My Alpha Credited My Work to His Dead Mate

The sheets were silk. Real silk. Not the scratchy cotton blends the omegas were allowed to salvage from the donation bins, but cool, slippery fabric that felt like water against my skin. I woke with a gasp, my hands flying up to cover my face, expecting a blow. Expecting the scullery floor.

But the air didn’t smell like bleach and mildew. It smelled of pine, rain, and deep, dark earth.

"Easy," a voice rumbled from the corner of the room.

I flinched so hard I nearly fell off the massive bed. Alpha Evander Holmes was sitting in a wingback chair, reading a book. He looked too big for the furniture, his shoulders broad enough to block out the sunlight streaming through the window. His wolf, Shadow, was a sprawling mass of black fur at his feet. The beast lifted its head, chuffed softly, and laid it back down.

"You’re safe, Vivian," Evander said, closing the book. He didn't approach me. He stayed perfectly still, telegraphing that he wasn't a threat. "You’ve been asleep for two days."

Two days? Panic clawed at my throat. The scullery schedule. The floors. Cullen would kill me.

Then I remembered. The rejection. The pain. The rescue.

Evander stood up, and I shrank back against the headboard. A man in a suit entered the room—Beta Marcus, if I remembered correctly—carrying a tray of food. He froze when he saw Evander near the bed.

"Alpha," Marcus said, his voice tight. "Shadow… he’s letting her be this close?"

"Leave the tray, Marcus," Evander commanded without looking away from me.

Marcus set the food down quickly and backed out, casting a bewildered look at the giant black wolf that usually tore intruders apart. Shadow just thumped his tail against the floorboards.

Evander brought the tray to the bedside table. "Eat. You’re malnourished."

I hesitated. In Silver Creek, omegas ate last. We ate leftovers. To take food before an Alpha was a punishable offense. My hands trembled as I reached for a roll.

"You don't need permission," Evander said gently. He picked up the book he’d been reading and tapped the cover. "Do you know this author?"

I squinted. *Structural Integrity of Ancient Lycan Strongholds.*

"I… I’ve read it," I whispered, my voice rusty. "Chapter four is wrong."

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I clamped a hand over my mouth, eyes widening. You didn't correct an Alpha. You didn't speak unless spoken to.

Evander didn't strike me. He just tilted his head. "Show me."

He handed me the book and a pencil. My fingers itched. The moment the graphite touched the paper, the fear receded, replaced by the only thing that had ever made sense to me: lines and angles.

"Here," I sketched rapidly in the margin. "The load-bearing arch for the underground tunnels. If you use granite like he suggests, the moisture from the earth will crack the keystone within five years. You need reinforced limestone or a steel beam disguised as timber."

I looked up to find Evander staring at me. Not with pity, and not with lust. He was looking at me like I was the most valuable thing in the room.

"He stole everything, didn't he?" Evander asked softly. "Every single idea."

I nodded, tears pricking my eyes. "He burned my journals. All except the ones hidden under the floorboards in the omega quarters."

Evander’s eyes darkened. "Then we’re going to get them back."

***

That night, the moon was a sliver of bone in the sky. We didn't take an army. Just Evander, myself, and the darkness.

He called it a "training run," but as we slipped through the dense forest bordering the Silver Creek territory, I knew it was an act of war. Evander moved through the woods like smoke, his powerful body making no sound. I struggled to keep up, but every time I stumbled, his hand was there to steady me.

The Silver Creek pack house loomed ahead. My heart hammered against my ribs. This was suicide. If Cullen caught us…

"Trust me," Evander murmured against my ear, his breath warm.

We bypassed the sensors—I knew exactly where the blind spots were; I had designed the perimeter upgrades Cullen never implemented because they were 'too expensive.' We slipped into the servants' entrance. The smell of the scullery hit me, triggering a wave of nausea, but I pushed past it.

My old room was a closet, really. I dropped to my knees, prying up the loose floorboard under the cot. There they were. Three leather-bound journals, dated and signed. My proof.

"Got them," I breathed, clutching them to my chest.

"Well, well," a sharp voice cut through the dark. "The rat returns to its nest."

I spun around. Grace Barnes stood in the doorway. Sofia’s younger sister. She looked just like the portrait of Sofia—blonde, beautiful, and sneering. She held a flashlight, the beam blinding me.

"Stealing back your little doodles?" Grace laughed, stepping closer. "Cullen told me you were delusional. He said you seduced Alpha Holmes to get revenge."

"They're mine," I said, my voice shaking but defiant.

Grace reached for the journals. "Hand them over, Omega. Before I scream and bring the whole pack down on you."

Suddenly, a low, tectonic rumble filled the tiny room. Evander stepped out of the shadows behind me. He didn't shift, but his eyes were glowing with such intense, predatory violence that the flashlight shook in Grace’s hand.

*"Get. Out."*

The Alpha command hit the air like a physical blow. Grace turned pale, dropping the flashlight. She scrambled backward, tripping over her own feet, and fled down the hallway without a word.

"We need to move," Evander said, grabbing my hand. "Now."

***

By the next morning, the fallout had begun.

We were back at the Obsidian Pack house, safe behind Evander’s borders, but the news was everywhere. Cullen had gone on the offensive.

On the television screen in Evander’s office, Cullen stood next to Alpha Barnes. He looked haggard, his eyes wild, but his voice was smooth.

"Vivian Hart is a thief and a traitor," Cullen declared to the cameras. "She has stolen proprietary designs belonging to the Silver Creek Pack. Designs inspired by my late mate, Sofia. Furthermore, she has conspired with the Obsidian Pack to undermine our alliance."

Alpha Barnes stepped forward, his face red with fury. "If Alpha Holmes does not return the thief and the stolen property for a tribunal, the Blood Moon Pack will consider this an act of aggression."

I sank into the chair, the journals heavy in my lap. "They want a war," I whispered. "Over me."

Evander turned off the TV. "Let them come."

"No," I said. I stood up, surprising myself. The fear was still there, but something else was rising through the cracks. Anger. Pure, hot anger. "Cullen wants to play the genius? He wants to pretend he understands architecture?"

I walked over to Evander’s desk and slammed the journals down.

"The Lycan Architectural Showcase is in two weeks," I said, my voice gaining strength. "It’s judged by the High Council. Blind entries."

Evander raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You want to enter."

"Cullen’s 'Moonlight Fortress' is a prison," I said, pacing the room. My hands started moving in the air, tracing lines only I could see. "It’s walls and cages. It’s fear. I don't want to build a fortress. I want to build a sanctuary."

I looked at Evander. "The Phoenix Sanctuary. Housing for Rogues. For Omegas. For the people the packs throw away. A place that uses the landscape instead of fighting it."

Evander walked around the desk and took my hands in his. His thumbs brushed over my callouses—the marks of my slavery, now the tools of my liberation.

"Draw it, Vivian," he commanded softly. "Burn him to the ground with it."