After My Alpha Chose a Wolfless Rogue Over Me

The invitation to the Alpha Summit lay on Mark’s desk like a declaration of war. Heavy cream cardstock, embossed with gold leaf, inviting the Alpha of the Blood River Pack to the annual Moon Ball. It was the most prestigious event of the year, a place where alliances were forged in whiskey and broken in blood.

Mark didn’t look at the card. He looked at me.

"Preston expects me to hide you," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. "He expects you to be cowering in a safe house, afraid of your own shadow."

I ran a finger over the edge of the desk. "He expects his broken toy to be broken."

"Then let’s disappoint him."

Mark reached behind his desk and pulled out a long, flat box wrapped in black velvet. He slid it toward me. "I didn't buy this. I had it commissioned the day you crossed the river."

I undid the ribbon and lifted the lid. The breath left my lungs in a sharp rush. Nestled in the tissue paper was a gown of midnight blue silk, so dark it was almost black, shimmering with delicate silver embroidery that climbed up the bodice like vines of moonlight.

It wasn't just a dress. Blue and silver were the colors of the Moonstone Pack. My father’s colors.

"You don't go as my guest, Mariana," Mark said softly, standing up and moving around the desk. "And you certainly don't go as a refugees. You go as an equal."

I touched the cool silk, my throat tight. For five years, Preston had dressed me in pastels—pinks and creams that washed me out, making me look frail and harmless. This dress was dangerous.

An hour later, I stood before the full-length mirror in my quarters. The silk draped over my body like liquid night, hugging my curves before pooling at my feet. The neckline was plunging, daring, exposing the skin where Preston’s mark had faded into a scar. I hadn't covered it.

Mark stepped into the room, fastening his cufflinks. He froze when he saw me. His amber eyes darkened, the pupils blowing wide as his wolf surged to the surface. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with a static electricity that made the hair on my arms stand up.

He walked toward me, stopping just inches away. I could feel the heat radiance off his body. His hand hovered near my waist, trembling slightly, as if he was fighting the urge to pull me against him.

"You look..." His voice was rough, like gravel grinding together. "Lethal."

"Good," I whispered, my pulse hammering against my throat. The attraction between us was a physical weight, a taut wire ready to snap. But not yet.

"Tonight is for blood," he murmured, leaning down so his breath ghosted over my ear. "Pleasure comes later."

I shivered, nodding. Just as I turned to grab my clutch, my burner phone buzzed against the vanity.

I frowned. Only one person had this number besides Mark.

I opened the message. It was a wall of text from an unknown number, but the signature made my blood run cold.

*It’s Josie. I don't have much time. I found his 'trophy' box in the study. He has things, Mariana. Locks of hair. Teeth. A piece of burnt wood from a crib. He didn't save us. He collects us.*

My grip on the phone tightened until the plastic creaked.

*I heard him on the phone with his Gamma,* the message continued. *He’s planning to ambush you at the Summit. He wants to kill you publicly, claim it was a rogue attack, and play the grieving mate again. I can’t be part of this. I told him I’m in heat—faked it with some oils I bought from a witch. He locked me in my room, but he’s coming alone. And he is unhinged. Be careful.*

I showed the screen to Mark. He read it, his expression hardening into a mask of cold fury.

"He’s coming alone," Mark said, a predatory grin sharpening his features. "He’s isolated himself."

"He thinks he’s the hunter," I said, dropping the phone into my clutch. "Let’s show him what happens when the rabbit picks up a gun."

***

The Grand Hall of the Summit venue was a cavernous space filled with the scent of expensive perfume, roasted meat, and the overwhelming musk of three hundred werewolves. Chandeliers the size of small cars dripped crystals from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over the gathered Alphas and Lunas.

The double doors swung open for us.

"Announcing Alpha Mark Salazar of the Blood River Pack," the herald boomed.

The room went quiet. Conversations died mid-sentence. All eyes turned to the entrance.

Mark didn't walk in front of me. He didn't lead me by the hand like a child. We walked in step, side by side.

I kept my head high, my shoulders back. I didn't suppress my aura this time. I let it roll off me in waves—the cold, metallic scent of an Alpha female mixed with the ozone power of the Blood River pack.

I saw him almost immediately.

Preston was standing near the champagne fountain, looking disheveled. His tie was crooked, his face flushed with drink. He was laughing loudly at something an Elder had said, but the laughter died in his throat when he saw us.

His eyes locked on me. On the blue dress. On the silver wolf pendant at my throat.

*Crash.*

The crystal flute slipped from his fingers, shattering on the marble floor. Champagne splattered his expensive shoes, but he didn't notice. He looked like he was seeing a ghost.

The silence in the hall stretched, thick and suffocating. Preston blinked, shaking his head as if to clear a hallucination. Then, the mask slipped back into place. The Savior mask.

He stepped over the broken glass, his arms opening wide in a performance of relief that made my stomach turn.

"Mariana!" he called out, his voice slurring slightly. "Oh, thank the Goddess! You're safe!"

He rushed toward us, ignoring Mark entirely. "I've been sick with worry! Look at you... dressed in these rags, paraded around by my rival. Come here, sweetheart. Come to me. I forgive you for running away."

The audacity was almost impressive. He reached for me, his hand aiming for my arm—the same spot he used to bruise.

Mark growled, a low, dangerous sound, but I held up a hand to stop him.

I didn't flinch. I didn't step back.

When Preston’s hand was inches from my face, I smiled. It wasn't a Luna’s smile. It was a baring of teeth, sharp and promising violence.

"You don't get to touch me, Preston," I said, my voice carrying clearly through the silent hall. "And you certainly don't get to forgive me."

Preston froze, his hand hovering in the air. For the first time, he looked into my eyes and didn't see his reflection. He saw the fire that was about to burn his world to ash.