, where his golden daughter lay weeping.

"Take her away," he said quietly, and walked past me without another glance.

The holding cell was little more than a concrete room in the basement of the pack house. Once used for new wolves who couldn't control their shifts, now it would hold me—the accused attempted murderer.

The warriors shoved me inside, the heavy door slamming shut with a sound like the end of the world. Through the small barred window, one of them glared at me.

"Alpha Gregory will call a pack trial when he's ready. Until then, you stay put."

"Please," I begged, "This is all wrong. I didn't do it."

"Save it for the trial," he growled before walking away.

Alone in the cold cell, I sank to the floor. This couldn't be real. Sara was lying—but why? What reason could she have to accuse me of something so terrible?

Unless...unless she actually believed it. Could her damaged brain have created false memories during her coma? Or was this deliberate—the final blow in our lifelong war?

Hours crawled by. Through the tiny window, I watched daylight fade to evening. No one came with water or food. I was already forgotten.

The door eventually swung open. I expected Damian, coming to accuse me more.

Instead, Catherine stood there, her elegant face twisted with hatred.

"Happy now?" she spat. "My daughter is awake, but the doctors say she may never walk right again. Her balance is damaged. Her body weak."

I stood slowly, keeping my distance from her rage. "I didn't push her, Catherine."

"Don't you DARE speak my name!" She stepped into the cell, perfectly manicured finger jabbing at my face. "I've watched you glare at her since you were children. Always jealous, always bitter that Thomas loved her more."

"That's not—"

"SHUT UP!" Her voice bounced off the stone walls. "I warned Thomas the day we moved in. I told him there was something wrong with you. The way you watched Sara, hating her for being everything you could never be."

Old pain flared at her words. "I never hated Sara for being Father's favorite. I hated how he made me feel worthless beside her."

"You WERE worthless," Catherine hissed. "A dull, sullen child who couldn't compete with my daughter's light. And now you've tried to snuff out that light forever."

My hands curled into fists at my sides. "I didn't push her. I wasn't even on the stairs when she fell."

"Liar!" Catherine stepped closer, her perfume, always too strong, making my head spin. "Sara remembers everything. Every detail. How you argued. How you threatened her. How you pushed her."

"Her memory is wrong," I insisted. "Maybe the fall damaged..."

The slap came fast, stinging my cheek with surprising force from her slender hand.

"Don't you dare suggest my daughter is lying or confused," Catherine snarled. "The pack will execute you tomorrow. And I'll be watching, waiting for justice."

She turned to leave, then paused at the door. "You know, I almost feel sorry for you. All these years, desperately trying to win Thomas's love, never understanding you could never replace Sara in his heart. Now you'll die knowing you failed at everything, even murder."

The door slammed behind her, leaving me alone with the sting of her slap and her words.

Later, footsteps approached again, heavy, determined. The door opened to reveal Damian, his face carved with fury and something deeper. Pain.

"Tell me why," he demanded.

I rose shakily to my feet. "I can't tell you what I didn't do."

"STOP LYING!" He slammed his fist against the wall, making me flinch. "Sara remembers everything clearly. The argument. Your jealousy. The push."

"It's not true," I insisted, my voice breaking. "I wasn't even on the stairs when she fell. I was in the kitchen, helping Martha prepare dinner."

"Martha left early that day. There's no witness to back your story."

My heart sank. I'd forgotten that detail, Martha had gone to visit her sister that afternoon, leaving me alone in the kitchen.

"Why would Sara lie?" Damian pressed, stepping closer. "She's the victim here."

"I don't know. Maybe she's confused. Maybe her mind created a false memory. Or maybe..."

"Maybe what? She's making it up?" His laugh was bitter. "Why would she?"

I had no answer that wouldn't sound like more excuses. How could I explain that Sara had always wanted me gone, had always worked to turn others against me? Without proof, my words were empty.

"The pack will hold trial tomorrow," Damian said, his voice flat. "If found guilty, you'll face execution. That's our law for attempted murder of a pack member."

Execution. The word hit me like a physical blow. "Damian, please. You can't believe I'd do this."

Something flickered across his face, a moment of doubt, perhaps. But it hardened again quickly.

"The Sara I know doesn't lie. And she says you pushed her."

"The Lexa you refuse to know wouldn't kill," I countered desperately.

He stared at me for a long moment. "A mate bond with you instead of Sara was punishment enough. But to discover you tried to remove her permanently..." He shook his head. "The pack was right about you all along."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving me alone with his words burning in my ears. Punishment. That's all I'd ever been to him. A burden. A disappointment. Never a mate.

I curled up on the cold floor, wrapping my arms around myself. No one was coming to help me. No one believed me. Tomorrow I would face a trial with the ending already written.

Sara had won. Again. Finally and completely.

Sometime during the night, the door opened once more. I expected another accuser, perhaps Linda coming to gloat.

Instead, it was my father.

He stood in the doorway, his face hidden in shadows. Neither of us spoke for several long moments.

"Did you do it?" he finally asked, his voice hollow.

"No," I answered simply. What else could I say that I hadn't already said a hundred times?

He sighed heavily, leaning against the doorframe. "Sara's description was detailed. She remembered every moment."

"She's lying," I whispered. "Or confused. But I wasn't there, Father."

He rubbed his face, suddenly looking old and tired. "You've always been jealous of her. Everyone knows that."

"And whose fault is that?" The words burst from me before I could stop them. "You made sure I knew every day that she was your real daughter, your favorite, your princess. I was just...extra. Unwanted. The daughter you got stuck with."

He flinched, and for a moment I thought I'd finally broken through to him.

"Sara is awake," he said instead. "That's all that matters now. Whatever happens tomorrow, at least she's alive."

"And I won't be, if the pack gets its way." My voice cracked. "Does that matter to you at all?"

He looked at me for a long moment, and I thought I saw something like regret in his eyes. But he turned away without answering.

"The trial begins at noon," he said over his shoulder. "Prepare yourself."

The door closed softly behind him, not the angry slam of others but somehow more final.

I lay back on the cold floor, staring at the ceiling. Outside my window, the moon had risen, nearly full, its light streaming through in a single silver beam. Tomorrow it would witness my trial. Maybe my death.

Unless someone believed me. Unless someone stood up for me.

But who would that be? Who had ever stood up for me before?