Betrayed by the Wolf Who Swore to Protect Me

In the world of werewolves, a deposed Alpha never survives long under a new regime. If they do, it’s only to endure humiliation.

Archer Medina, the ruthless Alpha of the Red Fang Pack, seemed determined to make Paul Shaw suffer. He forced Paul, broken and disheveled, to serve drinks to the guests at the banquet. Paul’s once-proud aura was now a shadow of its former self, his head bowed, his movements slow and deliberate as he moved among the tables.

The room was tense, the air thick with discomfort. Most of the wolves exchanged uneasy glances, but Makai Murphy, the Gamma, seemed unbothered. He even went out of his way to make things harder for Paul, spilling his drink multiple times, forcing Paul to crawl under the table to retrieve the fallen glass. It was a humiliating display, one that made my stomach twist.

Behind me, a pup from the pack whispered to his mother, his voice innocent and confused.

"Mom, why is Alpha Archer being so mean to him?"

His mother quickly shushed him, her voice low but sharp. "Quiet, little one. He’s a traitor. He deserves it."

Weston Rice, sitting nearby, turned to the pup with a calm, almost gentle expression.

"Paul Shaw once betrayed our pack," he explained, his tone measured but firm. "When Archer was just a Beta, Paul’s actions led to the death of someone very dear to him. Archer is making him pay for that now."

The pup tilted his head, still not fully understanding. "But if Archer cared about that person so much, why didn’t he protect them?"

Weston hesitated, caught off guard by the child’s simple logic.

Our seats were tucked in the back, near the draped curtains that separated the banquet hall from the rest of the packhouse. The atmosphere was more relaxed here, the wolves less formal as the night wore on. The pup slipped away from his mother and trotted over to me, his big, curious eyes fixed on mine.

"Are you Weston’s mate?" he asked, his voice loud enough to carry.

Weston’s face flushed, and he stammered, "No, she’s not—but I’d never let anything like that happen to her."

The pup’s question struck a chord. Even a child could see the hypocrisy in Archer’s actions. I reached out and gently brushed the pup’s soft cheek, offering him a small smile.

"You’re a clever one," I said, my voice warm.

He held up a stubborn, unopened water chestnut, his little fingers struggling to peel it. I took it from him and used a small silver knife from the table to cut off the ends, then gently pried it open to reveal the white flesh inside.

The pup’s face lit up as he took it from me. "You’re so good at this! My mom says only wolves from the southern packs know how to peel these. Are you from the south?"

I froze. Adele Dean’s family had always been part of the Blue Moon Pack in the north. I’d never even been to the southern territories. Weston, who knew my history, was watching me closely now, his brow furrowed in suspicion.

The room had grown quiet, the pup’s voice cutting through the noise. All eyes turned toward us, curious, probing. Even from his seat at the head of the table, Archer’s gaze felt heavy on me, his scent—sharp and commanding—filling the air.

I forced myself to stay calm, setting the knife down with a steady hand. "When I was young, my family was poor," I explained, my voice even. "Our neighbor traded southern goods, and I used to help peel these for extra money."

It was a plausible story, and the wolves around me seemed to accept it, their interest waning as they returned to their drinks and conversations. Weston reached over and squeezed my hand, his voice soft. "You’ll never have to struggle like that again."

I nodded, though my heart was racing. I’d just narrowly avoided disaster.

But then Paul Shaw approached our table, his movements slow and deliberate, a bottle of strong liquor in his hand. My stomach dropped. I couldn’t drink that—not without breaking out in a rash that would give me away instantly.

As he poured the drink, I caught a glimpse of his eyes—haunted, resigned, but still holding a spark of defiance. I clenched my fists under the table, my wolf stirring uneasily in the back of my mind. This wasn’t over. Not yet.