Alpha Pays for Deception

The morning sun cast long shadows across the pack house as I made my way to Charles's office, our son's small hand clutched in mine. He'd been asking about his ceremony preparations every day for a week, his three-year-old excitement slowly dimming into confused disappointment.

"Papa promised he'd teach me the moon songs today," he whispered as we approached the heavy oak door. "Elder Patricia said I need to know them before my ceremony."

I knocked softly, then entered without waiting for permission. Charles sat behind his mahogany desk, but he wasn't reviewing patrol reports or pack business. Instead, he was carefully examining what looked like ceremonial sketches—detailed drawings of ritual robes and sacred arrangements.

"Charles, we need to discuss—"

"Not now, Layla." He didn't even look up from the papers. "I'm in the middle of something important."

Our son stepped forward eagerly. "Papa! Are those drawings for my ceremony? Elder Patricia showed me pictures of the special robes Alpha pups wear. Are you making mine?"

Charles finally glanced up, and the irritation in his green eyes made my wolf recoil. "These aren't for you. And honestly, Layla, you need to stop filling his head with nonsense about these meaningless traditions."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Meaningless traditions?"

"Yes." Charles set down his pen with deliberate force. "All this pomp and ceremony—it's outdated. The boy doesn't need some elaborate ritual to know he's an Alpha. He'll figure it out when he's older."

I felt our son's hand tighten in mine, saw the way his shoulders slumped as his father dismissed something that meant everything to a young Alpha pup. "Charles, these aren't meaningless traditions. They're sacred rites that connect our bloodline to the Moon Goddess. Your father—"

"My father is dead, Layla." His voice carried that Alpha command that used to make me feel protected but now felt like a weapon. "And I'm not going to waste time on ancient superstitions when there are real pack matters to handle."

"Real pack matters like whatever you're working on there?" I gestured to the ceremonial sketches scattered across his desk.

For just a moment, something guilty flickered across his face before the mask of Alpha authority slid back into place. "Yes. Important pack business that you wouldn't understand."

The dismissal stung, but it was our son's quiet sniffle that shattered my heart completely. I knelt beside him, pulling him close as tears gathered in his green eyes.

"Why doesn't Papa want to teach me?" he whispered against my shoulder. "Am I not a good Alpha pup?"

"You're perfect, sweetheart," I murmured, shooting Charles a look that should have melted steel. "Sometimes grown-ups make mistakes about what's important."

Charles had already returned to his sketches, effectively dismissing both of us. "Take him to the elders if you're so concerned about tradition. I have actual responsibilities."

I led our son from the office, my hands shaking with suppressed rage and heartbreak. But as we walked down the hallway, I caught sight of movement in the pack gardens through the tall windows.

Charles was there.

I blinked hard, certain I was seeing things. We'd just left him in his office, but there he was in the dawn-lit gardens, sitting on the stone bench beneath the ancient oak tree. And he wasn't alone.

Elle Webb sat beside him, closer than any pack healer should sit to her Alpha. She held a delicate porcelain cup in her hands—the same pattern as our wedding china—and was lifting it to Charles's lips with an intimacy that made my stomach clench.

I watched in horrified fascination as my mate accepted the tea from her hands, his eyes closing in what looked like bliss as he swallowed. The bitter scent of wolfsbane drifted through the open window, confirming what I'd suspected for days.

But it was their body language that truly broke me. Charles leaned into Elle's touch as she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. She whispered something that made him smile—actually smile—in a way I hadn't seen in months. When she rested her head against his shoulder, he didn't pull away. Instead, he wrapped his arm around her, holding her close as if she belonged there.

As if she was his mate.

"Mama?" Our son tugged at my skirt. "Why are you crying?"

I hadn't realized tears were streaming down my face until he pointed them out. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Let's go find Elder Patricia about your ceremony lessons."

But as we walked away, I heard footsteps approaching from behind. Beta Marcus Reid's familiar scent reached me before his voice did.

"Luna Layla? Might I have a word?"

I turned to find Marcus looking unusually serious, his brown eyes filled with concern that made my already fragile composure threaten to crumble completely.

"Of course, Marcus. What is it?"

He glanced around nervously, then gestured toward a private alcove away from listening ears. "It's about the Alpha, Luna. And I'm afraid what I have to say won't be easy to hear."