After My Mate Sold Me to His Enemy

The dress was blood-red silk, a stark contrast to the tactical blacks and greys I had worn for a decade. Standing before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in our suite at the Swiss Alps resort, I hardly recognized the woman staring back. Her shoulders were pulled back, her chin high, and the jagged scar on her neck was proudly displayed, no longer hidden by a collar. It was the mark of a King.

Maxwell stepped up behind me, his hands settling on my waist. The heat of his palms burned through the delicate fabric, grounding me. But his reflection in the mirror was grim.

"You need to know before we go down there," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against my spine. "My spies reported in this morning. Silverclaw made an announcement."

I stiffened. "Thatcher?"

"Penny," Maxwell corrected, his eyes darkening with distaste. "She claims she is carrying the Alpha heir. Dr. Cross confirmed it an hour ago."

The air left my lungs in a sharp hiss. Pregnant. Thatcher had rejected me, crushed my mother’s amulet, and replaced me—and now, barely a week later, he had the one thing every Alpha craved. A legacy.

"It’s fast," I whispered, a bitter taste coating my tongue. "Too fast."

"It is convenient," Maxwell agreed, turning me to face him. He ran a thumb over the mating mark on my neck, sending a jolt of possessive warmth through my veins. "Thatcher has been spiraling. The Bond Sickness is eating him alive. This child is the only thing keeping his wolf from going feral. He is clinging to it like a lifeline."

I looked into Maxwell’s swirling silver eyes. I should have felt jealous. I should have felt the crushing weight of inadequacy that Penny had fed me for years. But as the Lycan King’s scent—rain and ancient power—wrapped around me, I felt something else entirely.

Pity.

"Let them have their lies," I said, smoothing the lapel of his suit. "I have a summit to attend."

***

The Grand Hall of the Alpha Summit was a cavern of timber and stone, filled with the scents of a hundred different packs. Pine, musk, ozone, and the underlying metallic tang of aggression. Usually, an Enforcer would enter through the side doors, keeping to the shadows. Today, I stood before the main double doors, the King at my side.

The doors swung open.

Silence crashed over the room like a wave. Conversations died mid-sentence. Glasses stopped halfway to mouths.

We walked in. I didn't walk behind Maxwell. I walked beside him.

The aura of the Lycan King was always heavy, a gravitational force that demanded submission. But tonight, my own aura rose to meet it. The blood of the Crescent Royals, awakened by the Moonstone dust, hummed beneath my skin. It wasn't the aggressive pressure of an Alpha; it was the cool, undeniable authority of a Queen.

As we passed the tables of lower-ranked packs, Alphas—men who had sneered at me when I was just a 'cleaner'—averted their gazes, instinctively baring their necks in submission.

Then I saw him.

Thatcher sat at the high table near the front. He looked wrecked. His skin was pale and waxy, dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and his once-golden hair looked dull and limp. He was gripping a wine glass so hard his knuckles were white.

Penny sat next to him, radiant and smug. She rested one hand protectively over her flat stomach, preening under the attention of the other Lunas. But the moment we stepped into the light, her smile faltered.

Thatcher’s head snapped up. His nostrils flared, inhaling sharply.

He didn't smell the Enforcer. He didn't smell the orphan. He smelled the Lycan King. And he smelled me, wrapped inextricably in Maxwell’s scent.

The wine glass in his hand shattered. Red wine bloomed across the white tablecloth like a gunshot wound.

"Lottie," he croaked, the sound raw and broken.

The entire hall held its breath. Thatcher stood up, his chair scraping violently against the stone floor. He stumbled toward us, his eyes wild, darting between me and Maxwell. The Bond Sickness was evident in the tremor of his hands.

"You..." Thatcher snarled, pointing a shaking finger at me. "You smell like him."

"I am his," I said calmly, my voice carrying to the back of the room without effort.

"No!" Thatcher roared, the sound tearing from his throat. "You are Silverclaw! You are mine! I didn't give you permission to mate!"

Penny scrambled up, grabbing his arm. "Thatcher, sit down! Think of the baby!"

He shoved her off, not even looking at her. His wolf was surfacing, feral and jealous, unable to comprehend that he had thrown away the very thing he was now trying to claim. He drew himself up, his chest heaving, and opened his mouth to unleash the Alpha Tone.

"**Enforcer Weaver!**" his voice boomed, laced with the supernatural weight of a command that forced weaker wolves to their knees. "**I command you to return to my side! Kneel!**"

The command hit me like a physical blow—or it should have. I braced myself for the crushing weight, the irresistible urge to obey.

But it never came.

The command washed over me like a gentle breeze against a mountain. I didn't flinch. I didn't blink. I just stood there, staring at him with cold indifference.

Thatcher froze, horror dawning in his eyes. An Alpha's command never failed against a pack member. Unless...

"She is not Weaver," a deep voice growled.

Maxwell moved. He was a blur of speed, crossing the distance between us and Thatcher in a heartbeat. Before Thatcher could draw another breath, Maxwell’s hand clamped around his throat.

He lifted the Silverclaw Alpha off the ground as if he weighed nothing. Thatcher clawed at Maxwell’s wrist, his legs kicking uselessly in the air, gasping for breath.

"She is Lottie of the Crescent Royals," Maxwell snarled, his silver eyes glowing with lethal intensity. "She is the Lycan Queen. And if you ever dare to raise your voice at my mate again, Thatcher Harrison, I will rip your tongue from your head and feed it to the rogues."

Maxwell threw him backward. Thatcher crashed into his table, sending silverware and china clattering to the floor. He lay there, gasping, humiliated in front of the entire werewolf council.

I stepped forward, looking down at the man I had once worshipped.

"Your Enforcer is dead, Alpha," I said softly. "You killed her."