My Alpha Believed His Mistress and Tried to Kill Me

The world didn't fade to black like in the movies. It faded to red. A thick, suffocating crimson that smelled of iron and betrayal. I was floating, drifting away from the pain in my throat and the hollow ache in my womb, but the sounds of the emergency room kept dragging me back.

"BP is dropping! She's crashing!"

"Get the defibrillator! Now!"

I felt the cold press of pads against my chest, then a jolt that lifted my broken body off the table. But I didn't want to go back. Why would I? Back there, I was silent. Back there, my mate had looked at me with eyes full of murder because a liar told him to. Back there, my baby was gone.

Through the glass of the observation window, I saw him. Nicolas. He was slumped against the wall, sliding down until he hit the floor. His hands were gripping his chest, clawing at his dress shirt as if trying to rip out his own heart. The bond. He felt it. He felt the light of my soul flickering out.

Good.

I hoped it hurt. I hoped it burned him the way his rejection had burned me.

"We're losing her! Time of death..."

The machine let out a long, high-pitched whine. A flatline. The sound of freedom.

Dr. Elena Frost looked up at the monitor, then at the window where Nicolas was now pounding on the glass, screaming silently, his Alpha composure shattered. Elena’s eyes met mine—or rather, the empty shell I had left behind. She gave a microscopic nod.

"Call it," she whispered to the nurse, her voice trembling just enough to be convincing. "Luna Cecilia Anderson. Time of death: 11:42 AM."

Darkness finally took me, but it wasn't the end. It was just the intermission.

***

I woke up to the sensation of cold. Bone-deep, shivering cold. The smell of antiseptic was gone, replaced by the scent of pine and exhaust fumes.

"Easy, Cece. Easy now."

The voice was rough, familiar. It smelled like old leather and rainstorms. I forced my heavy eyelids open. I was in the back of a van, strapped to a gurney. Wires were hooked up to a portable machine that beeped rhythmically next to my head.

"Dad?" The word was a mangled croak. My throat felt like it had been shredded.

"Don't speak," Arthur Anderson said, his face looming over me. He looked older than the last time I’d seen him, the silver streaks in his hair more pronounced. He adjusted the IV drip hanging from the van's ceiling. "Your throat... Nicolas did a number on you. Elena stitched it up before we moved you, but you need to rest."

I tried to sit up, panic flaring. "Nicolas... he thinks..."

"He thinks you're dead," my father said grimly. He placed a warm hand on my shoulder, pushing me back down. "They're burying an empty casket right now. A closed casket, out of 'respect' for the damage the Alpha did."

A bitter laugh bubbled in my chest, turning into a cough that rattled my ribs. A funeral for the Luna he killed. I wondered if Simone was there, fake-crying into a handkerchief, or if she was already measuring the windows for new drapes in the Alpha's suite.

"Why?" I rasped. "Why save me?"

Arthur’s expression hardened. The mask of the businessman fell away, revealing the Rogue King beneath. His eyes flashed with a dangerous, predatory light. "Because you are my daughter. And because the Anderson line does not bow to broken Alphas."

The van hit a bump, and I winced. Through the small rear window, I saw snow-capped mountains in the distance. We weren't in New York anymore. We weren't even close.

"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

"The Alps," he said softly. "My stronghold. It’s the only place his reach cannot extend. We have healers there—real ones, not witches like that Whitehall woman. They will fix your throat. They will fix your body."

He paused, looking down at my hands. They were pale, trembling, stained with dried blood under my fingernails. My wedding ring was gone. Elena must have taken it off.

"But the rest," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that carried the weight of a promise, "the rest is up to you. You died today, Cecilia. The silent, obedient girl who let them break her is gone."

I closed my eyes, feeling the vibration of the road beneath me. He was right. That girl had died on the floor of the Alpha's office, choking on her own blood while her mate watched.

I reached up and touched the thick bandages around my neck. Underneath, I knew there would be a scar. A jagged, ugly line to match the one on my womb. But scars were just reminders.

"I want to kill him," I whispered. The thought didn't scare me. It grounded me.

My father smiled, a cold, terrifying expression that mirrored the ice in my own heart. "Good. But death is too easy for Nicolas Blackwood. First, we make him regret he ever learned to howl."

The van sped up, carrying me away from the Blood Moon Pack, away from the pain, and toward a future where I would no longer be the victim. I let the darkness take me again, but this time, I wasn't falling. I was waiting.