After My Alpha Chose a Wolfless Rogue Over Me

The neutral territory was a lawless stretch of dense forest between pack lands, a place where exiles went to disappear. Mark insisted on coming with me, his presence a silent, towering shadow at my back. We found Gamma Torres living in a rusted trailer half-buried in ivy, the air thick with the smell of stale beer and unwashed wolf.

I knocked on the metal door. It swung open with a screech, revealing a man who looked more beast than human. His beard was matted, his eyes wild and bloodshot.

"Get lost," he growled, moving to slam the door.

"Gamma Torres," I said, my voice steady. "It’s Mariana Shaw."

He froze. His gaze raked over me, landing on the silver pendant at my throat. A sneer curled his lip. "The pet? The one who spread her legs for the butcher?"

Mark let out a low, vibrating growl behind me, stepping forward. I put a hand on his chest to stop him. This was my fight.

"I didn't know," I said, meeting Torres's hateful stare. "I thought he saved me. I was wrong. I’m here to kill him, Torres. But I need proof."

Torres laughed, a harsh, barking sound. "Proof? You want proof?" He stepped down from the trailer, invading my personal space. He smelled of rot and old rage. "Five years ago. The night the Moonstone Pack burned. I was on nursery duty. The alarms hadn't even gone off yet. No rogues. No fire. But I smelled him."

My breath hitched. "Who?"

"Your mate," he spat. "Preston. That sickly sweet vanilla scent of his. He was in the nursery wing before the first match was lit. He wasn't there to save anyone, girl. He was there to make sure the fire started in the right place."

The ground seemed to tilt beneath my feet. I had suspected it, but hearing it—knowing he had walked through my home while my family slept, planning their end—was a different kind of agony.

"We need physical evidence," Mark said, his voice grim. "A scent from five years ago won't hold up before the Council."

Torres turned back to his trailer. "Then go dig in the ashes. That’s all that’s left."

***

The ruins of the Moonstone Pack house were a graveyard of blackened timber and stone. Nature had begun to reclaim it, vines choking the scorched remains of what used to be the grand hall. It was quiet here. Too quiet.

I stepped over a crumbled wall, my boots crunching on debris. Memories flashed—my father laughing in this hallway, my mother humming in the kitchen. Now, it was just dust.

My chest tightened. The air felt too thin. I stopped, gripping a charred support beam. My vision blurred at the edges. I could smell the smoke again. I could hear the screams.

"I can't," I gasped, my knees buckling. "I can't be here."

A panic attack. It was a tidal wave, pulling me under.

Strong hands gripped my shoulders. Not gentle, but firm. Grounding. Mark didn't coo at me. He didn't offer empty comforts. He simply poured his strength into the touch, an anchor in the storm.

"Breathe, Mariana," he ordered, his voice cutting through the ringing in my ears. "You are not a victim here. You are the Alpha's daughter. This is your land. Claim it."

I focused on his amber eyes, on the solid weight of his hands. I forced air into my lungs. Slowly, the ghosts receded. I nodded, straightening up.

"Okay," I whispered. "I'm okay."

We moved toward what used to be my father's office. The floor was gone, just a gaping hole into the foundation. We jumped down, sifting through the rubble. For an hour, we found nothing but melted glass and twisted metal.

Then, Mark stopped. He kicked aside a pile of rotted wood and bent down, pulling something from the muck.

"Mariana," he called softly.

I went to him. in his hand lay a dagger. The blade was blackened, but the hilt... the hilt was unmistakable. Embedded in the pommel was an obsidian stone carved with a half-moon eclipsing the sun.

The crest of the Eclipse Pack.

"It's a ceremonial dagger," I said, my voice trembling with cold fury. "Used for lighting the ritual fires. He left his signature."

"He was arrogant," Mark said, turning the blade over. "He thought no one would ever survive to look for it."

I took the dagger. It was heavy, cold, and damning. "He was right. Until now."

***

Back at Blood River, I sat in the guest quarters, staring at the phone in my hand. It was a burner, untraceable. I dialed a number I had memorized years ago—Sarah, a maid in the Eclipse pack house who had been the only one to show me kindness without pity.

She picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Sarah. It's Mariana."

There was a gasp on the other end. "Luna? Oh goddess, are you safe? Everyone says you went mad."

"I'm safe," I assured her. "Listen, I need to know what's happening there. What is Preston doing?"

Sarah lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's... it's bad, Luna. The 'paradise' is falling apart. That girl, Josie? She's terrified. She locks herself in the guest wing all day. She keeps faking sick—stomach aches, migraines—anything to avoid her Luna duties. She knows she can't handle the pack politics, and I think she's starting to realize Preston isn't the knight in shining armor she thought he was."

"And Preston?"

"He's unhinged," Sarah said, fear trembling in her voice. "He's drinking before noon. He rants about your 'ingratitude' to anyone who will listen. He smashed the mirror in the hallway yesterday because he said it looked at him wrong. He's losing control, Mariana. The pack is scared."

I hung up the phone, a cold smile touching my lips. Preston needed to be the savior. He needed a helpless victim to fix. But Josie was proving to be a burden, not a trophy, and I had become the villain in his story.

He was cracking. And I was going to be the one to shatter him completely.