My Alpha Risked Our Pup for His Mistress

I was scrubbing pots in the kitchen when I overheard Sloan's voice from the hallway. She was speaking to Cole in hushed tones, but my enhanced hearing caught every word.

"There's only one solution," she murmured, her voice dripping with false concern. "The Wolf Rot has progressed too far. Isla is dying."

I froze, my hands still plunged in the grimy water. Dying? I felt weak, yes—devastated by the loss of my pup and the betrayal of my mate—but dying?

"What do you suggest?" Cole's voice was cold, detached. The man who once looked at me with warmth now spoke of my death as casually as if discussing the weather.

"An ancient ritual," Sloan replied. "One that can save the pack while... easing her suffering."

I strained to hear more, my heart pounding against my ribs.

"The White Wolf essence is still within her," Sloan continued. "Dormant, yes, but powerful. If we extract it before she passes—"

"Extract it?" Cole interrupted. "How?"

Sloan's voice dropped lower, forcing me to lean closer to the door. "We transfer it to someone else. Someone strong enough to wield its power."

There was a long pause, and I held my breath.

"You want her power," Cole finally said, not a question but a realization.

"I want what's best for the pack," Sloan corrected smoothly. "Think of it, Cole. With the White Wolf's healing abilities, we could build an unstoppable army. No more losses. No more weakness."

I heard Cole's sharp intake of breath. "And Isla?"

"The ritual is... final," Sloan admitted. "But it's merciful, don't you see? She's suffering now. This way, her wolf's essence lives on in service to the pack."

My hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the sink. They were discussing my death—my wolf's death—as if it were a business transaction.

"Make the preparations," Cole said finally, his voice hardening with resolve. "Tonight."

---

Two guards came for me at sunset.

"By order of Alpha Cole," one announced formally, "you are to be detained for questioning."

I didn't resist as they grabbed my arms. What was the point? My wolf remained silent within me, still conserving energy after our loss.

Instead of the usual interrogation room, they led me down a narrow staircase I'd never seen before. The air grew colder, damper with each step. We descended deeper than the basement level, into a part of the pack house I hadn't known existed.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Somewhere secure," the second guard replied, not meeting my eyes.

At the bottom of the stairs, a heavy metal door barred our way. The first guard produced a key and unlocked it with a metallic scrape that echoed in the darkness.

The room beyond was small and circular, with stone walls that glistened with moisture. In the center stood a table—ancient, stone, with runes carved into its surface. Silver chains dangled from each corner.

"Strap her down," a familiar voice commanded.

Sloan stepped from the shadows, her smile triumphant as she circled the table. She wore a black robe embroidered with symbols I didn't recognize—symbols that made my skin crawl.

"Do you like it?" she asked, gesturing to the room. "The silver lining helps contain the magic. We wouldn't want your precious essence escaping."

The guards forced me onto the table, securing my wrists and ankles with the silver chains. The metal burned against my skin, sending waves of pain up my arms.

"Cole!" I called out, knowing he must be nearby. "Don't do this!"

"He's not here," Sloan said, leaning close. "He couldn't bear to watch. But don't worry—I'll make sure you feel everything."

She produced a ceremonial dagger from within her robes—its handle carved from bone, its blade etched with more of those unsettling symbols.

"Did you really think I didn't know what you were?" she hissed, tracing the flat of the blade across my collarbone. "The great White Wolf, hiding in plain sight."

I turned my face away, but she gripped my chin, forcing me to look at her.

"I've been tracking your bloodline for years," she continued, her eyes gleaming with obsession. "Do you know how rare you are? How powerful?"

"Please," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. "I never hurt anyone."

"That's the problem," Sloan said, her voice hardening. "You were supposed to be a legend—not some pathetic Luna playing house with an Alpha who doesn't deserve you."

The dagger pressed against my throat, its tip drawing a thin line of blood.

"I knew about your pregnancy," she admitted, her lips curving into a cruel smile. "It was so easy to arrange the Wolfsbane demonstration. One little vial, and your pup was gone—along with your protection."

Horror washed over me as her words sank in. "You poisoned me? You killed my baby?"

"I weakened you," she corrected. "The Wolfsbane did what it was meant to do—reveal your true nature. A White Wolf can't hide forever, Isla."

She raised the dagger above her head, its blade catching the dim light as she prepared to strike.

"Your wolf will die tonight," she whispered. "But its power will live on—in me."