After My Mate Stole My Son, I Swore Revenge

The heavy iron gates of Grimwolf Correctional Facility groaned open behind me. One year. Three hundred and sixty-five days of hell had passed since I'd been dragged away from everything I loved.

"Prisoner Ferguson," the guard sneered, shoving a small bag of belongings into my arms. "You're free to go."

Free. The word tasted bitter on my tongue.

"Remember the terms of your parole," he continued, his voice dripping with contempt. "No leaving Silver Moon territory. No contact with neighboring packs. Daily check-ins with the Alpha's Beta."

I nodded, unable to speak through the lump in my throat. The mate bond rejection had left me hollow, my wolf silent within me. The prison doctor had confirmed what I already suspected—my wolf had retreated so deeply she might never return. I was wolfless now. An Omega.

"You've got nowhere to go, do you?" the guard mocked. "No family, no friends, no money."

I clutched my father's silver locket through my threadbare shirt. He was all I had left.

"The Silver Moon Pack House is hiring cleaners," he added with a cruel smile. "For traitors like you."

The walk back to the pack house took hours. Each step sent pain shooting through my malnourished body. By the time I reached the imposing gates, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the manicured grounds.

"Name?" demanded the new gate guard—someone who hadn't witnessed my downfall.

"Mariah Ferguson," I whispered, the name feeling foreign on my lips.

His eyes widened slightly. "The traitor."

"The cleaner," corrected an older woman approaching from the house. "If you want to eat, that is."

She led me to a small office where a housekeeper's uniform waited. Gray, shapeless, marking me as the lowest of the low.

"You'll start with the east wing," she instructed. "Bathrooms first, then floors. The nursery wing is off-limits unless specifically ordered to clean there."

Nursery. The word pierced my heart. My child—my son—was somewhere in this house, being raised by the woman who had destroyed my life.

---

Three weeks passed in a blur of scrubbing floors and emptying trash. I kept my head down, avoided eye contact, and tried not to think about what might have been.

"Mariah!" The head housekeeper's sharp voice cut through my thoughts. "Nursery spill. Now!"

I grabbed my cleaning supplies and hurried up the forbidden wing. The scent hit me before I reached the door—milk, baby powder, and something else. Something that made my heart stop.

"Quickly," a nanny instructed, pointing to a puddle of spilled formula near an ornate crib. "And don't touch anything else."

I dropped to my knees, scrubbing at the hardwood floor. From the corner of my eye, I could see small fingers grasping the bars of the crib.

"Mama?" a tiny voice questioned.

"No, sweetheart," the nanny corrected gently. "That's just the cleaning lady."

I froze, my hand still pressed to the floor. Slowly, I turned my head.

A toddler with dark hair and solemn eyes stared back at me. As our gazes locked, he reached out his hand toward me.

"Up," he demanded.

Before the nanny could stop him, his tiny fingers touched mine. A spark—like static electricity but warmer—shot up my arm.

And then I caught it—his scent. Cinnamon and old books. My father's scent. Mixed with rain—Colton's signature fragrance.

My son. My Jase.

"Get away from him!" The nanny yanked me back by my collar. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," I stammered, but it was too late. I knew. And somehow, deep down, he knew too.

---

I found Colton in the west hallway the next day, alone for once without Giovanna at his side.

"Alpha," I whispered, my voice weak from disuse. "I need to speak with you."

He turned, surprise flickering across his face before hardening into disgust. "You shouldn't address me directly."

"Please," I insisted, stepping closer. "About the baby—about Jase—"

"Mariah!" Giovanna's voice sliced through the air as she rounded the corner. "What are you doing?"

She rushed to Colton's side, her eyes wide with manufactured fear. "She was in the nursery yesterday, talking to Jase. She said she was going to take him away from us."

"What?" Colton's expression darkened dangerously.

"No!" I protested. "I would never—"

"She's obsessed," Giovanna whispered, clinging to him. "She thinks he's hers because she's delusional from the rejection."

Colton's hand shot out, gripping my throat as he slammed me against the wall. "You will never come near my son again."

"Your son?" I gasped. "He's—"

"Silence!" Colton snarled, reaching for something in his pocket. A small bottle filled with amber liquid. "This will help you remember your place."

He uncorked it and forced it between my lips. The liquid burned like fire down my throat, spreading poison through my veins.

"Wolfsbane," he growled as I choked and clawed at my throat. "To make sure you never speak lies about my family again."

The pain was excruciating as the concentrated herb burned my vocal cords and sank deeper, wrapping around what remained of my wolf like chains.

As darkness closed in around me, I heard Giovanna's satisfied laugh. And I knew—this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.