When my pup ill, my Alpha was dating with his sister-in-law

Dylan snatched the phone off the nightstand before I could touch it.

"Anna's been drinking again," he said, thumbing the screen dark. "She sends weird stuff when she's grieving. Don't make this into something it isn't."

"She sent you a naked photo."

"She sent me a *sad* photo." He tossed the phone into his pocket. "I'm going to sleep. You should too."

He was snoring in ten minutes.

I didn't close my eyes once.

I lay there listening to him breathe and thought about the Moon Goddess altar six years ago. Candles everywhere. My hands shaking in his. Dylan, twenty-three and nervous, saying it loud enough for the whole pack to hear.

"I'm yours, Quinn. Only yours. Until the moon stops rising."

Then I thought about the border war two years later. The rogue Alpha's claws aimed at Dylan's throat. Me throwing myself in front of him without thinking.

The scar still runs from my ribs to my hip. On cold nights it aches like it remembers.

"You saved my life," he'd whispered in the healing den, kissing my bandages. "I'll never forget it."

He forgot.

By sunrise, I'd made a choice. For Jacob, I'd give Dylan one more chance. One real conversation. No yelling.

I went downstairs to make breakfast.

Two suitcases sat in the front hall. Pink leather. Monogrammed *A.R.*

"Oh, good morning!"

Anna was at the breakfast table, sipping coffee from *my* mug. She had on one of Dylan's white dress shirts. Nothing else, as far as I could tell. Her bare legs were crossed, one foot bouncing.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Didn't Dylan tell you?" She pressed a hand to her chest. "Living alone in that cottage was killing me, Quinn. Every room smells like Mark. I wake up and reach for him and he's just... gone." Her voice cracked right on cue. "I needed family. Dylan said I could stay as long as I want."

"As long as you want."

"Mm-hmm." She set the mug down and smiled at me over the rim. "Being the sister-in-law is so convenient, isn't it? Dylan will never leave me."

My fingers curled around the back of a chair until the wood bit into my palm.

"That's his shirt," I said.

"Is it? I grabbed the first thing in the laundry."

"Take it off. Go get dressed. And watch yourself in my house, Anna. You're a guest here. Act like one."

Her lower lip trembled. Her eyes slid past me.

"Quinn."

Dylan stood in the doorway, hair still wet. A few of the pack's warriors stood behind him, plates in hand, freezing in place like they'd walked into a fight.

"Apologize," he said.

I actually smiled. I don't know why. "For what?"

"For attacking a woman who buried her mate three years ago." His voice carried. He wanted it to carry. "She's alone. She's hurting. And you're standing here jealous over a *shirt*?"

"Dylan, you know exactly why—"

"I know you're being petty. In front of my warriors." His eyes went hard. "Anna is family. If you can't be kind to her, at least keep your mouth shut."

Anna dabbed at her eye with her sleeve. His sleeve.

"It's okay," she sniffed. "She doesn't mean it."

Nobody said a word as I walked out.

That night, Jacob burned up.

I found him curled under his blanket, cheeks blotchy red, Mr. Biscuit clamped in his fist. His skin felt like a stovetop.

The thermometer beeped. 104.

"Mommy," he mumbled. "My head is too big."

"I know, baby. I've got you."

I called Dr. Morrow. Voicemail. I called again. On the third try, his nurse picked up.

"He's at the eastern border, Luna. A patrol got ambushed. He won't be back until tomorrow."

"My son has a fever of a hundred and four."

"Then you need to get him to the human hospital. Now."

I ran down the hall and threw open the bedroom door.

Dylan was on the bed, scrolling his phone.

"Jacob's sick. Really sick. The doctor's gone and I need you to drive us to the hospital. Please."

He sat up. "How bad?"

"A hundred and four, Dylan. *Please*."

For a second he looked like the man I married. He was off the bed in one move. He scooped Jacob out of his blankets and carried him down to the car while I grabbed the bag and Jacob's shoes.

Rain was already hammering the driveway. Dylan laid Jacob across the back seat and tucked the blanket under his chin.

Then he stopped.

His eyes went glassy and unfocused. The Mind Link.

"Dylan?"

He pressed two fingers to his temple. His face changed. Softened.

"Anna," he said out loud. "Slow down. Breathe."

I grabbed his arm. "What is she saying?"

"She dreamed about Mark. She's falling apart. She says—" His throat moved. "She says she doesn't want to live anymore."

"She's in the guest house. Fifty yards away. Send someone."

"I'm not sending *someone*. She'll do something stupid."

He leaned into the back seat, lifted Jacob out, and pushed him into my arms.

I staggered under the weight. "You're *leaving*?"

"You can drive. It's twenty minutes."

Jacob's hot little hand found his father's sleeve. His eyes barely opened.

"Daddy," he whispered. "Don't go, okay?"

Dylan peeled his fingers off.

"You're five now, buddy. You need to learn to be strong."

He turned and jogged across the lawn toward the guest house lights. He didn't look back. Not once.

Jacob didn't cry. That was the worst part. He just turned his face into my neck and went quiet.

I buckled him in and drove.

The rain came down so hard the wipers couldn't keep up. I hunched over the wheel, following the white lines, talking the whole way so Jacob would hear my voice.

"Stay with me, baby. Tell me about dinosaurs. Which one's the biggest?"

"...Argentino... saurus."

"That's right. Keep going."

"Mommy... it's really dark."

"I know. We're almost there."

I ran him into the emergency room soaking wet, screaming for a nurse.

They took him from me at 11:47. I remember because I stared at the clock over the doors the whole time they worked on him.

At four in the morning, a doctor with tired eyes found me in the waiting room.

"His fever broke. He's stable. You got him here just in time."

I thanked her. I think I thanked her five times.

Then I sat down beside Jacob's bed, held his cool little hand, and pulled out my phone to text Dylan that his son was alive.

Anna's post was at the top of my feed.

A photo. Dark bedroom. Dylan asleep on his side, his arm wrapped tight around her waist, his face buried in her hair. Peaceful. Like he didn't have a son in the world.

*Thank you for always putting me first.* 💕

I stared at it until the screen dimmed.

Then I tapped it awake again and looked at the timestamp.

Posted 11:47 PM.

The exact minute they wheeled my son into the ER.

My hand stopped shaking.

And I started to plan.