My Alpha Begged Me Back

The private meeting room smelled of old leather and expensive cigars, a scent that usually made my wolf bristle. But today, I forced myself to breathe it in deeply. Across the mahogany table sat Council Elder Thaddeus Blackwood, a man whose word could dismantle entire packs.

Rosemary sat beside me, her posture relaxed but authoritative. She swirled the amber liquid in her glass, playing the part of the bored Alpha perfectly. "The rogue situation is escalating, Thaddeus. You can't deny the reports."

Thaddeus sighed, rubbing his temples. "We are aware, Alpha Larson. But rogues are disorganized. Scavengers. They don't have the coordination to breach fortified borders without leaving a trace."

I leaned forward, letting the shadows of my veil obscure my expression. "Unless they aren't breaching them, Elder. Unless the gates are being opened for them."

Thaddeus froze, his gaze snapping to me. "That is a grave accusation, Miss...?"

"Brooks," I said softly, using my surname for the first time in years. It tasted like ash and iron. "And it isn't an accusation. It's a pattern. Look at the trade routes. The attacks only happen on shipments carrying Council tithes. The rogues know exactly when the guards rotate. That isn't luck. That is paid intelligence."

I slid a folder across the table. Inside were the notes I had transcribed from Gideon and Eleanor's desperate argument the night before—dates, times, and the suspicious lack of casualties in Silverclaw territory despite the surrounding chaos. I didn't name the Silverclaw Pack directly. I didn't have to. Thaddeus was a smart man; he would see the hole where Gideon's integrity should be.

Thaddeus opened the folder. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the data. The silence in the room was heavy, suffocating.

"If this is true," Thaddeus murmured, his voice hardening, "then we have a traitor in our midst."

"Investigate the borders, Elder," I whispered, standing up. "You might find that some Alphas are more concerned with maintaining their lifestyle than protecting our laws."

We left him staring at the papers, the seed of suspicion firmly planted in the fertile soil of his mind.

***

Back in the suite, the air was thick with tension. Dr. Helena Winters was waiting for me, holding a small, clear vial.

"This is it," Helena said, her voice grim. "Concentrated scent neutralizer. It’s harmless to wolves, but it strips away any artificial scents instantly. Perfumes, colognes... and witch-crafted illusions."

I took the vial. It looked like water, but in my hands, it felt like a grenade.

"Thank you, Helena."

I moved to the service entrance of the suite. A young server, a nervous Beta boy Rosemary had vetted, was waiting. I pressed a heavy roll of bills into his hand, followed by the vial.

"The juice for the Alpha's son," I instructed, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Mix this in. Make sure he drinks it during the toast. If you fail, I will know."

The boy nodded, his eyes wide with fear, and scurried off.

The trap was set. But Andy needed a push. He was confused, scared, and surrounded by liars. I closed my eyes, reaching deep into the bond that Athena had tried so hard to sever. It was frayed, thin as a spiderweb, but it was still there.

*Andy,* I projected the thought, channeling it with the precision of my White Wolf.

I felt a jolt of surprise from two floors down. He was in his room, likely being dressed in some stiff suit he hated.

*Trust your nose, little wolf,* I whispered into his mind. *The truth smells like rain.*

The connection snapped shut before he could respond, but I felt his shock. It was enough.

***

The sun had set. The Grand Banquet was starting.

I stood before the full-length mirror in my dressing room. The black veil lay in a heap on the floor—a discarded shroud. I didn't need to hide anymore.

The gown Rosemary had commissioned for me was liquid silver. It clung to my curves like a second skin, shimmering with every breath I took. It was backless and sleeveless, designed to draw every eye in the room.

But it wasn't the silk that made me stare at my reflection. It was the arms.

For seven years, I had worn long sleeves to hide the evidence of my servitude. The burn mark on my left forearm from when Athena had "accidentally" spilled boiling soup on me. The jagged white line on my bicep from a broken plate Gideon had thrown in a drunken rage. The rough, calloused skin of a woman who had scrubbed floors until her fingers bled.

Rosemary had offered to have Helena heal them with a salve, to erase the history on my skin. I had refused.

I traced the burn mark with my fingertips. These weren't just scars. They were receipts. They were the proof of what the Silverclaw Pack had done to their own. Tonight, I wouldn't hide them. I would wear them like diamonds.

My White Wolf stirred, pacing in the back of my mind, hungry for the hunt. Her power flooded my veins, straightening my spine, lifting my chin. The terrified girl who had wept in the snow was gone.

I turned away from the mirror, the silver silk flowing around my legs like mercury.

"Let's go," I said to the empty room, my voice echoing with Alpha command. "It's time to feed."