My Alpha’s Scent Was My Dead Mate’s

From my place at the edge of the grand hall, bucket and brush finally set aside, I could feel his eyes on me. Miles. Alpha heir. The wolf who'd asked for five more minutes in the pre-dawn light like it was a gift.

I didn't look up. Looking up would have required acknowledging that he was watching me scrub floors while he sat at the head table in tailored clothes that probably cost more than my entire quarters. Looking up would have meant seeing Celeste's hand on his arm, possessive and certain.

So I kept my eyes down and wrung out the cleaning cloth one last time, my hands raw and pruned from two hours in chemical water. The marble gleamed. My reflection stared back at me from the stone—pale, hollow, exactly as invisible as I was supposed to be.

I stood slowly, my knees screaming in protest. Around me, the pack dinner continued. Laughter. The clink of crystal. Nobody looked at the Omega gathering her supplies.

Except him.

I felt it like pressure against my skin—that Alpha aura, focused and intent. My wolf, the one I'd never had, would have wanted to bare her throat. Instead, I pressed my fingers briefly to the inside of my wrist and picked up the bucket.

"Kylee."

Celeste's voice, bright and carrying. I stopped.

She was standing now, one hand still resting on Miles's shoulder, her smile sharp as broken glass. "Before you go, darling, the silver needs polishing. I noticed some tarnish on the serving platters." She tilted her head, all false concern. "You don't mind, do you? It's just that standards are so important for pack events."

The room had gone quiet. Not silent—conversations continued, silverware still clinked—but there was a quality to the noise now, an awareness. Wolves pretending not to watch while watching everything.

I opened my mouth to agree, because that's what Omegas did, when the crash came.

Loud. Violent. The sound of an entire tray of crystal hitting marble, exploding into a thousand glittering shards. A servant—young, Delta-ranked, his face gone white with horror—stood frozen in the wreckage, hands still outstretched like he couldn't understand how the tray had slipped.

Chaos erupted. Celeste's attention snapped toward the disaster. Higher-ranked wolves pushed back from the table. Someone was shouting for a broom, for the healer, for the poor bastard to explain himself.

In the confusion, a hand closed gently around my elbow.

Jack Murphy. He didn't say anything, just guided me toward the service exit with the kind of quiet efficiency that made the movement look natural, unremarkable. By the time anyone thought to look for the Omega, I was already gone.

The night air hit my face like a blessing. I sucked in a breath, then another, my lungs finally expanding properly now that I was out from under all that Alpha aura and hierarchical weight.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Jack released my elbow. In the dim light from the pack house windows, his expression was carefully neutral. "Accidents happen," he said quietly. "Especially when servants are overworked and underpaid."

I looked back at the grand hall, at the warm light spilling from its windows, at the shapes of wolves moving inside like shadow puppets. Miles's silhouette was still visible at the head table. He hadn't moved.

"Go home, Kylee," Jack said, and there was something in his voice I couldn't name. "Get some rest."

So I did.

Celeste arrived at my quarters the next afternoon, dressed like she was attending a coronation. The gilded invitation she carried probably cost more than my monthly food allowance.

She didn't knock. Just opened the door like she owned it—which, in every way that mattered to pack hierarchy, she did.

"Good afternoon, Kylee." That smile again, honey-sweet and poisonous. She held out the invitation like it was a weapon. "I wanted to deliver this personally. The Mate Ceremony. Two weeks from tomorrow. I do hope you'll attend."

I took the invitation. Heavy cardstock, embossed with silver. *Alpha Miles Matthews and Luna Candidate Celeste Mitchell cordially invite you to witness their union under the Moon Goddess's blessing.*

"It's beautiful," I said, because it was true and because the truth was the sharpest thing I had left.

Celeste's smile widened. "I'm so glad you think so. Miles spared no expense." She moved into my quarters without invitation, her eyes cataloging everything—the worn furniture, the simple curtains, the pressed wildflower I should have thrown away weeks ago. "You know, I really must thank you. For taking care of him when he was... confused. It must have been so difficult, caring for a wolf so far above your station."

I set the invitation on my small table. Then I walked to the wooden chest beside my bed and opened it.

The ring sat in the corner, wrapped in a scrap of cloth. Simple. Woven from dried sweetgrass and pack territory flowers. Miles—my Miles, the one who'd smiled in the pre-dawn light—had made it with his own hands, sitting on my floor while his shoulder healed, his fingers clumsy and determined.

"For you," he'd said, slipping it onto my finger. "So you remember you're not alone."

I picked it up now. The sweetgrass had dried brittle. The flowers had faded to brown.

I walked back to Celeste and placed it in her perfectly manicured palm.

"Would you return this to the Alpha?" I asked quietly. "I believe our transaction is complete."

Celeste stared at the ring. At me. Something flickered behind her eyes—confusion, maybe, or the first edge of uncertainty.

Then she closed her fingers around it and smiled again, but this time the smile was different. Smaller. Almost real.

"Of course," she said. "How... practical of you."

She left. The door clicked shut.

I stood in my empty quarters, my hand still tingling from where the ring had rested for three weeks, and pressed my fingers to the inside of my wrist until the feeling passed.

It didn't pass.