My Alpha Planned My Death to Give My Luna Title Away

The attic door didn't just open; it slammed against the wall, vibrating with the force of Henry’s rage. I didn't flinch. I was done flinching.

I was carefully folding the last of my plain cotton shirts into my duffel bag when Henry stormed into my sanctuary. His chest was heaving, his tie loosened, the perfect image of an Alpha who had lost control of his narrative. His eyes swept over the room—my room—landing not on me, but on the drafting table in the corner.

It was covered in blueprints. The Western Perimeter upgrades. The sensor calibration charts. The structural reinforcements for the nursery. The lifeblood of the Silver Creek Pack, drawn in my handwriting.

"You think you can just leave?" Henry snarled, crossing the room in two strides. "You think you can walk out of here and embarrass me?"

"You embarrassed yourself, Henry," I said, my voice quiet. "I'm just removing the audience."

He laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "You’re taking nothing. You came here with nothing, you leave with nothing."

He grabbed the stack of blueprints. My breath hitched—not out of fear, but out of sheer disbelief at his stupidity. Those weren't just drawings. They were the only reason his pack hadn't been overrun by rogues three months ago.

"Henry, don't," I warned, stepping forward. "Those are the defensive grid schematics. You don't know how to read the backups."

"I don't need your scribbles!" he shouted. With a violent rip, he tore the blueprints in half. Then again. He threw the confetti of blue and white paper into the air, letting it rain down around us like the ashes of his future. "You think you're important? You’re a wolfless Omega who played with pencils while I led this pack!"

He wasn't done. He kicked the drafting table, the wood splintering under his Alpha strength. My inkwells shattered. The rulers snapped. In seconds, five years of strategic defense planning was reduced to kindling.

"Get out," he breathed, pointing a trembling finger at the door. "Before I kill you myself."

I looked at the ruined drawings on the floor. I felt a cold, hard knot tighten in my chest. He had just destroyed his own shield.

I zipped my bag. "Goodbye, Henry."

I walked past him, down the narrow stairs, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I needed to get to the border. Once I crossed the territory line, I was a rogue, but I was free.

I reached the back door of the pack house, my hand hovering over the handle, when the sirens began to wail.

It was the Intruder Alarm—a sound I had designed to trigger only during a full-scale invasion. Then, Henry’s voice boomed over the Pack Link, amplified through the PA system for those who couldn't hear the telepathic channel.

*"All units! Stop Sloan Patterson! She has looted the treasury! She is fleeing with pack funds! Detain her at all costs!"*

The lie was so audacious, so completely backward, that I almost laughed. I hadn't stolen from the treasury; I *was* the treasury. Every cent in that vault had come from my private accounts.

But the warriors wouldn't know that. To them, I was just a fleeing thief.

I burst out the door into the cool night air, my boots slamming against the gravel. I didn't run toward the main road. That was suicide. I turned sharp left, sprinting toward the dense forest that bordered the eastern ridge.

I knew exactly where to run. I knew because I had left the gaps there intentionally.

*Camera 4 has a three-second lag,* I reminded myself, ducking under a low-hanging branch. I counted the beats—one, two, three—and dashed across the open clearing just as the lens swiveled away.

*The pressure sensors in Sector 7 are offline for maintenance.* I hit the dirt path, ignoring the burning in my lungs. My human body was weak, far weaker than the wolves hunting me, but my mind was the architect of this terrain.

I could hear them behind me—the heavy thud of paws, the snapping of twigs. They were fast. Too fast.

I pushed harder, my legs screaming in protest. The roar of the Silver River grew louder ahead, a thunderous sound of rushing water that marked the edge of the territory. There was no bridge here. Just a sheer drop and the violent, white-capped current that had claimed a dozen lives over the years.

I broke through the tree line and skidded to a halt on the muddy bank. The river raged below, black and swollen from the recent rains.

I turned around, chest heaving, trapped between the water and the woods.

Three wolves emerged from the shadows.

Henry was in his human form, shirtless, his chest heaving as he shifted back to mock me. Beside him stood Maddison, looking smug and untouched, still in her red dress. And flanking them, silent and grim, was Beta Joshua White.

"End of the line, Sloan," Henry panted, a cruel grin stretching across his face. "Nowhere left to run."

"Hand over the bag," Maddison sneered, stepping closer, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Let's see what you stole."

I clutched the strap of my bag tighter, feeling the weight of the Lycan Crest Brooch pinned over my heart. They thought I was trapped. They didn't realize that the only thing keeping them safe was the fact that I hadn't shifted yet.