After My Mate Banished Me for His Mistress

The scent of chamomile and lavender filled the kitchen as I stirred the herbal broth. Today marked the anniversary of Nova's pup's death, and I'd spent hours preparing this soothing concoction for the pack elders. The steam rose in gentle waves, carrying the calming aroma throughout the pack house.

"It should help with their nerves," I murmured to myself, carefully checking the temperature. As Luna, it was my duty to care for the pack's wellbeing, even if that meant working in the shadows while Nova received all of Waylen's attention.

The kitchen door creaked open behind me. I didn't need to turn to know who it was—the sickly sweet scent of Nova's Omega pheromones always preceded her.

"Phoebe," she said, her voice eerily calm. "What are you doing?"

I turned with a gentle smile, the one I'd perfected over eight years of marriage to an Alpha who barely noticed me. "Just preparing some herbal broth for the elders. Would you like to try some? It might help you sleep."

Nova's eyes widened, fixed not on me but on the steam rising from the pot. Her face contorted, transforming from fragile beauty to something feral and wild.

"Smoke!" she screamed, her hands fluttering frantically. "The rogues are coming! They're burning everything! My pup—my baby!"

Before I could react, Nova lunged forward, grabbing the heavy pot from the stove. My heart stopped as she lifted it high above her head.

"No, Nova, it's just steam!" I reached for her, but it was too late.

The scalding liquid hit me square in the chest and neck. Pain—white-hot and blinding—seared through me as the broth cascaded down my skin. I screamed, stumbling backward against the counter.

But the pain didn't stop there. Something else burned beneath my skin, spreading like poison through my veins. The wolfsbane—meant for pest control nearby—had been added to the pot by mistake.

"ARIAGHHH!" My wolf howled inside me, her voice growing fainter as the wolfsbane weakened our bond. "Phoebe, it burns!"

I collapsed to my knees, clawing at my chest where the liquid had soaked through my blouse. The agony was unbearable, but what came next would break me entirely.

"WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?" Waylen's voice thundered through the kitchen doorway.

I looked up through tears of pain to see my mate rushing toward us. Relief flooded through me—he would help me, he would see what Nova had done.

But Waylen didn't even glance my way.

Instead, he rushed to Nova, who had fallen to her knees screaming about rogues and fire. He wrapped his arms around her trembling form, murmuring soothing words into her hair.

"Shh, it's okay. No one's going to hurt you. I've got you."

The words I'd longed to hear for eight years, spoken not to me but to her.

"Waylen," I gasped, my voice breaking. "She threw wolfsbane at me. I'm burning."

His eyes finally flicked to me, but there was no concern there—only irritation.

"Enough, Phoebe!" he snapped. Then, his voice deepened with Alpha power. "SILENCE!"

The command hit me like a physical blow, forcing my mouth shut mid-scream. My wolf whimpered as the Alpha Voice suppressed even her cries.

"Your screaming is upsetting her further," Waylen growled, his eyes flashing gold with Alpha authority. "Can't you see she's traumatized?"

I couldn't speak, couldn't defend myself. Blood seeped through my torn blouse where the wolfsbane had burned deepest. My wolf grew quieter by the second.

"You shouldn't have been in here during Nova's mourning hours," Waylen continued, his tone accusatory. "You know today is difficult for her."

Behind him, Nova's sobs had subsided into delicate hiccups. Her eyes met mine over Waylen's shoulder—and for just a moment, I saw something there that wasn't grief or madness.

Satisfaction.

"Marcus!" Waylen called to his Beta, who had appeared in the doorway. "Take Phoebe somewhere she won't upset Nova further."

Marcus's expression flickered with uncertainty. "Alpha, she's injured—"

"To the dungeons," Waylen ordered coldly. "Her distress pheromones are triggering Nova's PTSD."

The dungeons? The silver-lined cells meant for rogues and traitors?

Marcus hesitated, but Alpha commands couldn't be refused. He stepped forward, gently lifting me from the floor.

"I'm sorry, Luna," he whispered, but there was nothing he could do.

As Marcus carried me away, I caught one last glimpse of Waylen cradling Nova in his arms, whispering promises of protection while my skin blistered and my wolf faded.

The dungeon door loomed ahead, its silver coating gleaming coldly in the dim light. Marcus's grip tightened slightly—not to hurt me, but to steady himself as he prepared to follow an order he clearly didn't agree with.

The last thing I heard before the heavy door swung shut was Nova's voice, no longer hysterical but perfectly calm:

"She'll be fine there. Won't she, Waylen?"

Then darkness swallowed me whole, and I realized with crystal clarity that my mate had chosen—and it wasn't me.