My Alpha Abandoned Our Son for the Pack’s Healer’s Boy

A week passed in cold silence. The weight of Nash's words—"Why does Alpha Joseph love Talon more?"—hung between us like an invisible barrier. I moved through the pack house like a ghost, avoiding Joseph's attempts at conversation, focusing instead on preparations for Nash's Coming of Age ceremony.

In werewolf culture, the ceremony marked a pup's transition from childhood to preparation for future leadership. The ancestral Silverclaw Dagger—passed down through generations of Alphas—would be presented to Nash as a symbol of his heritage and destiny.

I was arranging ceremonial flowers in the great hall when Joseph cornered me, his eyes desperate.

"Sophia, we need to talk." He glanced around to ensure we were alone. "About Nash's ceremony."

I continued placing white lilies in the silver vase. "What about it?"

"I know things have been... difficult." He ran a hand through his hair—that familiar gesture that once made my heart flutter but now only irritated me. "But I want to make this right."

I finally looked up at him. "Make what right, Joseph? The fact that you abandoned our son's birthday? That you protected another child over your heir? Or perhaps you're referring to the restaurant incident where you humiliated us both?"

"All of it," he said quietly. "I've been... wrong."

The admission hung between us, unexpected enough that I set down the flowers and gave him my full attention.

"The dagger is polished and ready," he continued, his voice gaining strength. "In my safe, where it's been for weeks. I've been preparing for this ceremony since Nash turned four."

I narrowed my eyes. "The ceremony that's happening tomorrow?"

"Yes." He stepped closer, his scent—once so comforting—now making my wolf bristle. "This will be solely about Nash. About us. No distractions."

"No Carla?" I asked flatly.

"No Carla," he confirmed. "I promise."

I wanted to believe him. For Nash's sake, I needed to believe him.

---

Later that night, I slipped out of bed and padded silently through the darkened pack house. Something about Joseph's promise felt wrong, and my wolf was restless.

As I passed Carla's cabin on the edge of the territory, a light flickered in an upstairs window. Curiosity drew me closer.

The window was cracked open, and through the gap, I saw Carla standing at her bathroom sink. Her back was to me, but I could see her hands working methodically over a small vial.

"Just a little more," she murmured to herself. "Enough to make you sick, not enough to kill you."

She was carefully measuring a clear liquid into a juice box—the kind children carry to school. My blood ran cold as I recognized the distinctive purple tint of diluted Wolfsbane.

"For Uncle Alpha," she continued, her voice taking on a singsong quality. "He needs to save you again."

She turned toward the bedroom where Talon slept, and I ducked behind a tree. When I looked back, she was leaning over her son's bed, her fingers pinching his arm with calculated precision.

Talon woke with a cry of pain. "Mommy, why did you—"

"Hush now," she whispered, producing the poisoned juice box. "Drink this. It will make you feel better."

The boy took the box obediently, his eyes wide with trust as he drank the poisoned liquid.

My stomach churned with horror. Not only was Carla manipulating Joseph, but she was actively harming her own child to maintain her hold on him.

---

The morning of the ceremony dawned bright and clear. I helped Nash into his ceremonial robes—silver and white, embroidered with the pack emblem over his heart.

"You look so handsome," I whispered, adjusting the collar. "Like a true future Alpha."

Nash's eyes shone with excitement. "Will Dad be proud?"

"Of course he will," I assured him, though my confidence was wavering. "Now, let's go get your dagger."

We found Joseph in his study, reviewing ceremony protocols. He looked up as we entered, his expression carefully composed.

"Perfect timing," he said, setting down the papers. "I was just heading to get the dagger."

"Good," I replied. "Nash is ready."

Joseph hesitated, then moved toward the wall safe behind his desk. "Just... give me a minute."

I watched as he punched in the combination—our mating date—and opened the heavy door. His hand disappeared inside, rummaging through the contents.

"Joseph?" I asked after a moment. "Is there a problem?"

"No," he said quickly, too quickly. "Just... looking for the right box."

But I could see the growing panic in his eyes as he continued searching, his movements becoming more frantic. When he turned back to us, his face had drained of color.

"Sophia, I can't find it," he admitted, unable to meet my gaze. "It was right here. I swear it was right here."

Nash's small hand found mine, squeezing tightly as his father's words registered.

"The Silverclaw Dagger," Joseph continued, his voice rising with desperation. "It's... it's gone."