The Sickened Luna's Last Chance novel Chapter 392

**TITLE: The Perfect 392**
**Chapter 392**

“You will regret this, Alexander!” The voice echoed behind me, sharp and laced with venom as I hurried down the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. My fingers tightened around the railing, desperate for support as I propelled myself forward. “This won’t end well for either of you!” The threat hung in the air, heavy and foreboding.

I refused to glance back. My heart raced, fueled by the urgency of Ella’s presence, a beacon calling to me from the other end of our bond. The hallway twisted and swayed, the walls seeming to close in around me, but I pressed on, my determination unwavering.

At last, I reached the door Ella was behind. It stood ajar, and as I burst through, my breath hitching in my throat, I called out her name like a desperate prayer. But the sight that met my eyes froze me in my tracks.

Julie loomed over Ella, a knife glinting ominously in her hand. In that instant, the blade sliced into Ella’s arm, crimson droplets blooming on her skin, stark against the pale backdrop. Margaret was on the floor in front of the fireplace, the grimoire spread open before her, her voice weaving incantations as she gazed into the mirror, her face twisted in concentration.

“Ella!” I surged forward, adrenaline coursing through my veins, but it was futile. Two warriors charged in behind me, tackling me to the ground with a force that knocked the air from my lungs. I gasped, the impact sending a wave of pain through my chest, and I began to cough violently, blood—thick and dark—spattering across the polished hardwood floor.

Margaret’s chanting rose in intensity, a chilling melody that filled the room. The flames flickered wildly, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Julie stepped back, relinquishing the knife to Margaret, who held it aloft like a trophy. Blood dripped from the blade onto the open page of the book, and in that moment, everything shifted.

Ella’s body went slack, her head drooping forward, lifeless.

“Ella!” I screamed, struggling against the grip of the warriors who held me down, but my efforts were in vain. I was too weak, having exhausted my wolf’s remaining strength with my Alpha Voice when I should have preserved it for… whatever horror this was.

At last, Margaret stood, her gaze fixed on Ella. The malevolent grin that spread across her face sent a chill down my spine. She moved slowly, deliberately, toward Ella’s chair, using the knife to sever the bonds that restrained her.

“Rise, Ella,” she commanded, lifting her hand with an air of authority. To my horror, Ella—eyes still closed—rose to her feet as if controlled by invisible strings. Margaret placed the knife into Ella’s palm, wrapping her fingers around the hilt, then turned her toward me, a puppet ready to perform.

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