After My Mate Betrayed Me, I Took His Pack

Liam set the table himself that night.

He never set the table. The Omegas did it. But there he was in a clean shirt, lighting two candles, pouring wine into a glass he wouldn't let me drink from because of the pup. He kissed my temple when I came downstairs. He pulled out my chair.

"You've been working too hard," he said. "Tonight's just for us."

Kaia stirred beneath my skin. She didn't growl. She watched.

I smiled. I let him fill my water glass. I asked about the patrol route he'd never actually walked, and I nodded at his answers like they meant something. The pup kicked once against my ribs, small and steady, and I rested my hand on my belly the way a tired Luna would.

Then the doorbell rang.

"Who—" Liam said, already standing. The performance of surprise was almost good. Almost. His shoulders were too loose. His hand didn't move to his belt the way it did when an unexpected guest actually rattled him.

Sloan's voice floated in from the foyer. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know you had plans—I just brought over those vitamins I promised Kairi—"

"Don't be silly," Liam said. "Come in. We've got plenty."

She stepped into the dining room with that same bright, apologetic smile. Her hair was down. She'd put on lipstick.

"I really shouldn't," she said.

"Sit," I said warmly. "Please."

She sat in the third chair. The one Liam had already pulled out before the doorbell rang.

I noticed that. I filed it away.

I cut my chicken into even pieces. Square, identical, slow. I complimented the sauce. I asked Sloan about her week. I watched her hand reach for the salt at the exact moment Liam's hand reached for the pepper, their fingers brushing for half a second over the center of the table.

And then, while I was answering a question Sloan had asked about the nursery, I looked up.

They were looking at each other.

Not for long. Maybe a breath. Liam's eyes lifted to hers, and hers met his, and something passed between them—a small private smile, the kind two people exchange when they've been keeping a secret all evening and the secret is still safe.

Kaia went very, very still.

I smiled at Sloan. "This sauce is incredible. Did you try it?"

"I haven't yet."

"You should." I passed her the plate myself. "Liam outdid himself."

Liam laughed. Easy. Warm. He had no idea.

I ate three more bites. I drank my water. I memorized the way Sloan's earring caught the candlelight, the angle of Liam's wrist when he reached for his glass, the precise second of that shared glance. I would not forget any of it.

---

Nia made the call at four in the morning.

She sat at the kitchen island with her phone pressed to her ear and Barnaby curled at her feet, and she spoke in low, clipped Moonveil dialect that I followed only in fragments. Marcus. A border conflict. A debt. A vehicle. A name.

When she ended the call, she set the phone down and looked at me.

"Marcus Thorne," she said. "He'll park a car below the Cascade trailhead the night you give him a date. No questions. No record."

"And the Council?"

"Silas Vance. Beta to the Lycan King. Marcus is making the introduction tomorrow. Neutral ground—a roadhouse off the highway between territories. Just you, me, and him."

I exhaled. The air felt thinner than it had a moment before.

Nia's hand covered mine on the counter. Her warrior markings caught the under-cabinet light, faded blue against her forearm.

"You're sure," she said. Not a question. A check.

"I'm sure."

She nodded once. "Then sleep. He needs you to look tired tomorrow, but not like this."

---

The roadhouse smelled like coffee and old wood. Silas Vance was already in the back booth when we arrived, a tall man in a plain jacket, no Council insignia visible. He stood when he saw Nia and dipped his head with a respect that told me everything about her old reputation.

He shook my hand. His palm was cool. His eyes weren't.

"Luna Howard."

"Beta Vance."

We sat. I slid the folder across the table.

He opened it without speaking. The mind-link transcripts, timestamped and authenticated. The coordinate logs—Liam's location pinging from Sloan's apartment on nineteen separate nights labeled as border patrol. Elias Reed's signed witness statement, dated and notarized through a neutral Council clerk Nia had found. The scent-marked cloth I had taken from Sloan's scarf the afternoon she draped it over my couch.

Silas read everything. He did not react. He turned each page with the slow, deliberate care of a man who understood exactly what he was looking at.

When he finished, he closed the folder. He folded his hands on top of it.

"Luna Howard," he said quietly. "You understand what this is."

"Tell me."

"This is not infidelity. Infidelity is a private grief. This—" his finger tapped the folder once "—is a premeditated rejection plot against a pregnant fated mate. Under Moon Goddess law, that is a criminal offense within Lycan Council jurisdiction. Alpha Parker can be stripped of rank. His co-conspirator can be regionally blacklisted."

My hand rested on my belly. The pup did not move. It was as if she were listening too.

"I will be present at the tribunal," Silas said. "You will have the Council's hearing. But understand this—the timing is yours. You must choose the moment. Move too early and he buries the evidence. Move too late and he moves first."

"I understand."

He held my gaze a moment longer.

"Choose carefully, Luna."

I took the folder back. My hand was steady.

"I already have."