My Mate Destroyed My Pack for His Mistress

The silver hooks tore at my flesh as I twisted against the restraints. Blood trickled down my arms, mixing with sweat and tears. Three days of torture had left me barely conscious, my body a map of wounds that refused to heal.

"Change!" A guard barked from the corridor.

I listened to their footsteps, counting the seconds as they exchanged positions. The new guard was heavier, his breathing labored from climbing the dungeon stairs. He'd be slower. I had to be faster.

"Now or never," I whispered to myself.

I summoned what little strength remained and yanked my right arm free, ignoring the scream of pain as skin tore. Blood poured from the wound, but adrenaline dulled the agony. With trembling fingers, I unfastened the buckle around my left wrist.

"Hey!" The guard's boots thundered toward me.

I lunged for the door, my naked body streaked with blood and silver burns. The guard's hand grazed my shoulder as I darted past him, his curses echoing behind me.

The dungeon corridors blurred as I ran, my lungs burning. I'd memorized this route during my months as Thaddeus's prisoner—the service passages that led to the eastern perimeter of pack territory.

"Stop her!" someone shouted.

I burst through a service door and into the cold night air. The forest loomed ahead, dark and promising. Freedom or death—I wasn't sure which I wanted anymore.

The cliff edge appeared before me, a jagged line against the star-filled sky. Below, the river roared over rocks and rapids, its surface gleaming silver in the moonlight.

I stopped at the edge, wind whipping my hair across my face. Behind me, torches flared as guards pursued.

"Three generations of Moonstone wolves destroyed," I whispered, "and I couldn't save a single one."

I took a deep breath and stepped backward off the cliff.

For one moment, I was flying—free from pain, free from betrayal. Then the river slammed into me, its icy embrace stealing my breath. Water filled my lungs as the current dragged me under, tumbling me against rocks and branches.

"Let it end," I thought as darkness closed in.

---

Warmth. That was the first sensation that penetrated the darkness.

Then scent—pine needles, earthy herbs, and something else... something familiar yet forgotten.

I forced my eyes open to blurring vision. A fire crackled nearby, casting dancing shadows across stone walls. I was lying on soft furs, my body covered with blankets that smelled of woodsmoke and healing herbs.

"Easy," a deep voice murmured. "You're safe now."

Safe? The word seemed foreign, impossible.

I tried to sit up, but pain lanced through my side. A gentle hand pressed against my shoulder.

"Don't move. Your ribs are broken, and silver poisoning is still in your system."

I turned my head slowly toward the voice. A man sat beside me, grinding herbs in a stone mortar. Firelight illuminated his profile—strong jawline, concerned eyes that seemed to hold ancient knowledge.

"Who..." My voice cracked, throat raw from screaming during torture.

"Rest," he said simply, continuing his work.

I drifted in and out of consciousness as he tended to my wounds. Each time I woke, he was there—applying poultices, changing bandages, murmuring words I couldn't quite grasp.

On what must have been the third day, I finally managed to stay awake long enough to study him properly. He moved with quiet confidence, his hands gentle despite their obvious strength. There was something in his movements that reminded me of...

"An Alpha," I whispered.

He paused, looking up with surprise that quickly masked itself.

"Yes," he said simply. "But not like the ones you know."

"Where am I?"

"Beyond Shadowfang borders. In a cave I've made my home."

"Why did you save me?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he set aside his mortar and reached for something beside him—a shirt.

Without a word, he pulled it over his head, revealing his back and left shoulder.

My breath caught in my throat.

There, etched into his skin, were three distinct claw marks—ancient scars that had healed decades ago but remained visible nonetheless.

"This is why," he said quietly.

"I don't understand."

He turned to face me fully, his expression solemn. "We've met before, Scarlett. When we were six years old."

The world seemed to tilt beneath me as memories flooded back—a pack gathering, rogues attacking, a young boy pushing me behind him...

"It was you," I whispered, horror and realization dawning simultaneously. "Not Thaddeus. It was you who saved me."

He nodded slowly.

"But Thaddeus took credit," I continued, the truth rearranging every memory I had. "He let me believe..."

"He let you believe he was your savior," Saint said softly. "While I was unconscious from these wounds, he stole my place in your memory."

The foundation of my entire life crumbled as I stared at the scars on his shoulder—proof of a truth that changed everything.