Alpha's True Mate

The silence that followed Noel's desperate attempt to blame me for everything was broken by Cora's theatrical sigh. She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of the silk sheet, her movements deliberately graceful despite her exposed state.

"Beckham," she began, her voice trembling with practiced vulnerability, "this was a terrible mistake."

I watched in disbelief as she transformed before my eyes—the contemptuous woman who had mocked me moments ago vanishing behind a mask of contrition.

"I was lonely," she continued, her lower lip quivering. "You've been so distant lately, always busy with pack affairs. Noel took advantage of my vulnerability."

Her performance was flawless—the perfect blend of tears and remorse that would appeal to an Alpha's protective instincts. I felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat but swallowed it back.

"Noel seduced me," she insisted, her voice gaining strength. "I never meant for this to happen."

Beckham's expression remained unreadable, but I noticed the slight tightening of his jaw—the same tell I'd observed when Noel had tried to manipulate him.

"Cora," Beckham finally spoke, his voice dangerously soft. "You're my future Luna."

"Yes," she replied quickly, seizing the opening. "Our packs need this alliance, Beckham. Your father arranged our betrothal for a reason."

She stepped closer to him, her voice dropping to an intimate register. "We can move past this. What matters is the future of our packs, not... minor indiscretions."

I stared at her in astonishment. Minor indiscretions? She'd just been caught in bed with another man—my supposed mate—and she was dismissing it as a minor inconvenience to their political arrangement.

"Our betrothal transcends personal feelings," she continued, her confidence visibly growing as she saw Beckham's silence as consideration rather than disgust. "I'll make a wonderful Luna. This... this was just a moment of weakness."

She glanced at me then, her mask slipping just enough to reveal the contempt beneath. "Some people simply don't understand how pack politics work."

"I understand perfectly," I said quietly.

Cora's eyes narrowed. "You understand nothing. You're just a jealous little—"

"Enough," Beckham interrupted.

But Cora wasn't finished. She turned back to Beckham, her voice taking on a practical tone that chilled me to the bone.

"We can still proceed with the engagement," she said matter-of-factly. "Pack alliances matter more than personal feelings. That's what your father always said."

I watched her with a strange detachment as she continued outlining why her betrayal should be overlooked for the greater good of pack politics. Her narcissism was breathtaking—she genuinely appeared to believe that her future Luna title functioned as armor against consequences.

"Noel and I can handle this... situation," she added, gesturing dismissively toward me. "She'll get over it."

Something inside me shifted then—not the pain subsiding, but transforming into something colder, more focused.

I reached beneath my shirt and touched the antique Alpha crest pendant that hung hidden against my skin. The familiar weight of it grounded me as I closed my eyes briefly.

"Claire?" Noel's voice held a note of uncertainty.

I ignored him, focusing instead on the mind-link that connected me to the one person who had always protected me.

*Samuel. I need you.*

The response came immediately—not words, but a surge of power that rippled through the link between us. Anyone sensitive to pack bonds would have felt it—a pulse of energy far too strong for a low-ranked wolf to possess.

Within minutes, the reinforced guest suite door opened again.

Samuel Greene stepped into the room with deliberate authority. Despite his appearance as an ordinary older werewolf—his hair graying at the temples, his build lean rather than imposing—his bearing carried unmistakable weight.

The room fell silent as he surveyed the scene with sharp eyes that missed nothing.

"Miss George," he said formally, addressing me with a respectful nod.

Just those two words—my surname, preceded by the formal title—carried weight that made several pack members in the hallway straighten their postures.

Samuel's gaze lingered on me with protective concern and something else—pride?—before sweeping over the room's occupants.

"Samuel," I acknowledged him, my voice steadier than I'd expected.

Noel and Cora exchanged worried glances as they sensed that their situation had escalated beyond their comprehension.

"Who is this?" Cora demanded, her voice losing its practiced sweetness.

Samuel didn't deign to answer her directly. Instead, he stepped closer to me, maintaining a respectful distance that spoke volumes to those who understood pack protocol.

"Miss George," he repeated, his voice carrying a weight that made even Beckham's Beta straighten his posture. "I'm here as requested."

The air in the room seemed to thicken with unspoken power as Samuel's presence transformed the dynamics of everyone present. Noel's confident smirk faltered as he looked between Samuel and me, confusion replacing his earlier arrogance.

What had been a simple confrontation was suddenly something far more complex—and dangerous.