After My Alpha Slept with His Omega Mistress

The training grounds echoed with the sound of combat, the morning sun casting long shadows across the packed dirt. Dean had returned from the summit three days ago, and today was the first public pack training session since his return. I stood at the edge of the field, watching as warriors paired off, their movements fluid and precise under Dean's watchful eye. My arm still ached from the marking ceremony, the bond with Dean a constant, unwelcome presence in my mind. Sable paced restlessly within me, her amber eyes tracking Renata's movements across the field.

The Omega moved with practiced grace, her dark hair pulled back in a tight braid that emphasized the delicate features of her face. She caught Dean's eye repeatedly, her smiles lingering just a fraction too long to be innocent. I pressed my thumb against my wrist, grounding myself as Sable growled.

'Warriors, form defensive positions!' Dean's voice boomed across the field, his Alpha tone carrying the weight of command. The pack members scrambled to obey, except for Renata. She hesitated, her eyes flicking to me with barely concealed contempt.

'You heard the Alpha,' I said quietly, stepping forward. 'Take your position, Omega.'

Renata's lips curled into a smirk. 'I don't take orders from someone who was bought with her father's money,' she replied, loud enough for nearby warriors to hear. Several heads turned our way, interest sparking in their eyes.

Dean's expression darkened as he strode toward us. 'Renata, you will—'

Before he could finish, she moved. With a fluid motion that spoke of premeditation, she reached for the chemical flare canister at her belt—a training tool meant to simulate real combat conditions. The flare arced through the air, its trajectory aimed directly at me.

I dodged, but not quickly enough. The flare exploded against my arm, the chemical compound burning through my training gear and searing my skin. Pain blazed up my arm, and I bit back a cry as the acrid smell of burning flesh filled the air.

'Oops,' Renata said, her voice dripping with false concern. 'Luna, you should be more careful.'

Sable raged within me, demanding retribution, but I forced myself to remain calm. Blood seeped through the fabric of my sleeve, but I straightened, meeting Dean's gaze with perfect composure.

'Alpha,' I said, my voice steady despite the pain, 'I believe there's been an accident.'

Renata's smirk widened, clearly expecting Dean to dismiss the incident or, better yet, to reprimand me for not being quick enough. But Dean's eyes had narrowed, his gaze flicking between Renata and me, calculating.

'The Morales investment,' I reminded him, my voice barely above a whisper. 'The new wing. My father was quite generous.'

Something shifted in Dean's expression, greed outweighing whatever affection he might have had for his Omega mistress. He turned to Renata, his Alpha aura flaring with sudden, terrible intensity.

'You dare?' he growled, his Alpha tone hitting her like a physical blow. Renata staggered, her face paling as the full weight of his disapproval crashed over her. 'You dare injure my Luna? You dare endanger this pack's future?'

'Alpha, I didn't mean—' she began, but Dean cut her off.

'Stockades,' he snarled. 'Now.'

Two Delta warriors stepped forward, grasping Renata's arms as her face crumpled in shock. The bond between her and Dean fractured with an almost audible crack, the connection they'd shared shattered by his public rejection.

I watched impassively as they dragged her away, her protests fading into the distance. The pain in my arm throbbed in time with my heartbeat, but it was nothing compared to the satisfaction of watching Renata's carefully constructed world begin to crumble.

Later, in the infirmary, Maren Voss cleaned and dressed my burn with gentle hands. 'This will heal,' she assured me, her eyes kind. 'But it will leave a scar.'

'Scars tell stories,' I replied, watching as she finished bandaging my arm. 'And this one is just beginning.'

When Maren left, I pulled out my secure phone and typed a message to Dorian: 'The first move worked. Time for the ledger.'

His response came almost immediately: 'Working on it. How bad is the burn?'

I smiled faintly at the concern in his message. 'Worth it,' I typed back. 'See you tonight.'

The forged money-laundering ledger was taking shape in Dorian's lab—a masterpiece of forensic deception that would tie Dean to Renata's father's rogue pharmaceutical network. The perfect trap for a man who trusted no one, but suspected everyone.