My Mate Left Me to Die for His Mistress

I was still at Silverpine when the summons came through.

Two days. That's how long my father had been in the ground. Two days since I'd stood beside his grave with Cressida's hand on my shoulder and a handful of warriors who looked at me like they were already counting down the hours until dissolution. Two days since I'd lost everything that mattered in a single night on a mud-slick road.

The mind-link from Julien hit like a slap.

*Ironveil. Now. You have one hour.*

No explanation. No question about whether I could travel. Just the Alpha tone, sharp and final, like I was a subordinate who'd missed a patrol shift.

I pressed my thumb against my wrist and stood up from my father's desk. The alliance drafts I'd been working on — formal requests to every pack Silverpine had treaty ties with — were spread across the wood in neat rows. Polite language. Careful phrasing. Promises of future trade benefits and border cooperation.

All of it useless if I didn't have a pack left to trade with.

Cressida appeared in the doorway before I reached it. Her healer's eyes swept over me once, clinical and unimpressed.

"You're not strong enough to shift yet," she said flatly. "The internal damage—"

"I'll drive," I said.

Her mouth thinned. She didn't argue. She just pulled a small vial from her pocket and pressed it into my palm. "For the pain. Don't take it until after. You need to be clear-headed for whatever this is."

I closed my fingers around the glass. "Thank you."

She caught my wrist before I could leave. Her grip was gentle, but her voice wasn't. "Adaline. Document everything. Do you understand me? Everything."

I nodded. I didn't ask why. Cressida had been documenting things since the night of the attack — the claw patterns, the coordinated strikes, the deliberate targeting of my stomach. She knew what I knew. She just couldn't prove it yet.

Neither could I.

The drive to Ironveil took forty minutes. Every bump in the road sent pain lancing through my ribs where the rogue's claws had torn deep. I kept both hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road and tried not to think about the last time I'd made this drive.

Ten weeks pregnant. Julien's hand warm over mine.

*We'll talk about it when we get back.*

We never did.

The Ironveil pack house loomed ahead, all stone and dark wood and the kind of architectural authority that announced itself three miles before you arrived. I parked in the visitor section — not the family section, never the family section, because Julien had never once told his pack I was anything more than an ongoing political inconvenience.

The main hall was full.

That's the first thing I noticed when I walked through the doors. Not just full — packed. Warriors lined the walls. Elders sat in the front rows. The Beta and Gamma stood flanking Julien's chair like sentries. This wasn't a private meeting. This was a spectacle.

Julien stood at the center of the room, arms crossed, his Alpha aura pressing down on the space like a physical weight. And behind him, perched on the edge of a chair with her hands folded in her lap and her head bowed just enough to look fragile—

Emily.

She looked up when I entered. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her face was pale. And down both her inner forearms, stark against her skin, were fresh claw marks. Four parallel lines. Deep enough to scar.

My wolf stirred weakly in my chest. Wrong. Something about those marks was wrong.

But I didn't have time to place it before Julien spoke.

"Adaline Warren." His voice carried across the hall, cold and formal. "You stand accused of attacking a member of this pack without provocation. Emily Hudson has provided testimony that on the night of the recent storm, you assaulted her in a jealous rage before abandoning her to rogue attack."

The room went very quiet.

I stared at him. At the man I'd spent seven years loving. At the mate who'd left me bleeding on a forest road. At the Alpha who'd never once asked for my side of anything.

"That's not what happened," I said.

My voice came out steady. I was surprised by that.

Julien's jaw tightened. "Emily's wounds speak for themselves."

"So do mine," I said quietly.

For just a second — one fragile, stupid second — something flickered across his face. Uncertainty, maybe. Or guilt. But then Emily made a small, choked sound behind him, and whatever I'd seen disappeared.

"You've been unstable for months," Julien said, and his Alpha tone slammed into me like a fist. "Possessive. Irrational. You've made Emily's life hell since the day she arrived, and I've tolerated it because of the bond. But this—" He gestured toward Emily's arms. "This crosses a line."

I pressed my thumb against my wrist. My wolf was so quiet I could barely feel her.

"I was attacked by rogues that night," I said. "I lost—" My voice cracked. I forced it steady again. "I lost my child. I arrived at Silverpine too late to say goodbye to my father. I have the healer's report. I have the patrol testimony. I have evidence."

"Evidence can be fabricated," Julien said coldly. "Especially by someone desperate to cover their tracks."

The room was watching. I could feel their eyes on me. Judging. Calculating. Wondering if their Alpha was right.

I looked past Julien's shoulder. Emily was still sitting there, hands folded, head bowed. But her eyes were on me. Flat. Assessing. Doing arithmetic.

And I finally understood.

She'd planned this. All of it. The timing. The audience. The fresh wounds that matched no wolf's claw pattern I'd ever seen. She'd waited until I was weakest — until my father was dead and my pack was falling apart and I had no leverage left — and she'd staged the perfect performance.

I could fight this. I could demand a formal investigation. I could call Cressida as a witness.

But I was standing in Julien's pack house, surrounded by his warriors, facing his judgment. And he'd already decided.

He'd decided seven years ago.

"I didn't touch her," I said quietly.

Julien's expression didn't change. "Then you have nothing to worry about. But until this is resolved, you're not welcome in Ironveil. And any request for alliance or support from Silverpine will be denied."

The words landed like stones.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the man who was supposed to be my mate, and my wolf finally went completely silent.

"Understood," I said.

I turned and walked out.

No one stopped me.

I made it to my car before my hands started shaking. I sat in the driver's seat, staring at the Ironveil pack house through the windshield, and pulled out my phone.

Seven unread messages. All from different packs. All polite refusals to my alliance requests.

*...regret that current political circumstances...*

*...unable to commit resources at this time...*

*...wish you the best in your future endeavors...*

I set the phone down. I pressed my thumb against my wrist. And I started the engine.

Silverpine was dying. My father was dead. My child was gone. And the man the Moon Goddess had chosen for me had just told an entire pack I was unstable, dangerous, unfit.

I drove back to Silverpine in silence.

The alliance drafts were still on my father's desk when I got back. I looked at them for a long time. Then I picked up a pen and started writing new ones.

If no one would ally with Silverpine, I'd find another way.

I had to.