My Mate Let Our Pup Die

The scent of old paper and dust greeted me as I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the archives. Three weeks had passed since I'd lost my pup in The Sanctuary. Three weeks of hollow emptiness where life had once grown. The pack healer had confirmed what I already knew—my womb was damaged, possibly beyond repair.

I moved slowly between the towering shelves, my fingers trailing over leather-bound volumes of pack history. This was my sanctuary now, the only place in the Silver Claw Pack House where I could breathe without feeling Greyson's oppressive presence.

"You're looking better," Elena, the pack Gamma, said as she entered with a stack of newly cataloged documents. Her eyes held a sympathy that few others dared show.

"I'm surviving," I replied, offering a small smile that didn't reach my eyes.

She nodded understandingly and placed the documents on the main table. "The border patrol logs from last month. Need to be filed."

I thanked her and watched as she hesitated at the door. "Anaya," she said quietly, "not all of us agree with how things are done here."

Before I could respond, she was gone, leaving me alone with the musty silence.

I settled at the table, arranging the patrol logs chronologically. The work was mindless but soothing—a welcome distraction from the constant ache in my chest.

Luna stirred within me. *Something's not right.*

"What do you mean?" I whispered, scanning the pages.

*Look at the dates. The patrol patterns don't match.*

She was right. The logs showed unusual gaps in the northern border patrols—three consecutive days without proper coverage. According to pack protocol, that was unthinkable.

I pulled more records, cross-referencing dates and signatures. My heart began to race as a pattern emerged. The gaps coincided perfectly with the rogue attack that had occurred near the eastern territory—an attack that Greyson had dismissed as "isolated" and "unimportant."

But something about that attack had never made sense. The timing, the location...

I dug deeper, finding the incident report buried beneath routine documentation. The words blurred before my eyes as I read:

"Suspect rogue scent detected near eastern border. Unusual masking agents present. Recommend further investigation."

The report was signed by Thomas, Greyson's younger brother and head of security.

But the next page showed Greyson's handwriting: "Case closed. Isolated incident. No further action required."

Why would he dismiss something so serious?

I closed my eyes, remembering the scent description in the report. Distinctive herbal notes... wolfsbane and lavender.

My eyes snapped open.

I knew that scent. I'd smelled it only once before—on Kayla.

Luna growled within me. *She orchestrated it.*

"To distract him," I whispered, the pieces falling into place. "The attack happened the same week as the pack council meeting about..."

About my pregnancy announcement. The one Greyson had postponed indefinitely.

My hands trembled as I gathered the evidence. This wasn't just about me anymore. This was treason against the pack—a deliberate attempt to manipulate the Alpha through deception.

I found Greyson in his office, hunched over territorial maps. He didn't look up when I entered.

"I need to speak with you," I said, my voice steadier than I expected.

"Make it quick." His tone was dismissive.

I placed the documents on his desk. "I found these in the archives."

His eyes flickered over the papers, and I watched his expression change—confusion, then recognition, then something darker.

"Explain," he demanded.

"Kayla orchestrated the rogue attack last month," I said plainly. "She used wolfsbane and lavender to mask the scent trail. The same scent I've smelled on her numerous times."

Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "You dare accuse my Beta?"

"I dare present evidence," I corrected him. "You're the one who values the Code of the Claw above all else. What does pack law say about deliberate deception by a ranking member?"

For a moment, I thought I saw conflict in his eyes—duty warring with personal loyalty.

Then, without warning, he gathered the papers and held them over the candle burning on his desk.

"Greyson, don't—"

The flame caught the edge of the first page. He dropped them into the metal wastebasket beside him, watching impassively as they curled and blackened.

"What evidence?" he asked coldly.

I stared at him in disbelief. "You know what she did."

"Yes," he admitted, his voice dangerously quiet. "And I chose to handle it privately."

"Why?"

His eyes met mine, unflinching. "Because she's my childhood friend. Because her jealousy was a momentary weakness, not a betrayal of pack law."

"A momentary weakness?" I echoed, incredulous. "She deliberately endangered pack members!"

"And I dealt with it," he snapped. "Not everything requires public punishment, Anaya."

I stepped back, the full weight of his hypocrisy crashing down on me. This man—who had locked me away for speaking out of turn, who had let our pup die rather than bend the rules—had deliberately buried evidence of Kayla's treason.

"You're a fraud," I whispered.

Something in his expression shifted—a flicker of pain quickly masked by anger. "Be careful, Luna."

But I no longer cared about his threats. The last shred of respect I'd held for him had turned to ash, just like the evidence in the wastebasket between us.