My Mate Tried to Kill Me for an Heir

The moment my massive paws hit the frozen earth, something deep inside my chest unlocked—not just my wolf, but something older. Something that had been dormant since the day I walked away from the Royal Guard.

I tilted my enormous head back and let out a sound that wasn't quite a howl. It was deeper, more primal. A psychic roar that bypassed my throat entirely and erupted from the very core of my being. The frequency was one I hadn't used in three years, reserved only for the Lycan King's most elite warriors. Code Red: Betrayal.

The distress call shot out like a silver arrow through the supernatural storm, carrying my exact coordinates and bio-signature across hundreds of miles. Somewhere out there, my former brothers-in-arms would feel it like a punch to the gut. They would know the White Wolf was alive, and she was in mortal danger.

The cabin door behind me remained stubbornly shut. Lucian and Daphne probably thought I was already dead, frozen solid in the snow. They had no idea what they'd just unleashed.

A branch snapped in the treeline to my left.

My head whipped around, golden eyes cutting through the blizzard like searchlights. Five shapes emerged from the darkness between the pines—rogues. Feral, starving, and desperate. Their mangy coats were patched with scars and their eyes glowed with madness. Lucian's insurance policy.

Of course. He wouldn't leave my death to chance. He'd hired these animals to make sure the job was done, to tear apart whatever remained of his "weak" Luna.

The largest rogue, a massive brown beast with one missing ear, snarled at me. His lips pulled back to reveal yellowed fangs. "Easy meal," he growled, his voice a gravelly rasp. "Human female, half-frozen. We feast tonight, brothers."

I didn't move. Didn't even blink. I just stared at him with the kind of stillness that made prey animals freeze before they died.

"She's not moving," another rogue whispered, this one smaller but with cruel, intelligent eyes. "Maybe already dead?"

"Dead things don't have glowing eyes," the leader snapped. But I could smell his uncertainty now, cutting through the metallic scent of old blood on his fur.

That's when the muscle memory kicked in.

Three years of suppression melted away like snow in a furnace. My body remembered every lesson, every kill, every perfectly executed takedown from my time as the Lycan King's most lethal enforcer. I was the White Wolf. I was death in a winter coat.

The leader lunged first.

I moved like liquid lightning. Where he expected to find a helpless human throat, he found empty air. I was already behind him, my massive jaws clamping down on his spine with a wet crunch. He didn't even have time to scream before I whipped my head sideways and sent his lifeless body flying into a snow-covered pine.

The other four rogues froze, their confident snarls dying in their throats.

"That's impossible," one of them whispered. "She's supposed to be wolfless."

I spat out the taste of rogue blood and turned to face them. When I spoke, my voice was a low, rumbling growl that seemed to come from the earth itself. "I am the White Wolf. And you just made a very big mistake."

The second rogue—the smart one—tried to run. I caught him in three bounds, my claws raking across his ribs before my teeth found his throat. The third and fourth attacked together, thinking they could overwhelm me with numbers. They thought wrong.

I spun in a deadly circle, my massive frame moving with impossible grace. One rogue's jaw met my hind paw with a sickening crack. The other got a face full of claws that opened him from snout to ear.

The last rogue, a scrawny female with patchy gray fur, backed against a tree. Her eyes were wide with terror. "Please," she whimpered. "We didn't know. Lucian said you were just a weak human. We didn't know what you really were."

I stalked toward her, my golden eyes boring into hers. "Now you do."

That's when I heard it—the rhythmic thump of helicopter blades cutting through the storm.

I looked up, my heart hammering against my ribs. Three black military choppers broke through the cloud cover, their rotors whipping the falling snow into a frenzy. The Royal Lycan crest gleamed silver on their sides.

Ropes dropped from the lead helicopter. Elite warriors in tactical gear rappelled down with military precision, their boots hitting the snow in perfect formation. But my eyes were locked on the figure who didn't bother with a rope.

He jumped.

A massive shape plummeted from the helicopter, arms spread wide, dark coat billowing like wings. He hit the ground with such force that the earth shook beneath my paws, sending up an explosion of snow and ice. When the white cloud settled, he stood in the center of a perfect crater, completely unharmed.

General Gage Rivera. My former commander. The man whose scent I'd been carrying in my memory for years without understanding why.

He straightened slowly, his dark eyes scanning the carnage around me—the dead rogues, the blood-soaked snow, the cabin where my would-be murderers were hiding. When his gaze finally met mine, something electric passed between us.

Recognition. Understanding. And something else that made my wolf purr deep in my chest.

"Hello, White Wolf," he said, his voice carrying easily over the wind. "I've been looking for you for a very long time."