Abandoned for Another Mate

Three days after we buried my mother, I stood alone by her freshly covered grave. The winter air bit through my thin black dress as I placed a small bouquet of white lilies—her favorite—on the mound of earth that now separated us forever.

The pack's traditional funeral ceremony had ended an hour ago. Most had returned to their homes, leaving me to my private grief. I traced my fingers over the temporary marker, knowing the permanent headstone wouldn't arrive for weeks.

"I brought your favorite poem, Mom," I whispered, pulling out a folded piece of paper from my pocket. My hands trembled, not just from the cold but from the weight of the words I was about to read.

"'Do not stand at my grave and weep,'" I began, my voice catching. "'I am not there, I do not sleep...'"

As I read, I felt the stares of the few lingering pack members. Their whispers carried in the still cemetery air.

"Where's Ryan? Shouldn't the future Alpha be here with his chosen?"

"Seven years together and he couldn't even show up for her mother's funeral?"

"Poor thing. Always alone, even now."

I finished the poem, folded the paper, and pressed it to my lips before tucking it beneath the flowers. The absence beside me felt more conspicuous than any presence could have. Ryan had sent flowers to the funeral but claimed urgent pack business kept him away. Just like it had kept him from meeting my mother before she died.

By the time I returned to the pack house, twilight had settled over Silver Moon territory. My feet carried me automatically along the familiar path to the home I shared with Ryan—though "shared" felt like too intimate a word for our arrangement. I lived in his space, but always as a guest, never truly belonging.

The windows of the large timber house glowed with warm light as I approached. Through the kitchen window, I caught a glimpse of movement. Ryan was home. My heart lifted slightly, hoping for comfort after the emotional day.

But as I drew closer, I froze.

Ryan wasn't alone. Madison Torres stood beside him at the kitchen counter, her head thrown back in laughter. He was cooking—actually cooking—something that smelled rich and savory. His arm brushed against hers as he reached for herbs, and the casual intimacy of the gesture stole my breath.

In seven years, Ryan had never once cooked for me.

I couldn't make myself walk through the front door. Instead, I circled to the side entrance that led directly to the pantry, slipping in silently. I needed a moment to compose myself before facing them.

But their voices carried clearly through the thin door separating the pantry from the kitchen.

"You should have seen his face when I called," Madison was saying, her voice smug and satisfied. "He literally abandoned her on the side of the road."

"Maddie..." Ryan's tone held weak reproach, but I could hear the smile in it.

"Oh please, it was brilliant and you know it." The sound of a cork popping from a wine bottle punctuated her words. "There was no way I was letting you get trapped in some pathetic deathbed mating ceremony. Can you imagine? 'I now pronounce you Alpha and Luna because some dying human guilt-tripped you into it.'"

My blood turned to ice in my veins.

"There weren't any rogues," Madison continued, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I just needed to get you away from her before you did something stupid out of pity."

Ryan's response was too low for me to hear clearly, but Madison's laughter rang out again.

"Oh, come on. We both know she's not Luna material. No wolf at twenty-three? She's practically an Omega."

The wine glasses clinked together in a toast.

"To dodging that bullet," Madison said.

I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle the sound that threatened to escape. The pantry shelves blurred through my tears as the truth crashed over me in waves.

There had been no rogue attack.

No emergency.

Just a calculated lie that had cost me my mother's final moments.

And Ryan had known. Maybe not immediately, but he knew now—and he was celebrating.

Something hot and primal surged through me, clawing at my insides. For a moment, I thought I might be sick. But this wasn't nausea.

It was rage. Pure, undiluted rage.

And beneath it, something else stirred—something that had been dormant for far too long.