After My Mate Tried to Steal My Pack Lands

The weight of my perfect Luna facade pressed down on me as I arranged the final touches for tonight's pack gala. Ten years of practice had taught me exactly how to stand—shoulders back, chin tilted just so, smile never too wide nor too small. The Luna's office, with its elegant mahogany desk and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the pack grounds, had never quite felt like mine. It was just another stage set for my performance.

I touched my Luna necklace—a gift from my father before he fell into his mysterious coma—and tried to steady my breathing. The necklace had become my anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

"Luna Charlotte," came a timid knock at the door. "The caterers are asking about the wine selection."

"The Merlot from the northern vineyard," I replied, my voice carrying the practiced warmth I'd perfected. "And make sure the glasses are the crystal ones with the moon etching."

As the assistant scurried away, I glanced at the clock. Oliver was late. Again. The border patrol should have ended hours ago.

My wolf stirred restlessly within me. *Something's wrong.*

"It's nothing," I whispered, though the unease had been growing for weeks. My wolf had always been quiet, subdued—Oliver said it was because she knew her place. But lately, she'd been pushing against the confines of my consciousness, clawing to get out.

The door swung open without warning, and Oliver strode in, his tall frame silhouetted against the hallway light. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, his blue eyes bright with what looked like excitement.

"There's my beautiful Luna," he said, leaning down to kiss my cheek. "Sorry I'm late. Rogue activity near the eastern border."

I forced a smile, accepting his kiss while trying to ignore the strange tension in my shoulders. "You're just in time to review the guest list."

As he shrugged off his coat, I reached to take it—a gesture of wifely devotion I'd performed countless times. But as the fabric brushed against my fingers, my nostrils flared.

*That's not right.*

I lifted the collar to my nose, and the world seemed to stop spinning.

Beneath Oliver's familiar cologne lurked something else—something that made my stomach turn. A cloying, synthetic vanilla mixed with... musk. The unmistakable scent of a female wolf. Not just any female—a Rogue.

My fingers trembled as I searched his pockets, finding a crumpled receipt. "Mate's Gift - Diamond Bracelet - $5,000."

"I thought we agreed no expensive gifts this year," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the earthquake happening inside me.

Oliver's expression shifted so quickly I almost missed it—surprise, then calculation, then smooth charm. "Is that what you found? I was saving it for our anniversary next month."

He took the receipt from my hand, his fingers brushing mine in that way that used to make my heart flutter. Now it just made my skin crawl.

"You've never bought me a diamond bracelet," I said quietly.

"First time for everything." He laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes. Then his voice changed—deepened with an artificial resonance that made my knees weak. "Enough about this, Charlotte. You're being paranoid again."

The Alpha tone—a mockery of true command—washed over me like a physical weight.

"Your wolf is too dormant to understand pack business," he continued, his voice gentle but cutting. "You're imagining threats where none exist. Those rogues were getting too close to our territory. I had to eliminate them."

*He's lying,* my wolf snarled.

"But the scent—" I began.

"The scent you think you smell?" Oliver's smile didn't waver. "That's from the rogue I fought off. You know how they are—spraying themselves with cheap perfume to mask their natural stench."

He cupped my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Now apologize for doubting your Alpha."

The words came automatically, conditioned by years of submission. "I'm sorry for doubting you."

Later that night, after Oliver had fallen asleep, I crept down the hallway toward the Alpha's private study. If there was a bracelet, there would be a record of it in the pack's financial logs. If there had been rogue activity, there would be reports.

The door loomed before me—solid oak with a biometric lock that had once recognized my fingerprints. I pressed my thumb against the scanner, holding my breath.

*Access denied.*

I tried again, using the override code I'd memorized years ago.

*Access denied. Clearance revoked.*

"That's not possible," I whispered, trying a third time.

"Looking for something?"

I spun around to find Beta Jones Peters leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His thin lips curved into what might have been a smile on anyone else, but on him looked more like a predator baring its teeth.

"Alpha Oliver thought it best to restrict your access," Jones said, cracking his knuckles—his tell when he was enjoying someone else's discomfort. "For your mental health, of course."

"My mental health?"

"Paranoia isn't healthy for a Luna." His eyes gleamed in the dim hallway light. "Especially one whose wolf is as... unstable as yours."

As he walked away, leaving me staring at the locked door, one thought crystallized in my mind: Something was very wrong in the Crescent Moon Pack. And I was the only one who could fix it.