My Alpha Rejected Me for His Mistress

The Harvest Moon Banquet was beautiful.

The grand hall glowed with candlelight and autumn garlands. Long tables lined the walls, covered in roasted venison, spiced cider, platters of bread still warm from the ovens. The visiting Alphas stood in clusters near the windows, talking in low voices. Pack members moved between the hall and the upper floors, carrying drinks, laughing, their voices blending into a warm hum that filled the space.

I stood near the far wall with a glass of cider I was not drinking. The Luna pendant was cold against my collarbone. My wrist ached under the brace, hidden beneath the long silk sleeve of my gown.

Across the hall, Declan was with the Redwater Alpha, discussing border patrols. He looked calm. Focused. He had not looked at me once since the banquet began.

Aaliyah was near the main staircase, holding Sophia's hand. She was wearing a soft pink gown with her hair swept up, and she was smiling down at the child with that warm, devoted expression she had been practicing for weeks.

Sophia looked up at her with complete trust.

My wolf stirred. Not with alarm. Just... awareness. The same awareness I had felt in the garden days ago, watching Aaliyah braid Sophia's hair.

Something was wrong.

I set my glass on a side table and moved toward the staircase. Not quickly. I did not want to draw attention. Just a Luna checking on a child at a crowded event.

But I was too slow.

Aaliyah and Sophia were already at the top of the grand staircase. The landing was wide, marble, lined with iron railings. Below, the stairs descended in a long, sweeping curve to the entry hall.

I was halfway across the hall when I saw Aaliyah lean down and whisper something in Sophia's ear. Sophia nodded and stepped closer to the railing, looking down at the guests below.

Then Aaliyah's hand moved.

It was fast. Precise. A single shove at the center of Sophia's back.

Sophia's arms flew out. She tried to catch the railing, but her hands slipped. She fell forward and tumbled down the stairs.

The sound was terrible. A series of dull, heavy impacts—body against marble, over and over, all the way down.

She landed at the base of the staircase and did not move.

For one second, the hall was silent.

Then Aaliyah screamed.

It was high and sharp and broken, the kind of scream that cuts through everything. She staggered back from the railing, her hands covering her mouth, and pointed down toward the entry hall.

"Eleanor!" she sobbed. "Oh God, Eleanor, what did you do?"

I stopped.

I was still fifteen feet from the staircase. I had not been close enough to touch Sophia. I had not been close enough to do anything.

But Aaliyah was pointing at me.

And at the base of the stairs, draped across Sophia's still body, was my mother's grey scarf.

The scarf that had been missing from my drawer for five days.

The scarf that carried my scent stronger than anything else I owned.

I could smell it from here. Clean. Herbal. Mine.

The hall erupted.

People were running toward the staircase. Sophia's mother was screaming. The healer was being called. And Declan—

Declan was already there.

He knelt beside Sophia and touched her neck, checking for a pulse. His face was white. His hands were shaking.

Then he looked up.

His eyes found mine across the hall.

They were black. Completely black. His wolf had taken over.

He stood slowly. He did not look away from me.

"Eleanor," he said.

His voice was not loud. But it filled the hall. It pressed against my ribs, my spine, the base of my skull. It was his Alpha tone, the full weight of it, and it hit my wolf like a physical blow.

She collapsed inside me. Just folded in on herself and went silent.

I could not breathe.

"Remove her," Declan said.

Two warriors moved toward me. I recognized them—Delta rank, both of them, men I had worked with for three years. Their faces were blank. They were not looking at me. They were looking at their Alpha.

They grabbed my arms.

I did not fight. There was no point. The Alpha tone was still pressing down on me, and my wolf was too weak to resist.

They dragged me across the hall.

I heard voices. Gasps. Someone said my name. I did not look at them. I looked at the floor and counted the tiles as they passed beneath my feet.

One. Two. Three.

The front door opened.

Four. Five.

They pulled me through.

The night air was cold. The gravel drive crunched under my feet. I stumbled, and one of the warriors tightened his grip on my arm.

"Keep moving," he muttered.

We were at the top of the porch steps. Below, the drive stretched out toward the pack house gates. The lights from the hall spilled out behind us, long yellow rectangles across the gravel.

Then someone shoved me.

I do not know which warrior it was. I felt the hands on my back, hard and sudden, and then I was falling.

I hit the steps halfway down. My shoulder struck first, then my ribs. The brace on my wrist cracked against the stone. I tumbled the rest of the way and landed on the gravel drive on my side.

The pain was immediate and total. My leg was wrong. I could feel it—something in my knee or my shin, broken or shattered, I could not tell. My ribs screamed. My wrist was on fire.

I lay on the gravel and stared up at the sky.

It was clear. Full of stars.

I heard footsteps. Heavy. Fast. Someone was running.

Then a voice. Low. Quiet. Dangerous.

"Don't touch her."

I turned my head.

Alpha Ryker was standing at the base of the steps. He was looking up at the two warriors on the porch. His eyes were gold. Completely gold. His wolf was at the surface.

The warriors stepped back.

Ryker knelt beside me. He did not touch me. He just looked at me, his gaze moving over my face, my leg, my wrist.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

I tried. I got my good leg under me and pushed, but the broken one would not hold. I collapsed back onto the gravel.

Ryker caught me before I hit the ground again.

He lifted me. Carefully. One arm under my shoulders, one under my knees. He stood and turned toward the drive.

"I'm taking her," he said.

He did not say it loudly. He did not need to.

No one stopped him.

He carried me down the drive toward the gates. I turned my head and looked back at the pack house.

Declan was standing in the doorway. Watching.

I pressed two fingers to the mark on my neck.

It was still cold.

Good.