My Mate Drugged Me Into a Fake Bond

I took a wrong turn.

That's what I told myself later, when I was trying to make sense of it. The medical wing had two corridors—the main one everyone used, and a smaller service hallway that connected to the private recovery suites. I'd never paid attention to it before. Why would I? Those rooms were for high-ranking visitors, allied Alphas recovering from injuries sustained during joint operations. They stayed locked.

But today, one of the doors stood open. Just a crack. Maybe two inches.

I should have kept walking. I was carrying soup. I had a destination. But I heard a sound that stopped me cold.

A baby.

Not crying this time. Cooing. That soft, burbling noise infants make when they're content. And then I heard Cooper's voice, low and warm, with a tenderness in it I hadn't heard in years.

"There's my girl. Yes. Yes, you are."

My hand tightened on the soup container. The ceramic was hot against my palm. I should have turned around. I should have left.

I pushed the door open two more inches instead.

The suite was large, decorated in soft creams and pale blues. Milena sat in an upholstered chair near the window, her posture perfect, her expression soft in a way I'd never seen. Cooper stood beside her, cradling something small and wrapped in a pink blanket. And on the other side of the room, Ashlynn Parker—Cooper's childhood foster-sister, the quiet she-wolf who'd always been just... there—was smiling at them both.

The baby made another sound. Cooper shifted the blanket, and I saw a tiny fist, a wisp of dark hair.

"She has your eyes," Milena said. Her voice was warm. Approving. Tender. "The Turner line is strong in her."

"She's perfect," Ashlynn said softly. She moved closer to Cooper, and he turned toward her automatically, the way you turn toward someone you've stood beside a thousand times. "I can't believe she's already three months old."

Three months.

The words hit me like a fist to the chest.

Three months meant this baby was born in August. Which meant Ashlynn had been pregnant in May. Which meant—

I couldn't breathe. My wolf was snarling inside me, clawing to get out, but I held her back. I had to hear this. I had to know.

"The Pack Banquet is in two weeks," Milena continued. She reached out and stroked the baby's cheek with one perfectly manicured finger. "It's time, Cooper. The other situation has resolved itself. We can move forward now. Ashlynn will be installed as Luna, and you can finally present your heir to the allied packs."

The other situation.

Me. She meant me.

My miscarriage had "resolved" me.

Cooper hesitated. I saw it—the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightened. "Mother, I don't think—"

"You don't think what?" Milena's voice sharpened. "That your legal mate deserves her rightful position? That your daughter deserves to be acknowledged? Cooper, we have been patient. We have been discreet. But Diana was never going to produce an acceptable heir. Her bloodline—"

"Don't," Cooper said quietly.

Milena stood. "Don't what? Tell the truth? You marked Ashlynn two years ago in a proper civil ceremony. She is your Luna under Lycan Council law. She has given you a daughter. A healthy, strong pup with impeccable bloodlines. Diana Reed was a useful alliance while she rebuilt the pack's infrastructure, but she has served her purpose."

The soup container slipped from my hands.

It hit the tile floor and shattered. Ceramic shards skittered across the hallway. Hot broth splashed against my shoes, my ankles, the doorframe.

All three of them turned toward the door.

I didn't wait to see their faces. I didn't wait to hear Cooper call my name. I turned and walked away.

My legs felt distant. My wolf was howling inside me, a sound of pure rage and grief, but I kept her locked down. I walked past the main medical wing, past Dr. Morris's office, past the administrative corridor. I walked until I reached the pack house's east wing, the section that had been my father's when he visited for alliance meetings. The section that still smelled faintly of cedar and old books.

I locked the door behind me. Then I sat down on the floor, my back against the wall, and tried to understand.

Two years.

Cooper had marked Ashlynn two years ago.

Which meant our marking ceremony—the moonlit ritual I'd treasured for eight years, the bond I'd felt was sacred—had already been a lie. He'd already chosen someone else. He'd already made Ashlynn his legal mate, and I'd been building his pack, sharing his bed, believing I was his Luna while the real Luna waited in the wings.

The other situation has resolved itself.

I pressed my hand over my mouth. The grief was there, huge and choking, but underneath it was something colder. Something sharp.

I needed to know.

I pulled out my phone. My hands were steady. That surprised me. I scrolled through my contacts until I found the name I needed: Rex Hale. My father's former Beta. Retired now, living quietly in the Pacific Northwest, but he'd been a pack attorney for thirty years before that. If anyone could verify a mate-bond's legal status through Lycan Council records, it was Rex.

It was three in the morning. I called anyway.

He answered on the second ring. "Diana?" His voice was rough with sleep, but alert. "What's wrong?"

"I need you to check something for me," I said. My voice was completely steady. "Through the Lycan Council records. I need you to verify the legal status of a mate-bond."

There was a pause. Then: "Whose bond?"

"Mine," I said. "Mine and Cooper Turner's."

Another pause. Longer this time. When Rex spoke again, his voice had changed. It was the voice of a man who'd just had his worst suspicions confirmed.

"I'll call you back in an hour," he said quietly. "Diana... whatever you found, I'm sorry."

He already knew. I could hear it. He'd been carrying a quiet unease about Cooper Turner for eight years, and I'd just given him permission to act on it.

I ended the call. Then I sat in the dark and waited for my world to finish collapsing.