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After My Mate Tried to Drown My Daughter Novel Cover

After My Mate Tried to Drown My Daughter

At 9:02 on a Thursday night, Alpha Brantley severed their bond before three hundred pack members, turning Fallon's mate mark to ice and silencing her wolf. She didn't beg. But the true nightmare came when he tried to drown their daughter. Now a broken Luna must summon the strength to shield her child from the man who once meant everything—and reignite the fire she thought was lost forever.
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Chapter 3

Brantley stared at me for three long seconds. Then his head tilted back, and a harsh, barking laugh tore out of his throat.

"Marked?" he mocked, his eyes sweeping over me with sheer disbelief. "You? By who, Fallon? What wolf in his right mind would put his teeth on a broken, wolfless Omega?"

He stepped closer, closing the small gap between us until his boots nearly touched mine. The shadow of his heavy frame blocked out the gray afternoon light.

"You're pathetic," he sneered, leaning in until I could smell the sour coffee on his breath. "Making up fairy tales to save your pride. You think I don't see right through you? You're wandering around the edge of my lands with a stray brat, starving for attention."

He pushed his Ashwood Alpha aura outward. The air between the wooden stalls grew dense and heavy, vibrating with the raw force regional Alphas used to crush insubordination. He wanted me to choke. He wanted my legs to buckle and my gaze to drop to the slush at his feet.

I didn't blink.

My suppressed Lycan bloodline sat beneath my skin like iron beneath velvet. His aura hit me and simply shattered, dispersing into nothing. I held his gaze, my chin level, my expression completely flat.

For half a second, his smug grin faltered. A flicker of genuine confusion passed through his eyes. An Omega without a wolf should have been trembling, baring her neck to ease the pressure. Instead, I stood there like an immovable stone wall.

It rattled him. I could smell the faint spike of sharp, defensive sweat cutting through his cedar scent.

He masked it instantly with a scowl, stepping back and waving a dismissive hand. "Keep bluffing, Fallon. Let's see how far your little fantasy gets you when winter hits. You'll be begging at my gate before the first hard freeze."

He turned on his heel and strode back into the open market, calling out loudly to one of his councilmen to prove he still commanded the room.

I stood in the alley's chill, watching his broad back disappear. Without thinking, my hand rose to my throat. My fingers pressed lightly against the high collar of my coat, feeling the faint, raised ridge of Royal’s mark. My compass.

Deep under my ribs, beneath five years of dead cold, something shifted.

It wasn't a full awakening. But it was a hot, sudden pulse—a low ember flaring in the dark. My dormant silver wolf had stirred, heavier and warmer than it had in half a decade.

I took a quiet breath, composed my face, and walked out to find my daughter.

***

That night, the small rented cabin on the edge of the valley was silent. Sutton was fast asleep in the bedroom, clutching her carved wooden bird, her breath even and sweet.

I sat by the dark window, leaned my head against the cool glass, and opened the mental door.

*Royal,* I reached through the mate bond.

The response was immediate. It wasn't words at first. A tidal wave of controlled, searing fury crashed through the link from miles away at the Crownfang stronghold. It was hot, ancient, and blindingly sharp. Royal had felt the lingering echo of Brantley's aura clinging to my clothes.

Then his voice followed, low and deadly calm in my mind.

*He touched you?*

*He grabbed my arm in the market,* I answered, keeping my thoughts flat and factual. *He tried to use his Alpha tone to force me to kneel. It didn't work.*

A heavy, electric silence stretched across the bond. I could feel his black wolf pacing behind his ribs, claws scraping against stone.

*I'm coming,* Royal said. The words weren't a request. They were a sovereign's verdict.

*Not yet,* I told him softly. *The development alliance isn't finalized with the regional council. If you march in with royal banners now, it turns into a territory dispute. Let me finish what we came here to do.*

Another long silence filled my head. I felt the immense strain of his restraint—a Lycan prince deliberately pulling back his lethal instincts because his mate asked him to. Slowly, the scorching heat in the bond receded. In its place came a wave of steady, golden warmth, wrapping around my chest like a heavy blanket.

*Two days,* Royal murmured, his presence brushing against my bruised memories with infinite tenderness. *Not a minute more. Corvin and two royal guards are already moving. They will hold the perimeter.*

I didn't argue. I knew better than to strip away every layer of his protection. *Thank you,* I whispered, and let the connection quiet down.

***

Yet as the valley settled into freezing darkness, Brantley wasn't the only ghost stalking my mind.

I kept thinking about Lana.

When I had retrieved Sutton from the wooden toy cart earlier, I had caught the look on Lana’s face. She had bent down to lure Sutton with a ribbon, expecting the weak, sickly scent of the abandoned infant we had left behind five years ago.

Instead, she had caught a draft of Sutton's true scent.

Even with our suppressants, the deep, layered resonance of royal Lycan blood carried an unmistakable presence. Lana hadn't known what it was—she lacked the standing to recognize royal lineage—but she knew it wasn't an Omega's bastard. Her fake smile had dropped. Her knuckles had gone white around the ribbon, her eyes wild with calculating terror.

Lana's entire life was a fragile tower built on Brantley's minor pack merger. If Sutton was born of a powerful bloodline, and if I had returned with real backing, Lana's status in Ashwood was finished.

I knew how she operated. She had never been a fighter; she was a parasite who survived through backdoor deals. And five years of luxury hadn't changed that.

Across the ridge, in the dark corners of the Ashwood packhouse, I knew she wouldn't try to outmaneuver me with words. My mother had managed the regional herb stores for thirty years, and I knew the local smugglers better than anyone alive.

When a she-wolf like Lana felt her territory slipping, she reached for the only untraceable weapon small minds understood.

Concentrated wolfsbane.

A slow, cold resolve settled into my bones. If she wanted to play with poison in my valley, she was about to learn who taught this pack how to brew it.

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