Accidentally Mated To Four Alphas-Chapter 250: _ A Week Or Less

~Amias’s Point Of View~

The healer’s hands won’t stop shaking. That’s the first thing Amias notices. It is not the steady rise and fall of the bulb throwing orange light across the sickroom or Rayne standing stiffly near the window, fingers worrying her moonstone necklace, or the too-still form of his mother lying on the half-propped pillows, highlighting just how she’s now a shrinking shadow of the woman who once could silence an entire ballroom with a single lift of her chin before the scandal ever happened.

It’s the healer’s hands. They tremble as he wipes sweat from his brow, as he clears his throat, as he forces himself to look Amias in the eye. And Amias feels his stomach drop, heavy and cold, sinking and sinking.

It’s the kind of dread that tastes metallic like someone put blood in his mouth.

Rayne stands a few steps behind Amias, wringing her hands nervously, her soft features twisted with worry. She shouldn’t be here. At least, not by logic, or by history, not with how Clarissa hated her... but Rayne is Rayne. She stays because her heart never learned how to leave people in pain.

Amias barely registers her presence. His world right now is the healer’s face. Every tiny shift, every small hum and crease in the man’s brow. Vark prowls inside him, agitated, restless, pushing claws against his chest like he’s trying to tear his way out.

Do something, do something, DO SOMETHING...

But Amias can’t. There’s nothing to fight. Not this time.

"Mr. Amias," the healer begins, voice cracking.

"Don’t," Amias snaps. "Just say it."

Rayne edges closer, placing one gentle hand on Amias’s shoulder. He doesn’t shake her off, but his body doesn’t acknowledge her either. He’s a statue carved out of dread.

The healer takes a breath. "I-I’ve finished the full diagnostic scan."

The room holds its breath.

Rayne swallows, nodding. "And?"

The healer shifts, unable to meet her eyes. "It is as... as we feared."

He looks back at Clarissa like she’s already a corpse, and that alone makes Amias’s jaw clench. "Her wolf is gone."

Just gone. Like smoke. Like she never existed.

The healer continues. "She has lost her wolf completely. What remains is only the body, but without her wolf sustaining her, it will deteriorate quickly."

A low buzzing fills Amias’s ears. She’s already told him about her dying wolf, but to hear that the wolf is finally gone... it shatters him. Deterioration. Final. Gone.

He feels Vark slam against his ribcage with a soundless, wordless roar building in his chest. The wolf feels the truth before the man does. Feels the tearing. The emptiness. The brutal, irreversible absence of another life tethered to his own.

Rayne covers her mouth. "Goddess," she whispers, voice breaking. "How long?"

The healer hesitates. Shifts again. Looks at his own hands like they betrayed him. "A week," he sighs. "Maybe less."

Everything in Amias goes silent. A week before his mother is fully gone. A week before the one person who truly loved and looked out for him is dead.

Rayne flinches. "Less?" she repeats, like maybe she misheard, like maybe reality will soften its edges if she asks gently enough.

"Yes." The healer’s voice drops even lower. "Her organs are weakening. Her heart and lungs are only functioning through residual magic. Once that magic burns out..."

He lets the sentence fall off a cliff. Amias can’t breathe. He’s standing, but the ground feels wrong. Tilted. Like the entire room is sliding sideways and everyone’s acting like the floor is normal.

A week. Or less.

He hears Rayne’s voice but it’s distant, muffled. "Amias? Amias, breathe, sweet boy..."

She steps toward him, gentle hand reaching for his arm, but he wordlessly pulls away from her. Not violently. Not rudely. Just... away.

He can’t be touched right now. He might shatter. No — he is shattering. The cracks are already webbing through him. Rayne’s eyes soften, but she respects the space. She always has. She’s the only wife in this house who doesn’t twist affection into a weapon.

The healer bows deeply, sweating through his robes. He murmurs apologies that don’t matter and excuses himself with the fear of a man who knows the Bellamys have ended men for less.

The door shuts. Then it’s only the three of them.

Rayne tries again, quieter. "Amias... do you know what caused her wolf’s death?"

Her voice isn’t accusatory. It isn’t suspicious. It’s soft, worried, genuinely seeking the missing puzzle piece. And yet, Amias doesn’t answer. Because the answer isn’t a puzzle piece. It’s a whole damn crime scene.

He knows.

He knows exactly what and who killed her wolf. Tobias. The Pack. The humiliation. The mate bond sabotage. The decades of bitterness and neglect. The night they murdered her true mate and expected her to simply smile and move on.

Every wolf knows: When your mate dies, you break. When your mate is murdered and justice remains unserved, you rot. Clarissa has been rotting a long time with nothing to tether her back and help her heal but humiliation, shame, and neglect.

He swallows hard.

"Amias?" Rayne tries again, stepping closer, her face stricken. "Sweetheart, please... "

He turns away once again. He can’t talk to her now. Not when she’s part of the family that doomed his mother, even if she wasn’t one of the ones who tightened the noose. The Alpha would rather spend all of his time with Rayne rather than his other wives, so yeah...

He goes to Clarissa’s bedside. He sinks to his knees and he breaks. There’s no stopping or swallowing it, no dignified stoic silence. It crashes over him fast, raw, ugly in a violent kind of grief that rips the breath straight out of his lungs.

He lowers himself carefully beside Clarissa and gathers her limp hand into his own. The coldness almost makes him choke. His forehead presses against the back of their coldness. .

"Mother..." he whispers.

Her fingers don’t respond. Her eyelids stay closed. Her breathing remains shallow and uneven. She is here, but she is leaving, piece by piece. His tears hit her knuckles before he realizes he’s crying.

"Mother, please," he chokes, bowing over her hand. "Please don’t leave me. Not now. Goddess... not now."