After His Mistress Helped Destroy My Wolf

Arabella Powell arrived at my door on a Thursday afternoon with a leather portfolio and a smile that never reached her eyes. She wore a cream sweater and dark jeans, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Everything about her was polished. Deliberate.

"Celine!" she said warmly, stepping inside when I opened the door. "I hope I'm not intruding. Jared mentioned you might need help finalizing the Ceremony details, and I thought—well, I've coordinated three pack ceremonies in the last two years, so."

"That's thoughtful," I said, stepping aside. "Come in."

Barnaby stood at the end of the hallway, watching her. His ears went flat against his head. A low growl started in his chest, steady and unbroken.

"Oh," Arabella said, her smile tightening slightly. "You have a dog."

"He's protective," I said. "Don't worry about him."

We settled at the kitchen table. She spread venue photographs across the surface, pointing out lighting options and seating arrangements. Her voice was smooth. Professional. She knew exactly how to sound helpful without being intrusive.

I watched her hands as she spoke. Manicured nails. Delicate fingers. The same hands I'd seen in the video, resting on Jared's shoulder while they laughed about scent-masking herbs.

"The floral arrangements should complement the pack colors," she was saying. "Ironveil traditionally uses silver and deep blue, but since you're Silverfang, we could incorporate your whites and grays. A blended aesthetic."

"That sounds beautiful," I said.

She looked up at me, her expression warm and encouraging. "You must be so excited. Three weeks is so close now."

"It is."

"And Jared is just—" She paused, her smile softening into something that looked almost wistful. "He's so devoted to you. It's really lovely to see."

I poured more tea into her cup. The kettle was still hot. Steam rose between us. "He's been wonderful," I said. "I'm very lucky."

She accepted the tea with a gracious nod. "You really are."

From the hallway, Barnaby's growl never stopped. It was a low, constant vibration, like a warning that had taken physical form. Arabella glanced toward the sound once, her jaw tightening, then returned her attention to the photographs.

We spent forty minutes reviewing details I would never use. Centerpieces. Processional music. The exact angle of the ceremonial dais. She made notes in a small leather notebook, her handwriting precise.

When she finally stood to leave, she touched my arm lightly. "If you need anything at all before the Ceremony, please call me. I want this to be perfect for you."

"Thank you, Arabella," I said. "I really appreciate it."

I closed the door behind her and stood very still. Barnaby came to my side immediately, pressing his warm weight against my legs. I reached down and rested my hand on his head.

"Good boy," I whispered.

***

The storm hit two nights later. It came fast and vicious, the kind of Pacific Northwest squall that turned roads into rivers and knocked out power across half the territory. I was sitting at my desk, reviewing London apartment listings, when my phone buzzed.

The message came through a contact I recognized: Elder Morris, one of Silverfang's senior council members. His messages were always formal. Brief.

This one read: *Injured omega found at eastern border. Needs immediate assistance. Communications down. Can you respond?*

I stared at the screen. The eastern border was remote. Heavily forested. It was also the farthest point from pack central territory—nearly forty minutes in good weather. In this storm, longer.

I called the number back. It rang twice, then went to a generic voicemail. I tried the main pack emergency line. No signal.

Barnaby stood at the window, watching the rain sheet against the glass. He turned and looked at me, his dark eyes steady.

I should have listened to him.

Instead, I grabbed my coat and keys. I left a note on the counter for Jared—*Emergency call. Eastern border. Back soon.*—and drove into the storm.

The roads were worse than I'd expected. Water pooled in low sections, and the wind shook my car with every gust. My headlights cut weak paths through the rain. The GPS lost signal twice. I had to navigate by memory and instinct.

When I finally reached the eastern border access road, there were no other vehicles. No lights. No signs of pack presence.

I parked and stepped out into the storm. Rain soaked through my coat immediately. I called out, my voice barely audible over the wind.

"Hello? I'm here to help!"

Nothing.

I walked toward the tree line, scanning for movement. The forest was black beyond the reach of my flashlight. My wolf stirred uneasily inside me, a prickle of warning I should have heeded.

Then I saw them.

Five shapes, moving through the trees. Not pack. Rogues. Their scents were wrong—wild and unanchored, the signature of wolves who'd severed their pack bonds or been cast out.

I turned to run.

I didn't make it three steps.

The first one hit me from the side, driving me into the mud. I felt ribs crack. Pain exploded through my chest. I tried to shift, tried to call my wolf forward, but the second rogue was already on me, claws raking across my shoulder.

They weren't trying to kill me. I realized that even through the pain. They were targeting something specific. My head. My neck. The place where the mind-link lived.

One of them slammed my skull against a rock. The world went white. Then red. Then dark at the edges.

I heard a voice, distant and cold: "That's enough. Make sure it holds."

Dominic Reyes. Ironveil's Gamma. I recognized his tone even through the ringing in my ears.

Then they were gone.

I lay in the mud and rain, gasping. Blood mixed with water, running down my face. I tried to reach for my wolf, tried to feel the warm presence that had lived inside me since I was thirteen.

There was nothing.

Not silence. Not distance. Void. A frequency that had always hummed, now dead.

I pressed my hand to the ground and felt the earth beneath me, cold and indifferent. Above me, the storm continued. The rain did not care. The forest did not care.

I closed my eyes and lay very still, and felt the last piece of my wolf disappear into a darkness I could not reach.