Mate's Affair with Rival

The herbs Ezekiel pressed into my trembling hands smelled of earth and bitter hope. We sat in his private healing chamber, hidden deep within the pack house where the scent of medicinal plants would mask our conversation from any wandering wolves.

"You're asking me to watch you die in silence," he said, his weathered face etched with pain that mirrored my own. "Mila, this isn't just some minor ailment. Wolf's Bane Disease... it's a death sentence."

I clutched the small pouch of pain-relieving herbs against my chest, feeling Luna's weak flutter of acknowledgment deep in my mind. She was still there, but growing fainter each day, like a candle slowly burning down to nothing.

"Which is exactly why Roman can never know." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "If he learns about this, he'll stay out of duty. Out of guilt. I won't be the dying mate who trapped her Alpha in a loveless bond."

Ezekiel's hands stilled on the leather-bound journal he'd been preparing for me. "And what if he stays because he truly loves you?"

The question hung between us like a fragile thread. I thought of Roman's cold dismissal yesterday, the way he'd recoiled from my touch as if I carried some contagion. The photographs scattered across his desk flashed through my memory—him holding Alessandra with a tenderness he no longer showed me.

"Look at me, Ezekiel." I gestured to my reflection in the polished metal surface of his herb cabinet. My once-vibrant green eyes had dulled to the color of dying leaves, and my skin held a grayish pallor that no amount of concealer could hide. "He's already chosen his path. Learning about my condition would only burden him with guilt he doesn't deserve."

The healer's jaw tightened, but he nodded slowly. "Very well. But I want a blood oath, Mila. If your condition worsens beyond what these herbs can manage, you'll let me help you properly."

I extended my palm without hesitation. The ritual blade was sharp and quick, drawing a thin line of crimson that welled up like liquid garnets. Ezekiel matched the cut on his own hand, and we pressed our palms together.

"By moon and blood, I swear to keep your secret," he whispered, his eyes never leaving mine. "And by the same oath, you swear to let me ease your suffering when the time comes."

"I swear it," I replied, feeling the ancient magic of the oath settle into my bones like a weight I'd carry to my grave.

He handed me the journal—soft leather worn smooth by countless hands, its pages cream-colored and inviting. "Write in this. Your thoughts, your pain, your memories. When Luna is too weak to speak, let these pages hold your voice."

I traced the cover with reverent fingers. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Ezekiel said grimly. "I'm helping you die with dignity, not live with hope. The distinction matters."

Two days later, I sat in the pack meeting hall, watching my world crumble with practiced composure. Roman entered with his usual commanding presence, but this time Alessandra walked beside him—not behind, not to the side, but as an equal.

My breath caught as she moved toward the right-hand chair. My chair. The seat that had been mine for six years, a symbol of my position as Luna and Roman's chosen partner. The chair where I'd offered counsel, mediated disputes, and helped guide our pack through countless decisions.

Alessandra settled into it with fluid grace, her auburn hair catching the morning light streaming through the tall windows. She looked perfectly at home, as if she'd been born to sit there.

The pack members shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between me and the usurper in my seat. Beta Caleb's jaw was tight with barely controlled anger, while Gamma Marcus stared at his hands rather than witness this public humiliation.

I remained standing near the back wall, my spine straight and my face carefully blank. Inside, Luna whimpered—a sound so faint I almost missed it. The effort of maintaining our connection was becoming harder each day, like trying to hold water in cupped hands.

"Today we'll discuss the new territorial agreements with the neighboring packs," Roman announced, his voice carrying easily through the room. He didn't look at me once.

Throughout the meeting, pack members kept glancing my way with confused, questioning looks. Where should they direct their concerns? Who spoke for the pack's interests now? I offered them gentle nods and reassuring smiles, playing my part in this charade while my heart slowly bled out.

After the meeting ended, I lingered near the doorway, watching as pack members approached Alessandra with the same deference they'd once shown me. She accepted their attention with practiced humility, her voice soft and concerned as she discussed pack matters.

That's when I heard it—her voice carrying just a bit too clearly as she spoke to Beta Caleb near the front of the room.

"The Alpha needs a strong partner, not a decorative figurehead," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "Someone who can truly support his vision for the pack's future."

The words hit me like physical blows. Decorative figurehead. As if six years of dedication, of pouring my heart into this pack, meant nothing more than window dressing.

I pressed my back against the wall, using it to keep myself upright as Luna's presence flickered like a dying flame in my mind. The journal Ezekiel had given me felt heavy in my pocket—a repository for all the words I could no longer speak aloud.

Tonight, I would write. I would pour my breaking heart onto those cream-colored pages and let them hold what my failing wolf could no longer bear.

Because if I was truly becoming nothing more than a decorative figurehead, then at least my words would remember who I used to be.