After My Alpha Scented Another, I Walked Away

Denver slammed my apartment door so hard the cheap wooden frame rattled. She didn't even take off her jacket. She just marched straight into my tiny kitchen and slapped a thick manila folder onto the counter.

"He stalled," she snapped, her chest heaving.

I was standing by the sink, washing a single coffee mug. I turned off the tap and dried my hands slowly. I looked at the folder. It was the legal brief we had spent until two in the morning drafting. It demanded the immediate release of Buster to my custody.

"Tell me exactly what happened," I said. My voice was quiet.

Denver paced the short length of my living room. Her gray eyes were flashing with pure, unadulterated Gamma rage. "I walked right into the Beta's office. Marcus looked like he hadn't slept in a week. I dropped the brief on his desk. I cited human property law. I cited neutral territory pack law. I told him Buster isn't a wolf, he holds no rank, and he legally belongs to you."

"And what did Marcus say?"

"Marcus actually looked relieved for a second," Denver scoffed, crossing her arms. "I think he just wanted the dog out of the pack house. He reached for his pen to sign the release. But then the door opened."

I didn't need to ask who walked in. The faint, ugly scratching against the brick wall in my mind flared up just at the thought of him.

"Atticus," I whispered.

"Atticus," Denver confirmed, her upper lip curling in disgust. "He didn't even look at the paperwork. He just looked at Marcus and used that low, heavy Alpha tone. He told Marcus to file the brief in the trash. He said Buster is Ironveil property now. He said if you want your dog back, you know exactly where the pack house is. You can come fetch him yourself."

I stared at the manila folder.

For seven years, Buster was the only pure thing in that massive, suffocating house. He was the only one who greeted me without caring about my lack of a mark or a title. He just loved me. And now, Atticus was using him. The most powerful Alpha in the region was holding a golden retriever hostage just to force my hand.

"Lyra?" Denver asked softly, stepping closer. "Are you going to cry? Because if you want to cry, I will break a plate or something. We can be mad."

I reached out and touched the edge of the folder. My fingers were perfectly steady. I didn't feel like crying. I felt a cold, hard click deep inside my chest.

"No," I said flatly. "I'm not going to cry over a man who thinks a dog is a chess piece."

I took the folder and slid it into a drawer. I didn't yell. I didn't throw anything. I just added it to the list. The long, invisible list of reasons why I was never, ever going back.

***

The next morning, my phone buzzed on the nightstand at exactly eight o'clock.

It was my mother. She called every single morning without fail. I sat up in bed, pulled my knees to my chest, and hit accept. I put her on speaker.

"Lyra, sweetie," her voice floated out of the phone. It was warm, but it was heavy with a desperate, frantic kind of anxiety.

"Morning, Mom," I said, resting my chin on my knees.

"I couldn't sleep," she started, her voice trembling slightly. "I was praying to the Moon Goddess all night. Lyra, you have to stop this. You have to go home."

I closed my eyes. Here it comes.

"People are talking," she pleaded. "You are throwing away the Goddess's ultimate gift. A fated mate is sacred. Yes, Atticus made mistakes. All powerful Alphas stray, Lyra. It is in their nature to seek dominance. But you are meant to be the Luna. You have to secure the Ironveil bloodline. If you reject this bond, you are cursing yourself."

Her words weren't malicious. That was the worst part. She genuinely believed every syllable. She was raised in a pack where a woman's worth was measured entirely by the strength of the Alpha who claimed her. She survived her life by bowing her head, and it terrified her that I was lifting mine.

"I know, Mom," I said quietly.

"A she-wolf without a pack is nothing but a rogue," she cried, her voice breaking into a soft sob. "The Goddess doesn't forgive this kind of pride. Please. Just go back and apologize. He will forgive you. He will mark you."

"I know, Mom."

I said the words, but they meant absolutely nothing. I wasn't agreeing with her. I wasn't fighting her, either. I was just letting her panic wash over me, refusing to let it sink into my skin. I loved my mother, but she was speaking a language I refused to learn anymore.

"There is a Pack Alliance Banquet tonight," she sniffled, changing her tactic. "It's on neutral territory. I received the guest list. You have an invitation. Please, Lyra. Just go. Show your face. Don't let the other packs think you are hiding in shame. Go, and maybe Atticus will be there. Maybe you two can just talk."

I looked at the thick, embossed invitation sitting on my cheap coffee table. I had been ignoring it for days.

"Okay, Mom," I said softly. "I'll go to the banquet."

She let out a huge sigh of relief. "Oh, thank the Goddess. Wear your blue dress, sweetie. The one Atticus likes."

I hung up the phone.

***

Denver arrived at my apartment at six in the evening. She brought a garment bag slung over her shoulder and a fierce, unapologetic grin on her face.

"We are not hiding tonight," she declared, unzipping the bag and laying the dress on my bed.

For seven years, my closet at the Ironveil pack house was a sea of midnight blue, black, and silver. They were the pack colors. I wore what Atticus liked. I wore what blended into the background, so I wouldn't outshine the Alpha.

I looked at the dress Denver brought.

It wasn't blue. It wasn't silver. It was a deep, rich emerald green. It was made of silk, with a cowl neckline and a slit that ran up the thigh. It didn't look like a Luna's dress. It looked like a weapon.

I stripped off my sweatpants and slipped the silk over my head. The fabric felt cool and strange against my skin. Denver stepped behind me and zipped it up.

I walked over to the cheap, cracked mirror hanging on my closet door. I stopped breathing for a second.

I stared at the reflection. For the first time since I was sixteen years old, I didn't see the 'placeholder Luna.' I didn't see the quiet girl who baked muffins for the council and ignored the smell of another woman's perfume on her mate's jacket.

My shoulders were back. My dark hair fell in loose, heavy waves down my back. The emerald green made my eyes look sharp and dangerous. I didn't look like I belonged to Atticus King.

I looked like Lyra Wilson.

My inner wolf stirred. She didn't cower. She stretched her legs and let out a low, satisfied hum of approval.

"You look incredible," Denver whispered, standing behind me in her own sleek black dress. "You look like you're about to ruin someone's life."

I grabbed my clutch from the bed. Deep in the back of my mind, the brick wall I had built over the bond gave a faint, ugly shudder. Atticus was out there. He was going to be at that banquet. He was angry, he was desperate, and he was hunting for his lost property.

I looked at myself in the mirror one last time.

"Let's go," I said, my voice steady and cold.

Let him hunt. Tonight, I wasn't prey.