My Mate’s Mistress Tried to Kill Me and Our Pup

The shrine wasn't much—just a flat stone I'd found near the hospital grounds, tucked between two oak trees where the morning light filtered through just right. I'd placed the moonstone there three months ago, a pale blue crystal that caught the sun and threw rainbows across the moss. It was all I had left to honor what I'd lost.

I knelt before it, my fingers brushing the cool surface of the stone. The hospital loomed behind me, sterile and cold, but here in this small pocket of woods, I could breathe.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, like I did every week. "I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you."

The wind rustled through the leaves, carrying the scent of approaching rain. My wolf stirred, uneasy. I should have listened to her.

Footsteps crunched on fallen leaves behind me. Light, deliberate. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was—that sickly-sweet herbal scent preceded her like a warning.

"What a quaint little spot," Natasha said, her voice dripping false sweetness. "I didn't know you were the sentimental type."

I stood slowly, positioning myself between her and the shrine. "You shouldn't be here."

"Oh, I was just taking a walk. Brady's filling out paperwork." She stepped closer, her honey-colored hair catching the light. "He worries so much about me. It's exhausting sometimes, having someone care that deeply."

My jaw clenched. She wanted a reaction. I wouldn't give her one.

Her gaze drifted past me to the moonstone, and something ugly flickered across her delicate features. "What's this? Some kind of memorial?"

"Leave," I said, my voice low. "Now."

She moved faster than I expected, darting around me with practiced grace. Before I could react, she was at the shrine, her hand reaching for the moonstone.

"Natasha, don't—"

Her fingers closed around the crystal. She lifted it, tilting her head as if examining it. "It's pretty. Was this for the pup you lost?" Her eyes met mine, cold and calculating. "The one that died because you were too weak to keep it alive?"

My blood turned to ice.

"Oops." She opened her hand.

The moonstone tumbled through the air, spinning, catching the light one last time before it struck the rocks below. The sound of it shattering was like a gunshot in the quiet woods—sharp, final, irreversible.

I stared at the scattered pieces, glittering like tears against the dark stone.

Natasha leaned in close, her breath hot against my ear. "Weak pups aren't meant to survive," she whispered. "Just like weak she-wolves aren't meant to keep their mates."

Something inside me snapped.

The world went red. My wolf surged forward with a violence that made my bones ache, tearing through the careful walls I'd built to contain her. Heat flooded my veins. My vision sharpened, colors becoming almost painfully vivid. I felt my eyes shift, burning amber replacing brown.

Natasha's smirk faltered. "What—"

I moved.

My hand shot out, claws extending with a sound like knives being drawn. I caught her across the face, feeling skin and flesh part beneath my nails. The strike was pure instinct, pure rage, three months of grief and humiliation channeled into a single motion.

Natasha screamed—high, piercing, theatrical. She stumbled backward, hand pressed to her face, blood seeping between her fingers. The scent of it filled the air, copper and fear.

"You bitch!" she shrieked. "You scarred me!"

I stood there, chest heaving, claws still extended. My wolf wanted more. Wanted to tear, to rend, to make her pay for every cruel word, every stolen moment, every piece of my life she'd destroyed.

Footsteps thundered toward us. Voices shouting. A crowd gathering at the edge of the clearing.

Brady burst through the trees, his face pale with shock. His eyes went from Natasha's bleeding face to my glowing amber eyes, and something hardened in his expression.

"Celeste, what the hell did you do?"

He moved toward me, his hand raised. Not to comfort. To strike.

I didn't flinch. Let him. Let him show everyone what he really was.

His hand came down—

And stopped.

The air itself seemed to thicken, pressing down on all of us with crushing weight. An aura rolled through the clearing like a physical force, making my knees buckle. Around us, wolves dropped into submission, heads bowed, unable to resist the command in that presence.

Brady froze mid-strike, his wrist caught in a grip that made him gasp.

A man stepped out of the shadows near the hospital wing. Tall, broad-shouldered, with silver-streaked dark hair and eyes like molten steel. The power radiating from him was suffocating, absolute. Alpha. Not just any Alpha—one who commanded without question.

His voice was thunder given form. "Touch her, and you lose the hand."

Alpha Cassius Campbell had arrived.