My Alpha Rejected Me So His Mistress Could Be Luna

The lake was supposed to be frozen at the edges.

That was the last ordinary thought I had before the perimeter broke. We had walked out at first light—the pack run scheduled, casual, a display of unity for a pack that no longer felt like one. I had been placed at the rear with the Omegas because Derek had said the words *low-impact positioning* without looking at me. Camilla walked near the front, laughing at something Aiden said, the locket bright against her collar.

The first howl came from the north ridge.

Aiden's Alpha tone cut across the shoreline before the second howl finished. It hit the air like a hand slammed on a table.

"Warriors—wall on Camilla. Move her to the pack house. Now."

They moved. Twelve of them, the best he had, folding around her in a formation I had watched them practice on the training ground three weeks ago. The formation had a name. I could not remember it. My wolf tried to lift her head and could not.

I stood at the waterline with the Omegas and two Deltas whose names I did not know.

No second order came.

I turned my head toward the pack house. Aiden was already at the tree line, one hand at Camilla's back, guiding her up the path. He did not look toward the lake.

He did not look back.

The rogues came out of the water.

Three of them—larger than pack wolves, wrong-shaped in the shoulders, coats black and slick from the lake they had crossed underneath the ice shelf. The Omega beside me screamed. One of the Deltas broke and ran. The other lunged forward and was down before he finished the movement.

A rogue's jaws closed on my arm.

I told my wolf to shift.

She tried. I felt her try. It was like watching someone drown behind glass—the surge that should have carried me up into fur and claw came halfway and then folded, buckled, sank. The wolfsbane held her down the way water holds a body that has stopped fighting.

The rogue dragged me sideways off the bank.

The cold was not cold. It was a hand around my ribs, squeezing every breath out at once. My dress filled and pulled. The pup kicked once, hard, and then went still against my hip. My head went under.

I opened my eyes in the water and saw green light and the shadow of a wolf above me.

*He didn't look back.*

The thought arrived complete, in my own voice, cold and clear as the water. Not a question. A fact I had been avoiding for three years and could finally see the shape of, now that I was under it.

Something hit the water beside me. Then hands.

I came up coughing lake into a shoulder that smelled like leather and pine. Whoever was carrying me did not slow. The bank went past. The tree line. The sound of the rogues cut off somewhere behind us and I understood dimly that other wolves had engaged them, that the low ranks had done what the Alpha had not ordered them to do.

He set me down under the pines and pulled off his jacket.

Owen.

He did not look at my face. He wrapped the jacket around my shoulders, tugged it closed at my throat with hands that were shaking from cold or something else, and then he stood up and stepped back before I could form a word.

"Stay here," he said. It was not gentle. It was the voice of a man who had already turned toward the next thing he had to do. "Someone will come."

He went.

I sat under the pines with lake water in my lungs and the silver brand throbbing against the cold, and I pressed both hands flat to my belly and waited to feel the pup move.

A long time.

A very long time.

Then—small, faint, a shift near my hip.

I closed my eyes.

---

Maren came for me at dusk. She did not ask what happened. She wrapped a second blanket around me and half-carried me through the side entrance of the pack house, avoiding the main hall where I could hear Camilla's voice, warm and light, telling someone how frightening it had been, how brave Aiden was, how well the warriors had performed.

I heard Aiden's reply, distant and clipped: "Any losses?"

"Two Deltas. The Omega nearly drowned."

A pause.

"Mm."

That was the sound. That was the whole sound. *Mm.* The syllable a man makes when a report has been received and requires no further attention.

Maren's arm tightened around my ribs. She kept walking.

---

The healer's wing was warm. She stripped the wet dress off me, worked salve into the reopened brand, checked the pup with the small copper cone she used for heartbeats, and did not speak until she had covered me to the chin with three blankets and pulled a chair to the side of the cot.

She did not sit.

She stood at the head of the bed with her hands folded in front of her the way she stood when she was about to deliver news that could not be softened.

"Amelia," she said quietly.

"The pup is Camilla's."

I said it before she could.

Maren went still. Her mouth opened and closed once.

"How long have you known?"

"Since the corridor. *Genetic compatibility.* I put it together that night."

She sat down then. Slowly. She set her hands flat on her knees and looked at the wall for a moment, gathering the exact language.

"The wolfsbane treatments," she said. "The prenatal course she designed. She introduced her own genetic material through it. I don't know the mechanism—it's not in any healer text I have—but the pup you are carrying is biologically hers. You are the vessel. Nothing more."

I watched the crack in the ceiling. The thin one, above the window. It had not gotten any longer.

"Does the pup know?" I asked.

Maren blinked.

"It's—it's not born yet," she said.

I nodded. Once.

I did not speak again.