Protecting Son from Alpha's Secret

The days after Colter's injury felt different—sharper, more brittle. I moved through the pack house performing my Luna duties with the same quiet efficiency I'd cultivated over years of practice, but something had shifted beneath my skin. My wolf, usually so patient and still, prowled restlessly inside me.

I was driving my sedan—a modest vehicle I'd bought years ago when Grant insisted the pack's luxury cars were "too conspicuous" for everyday errands—when I saw it. The black Escalade, gleaming obsidian paint catching the afternoon sun as it roared past me on the main road, easily thirty miles over the speed limit.

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. That Escalade was registered as official Luna transport for pack business. I'd signed the insurance documents myself three years ago, though I rarely used it. Grant always said it was better kept "in reserve for important occasions."

Something cold and sharp turned in my chest. I made a split-second decision and followed.

The Escalade led me toward the eastern borders of our territory, past the training grounds and the clusters of pack housing, into an area I rarely visited. The roads here were newer, the landscaping more manicured. Private residences for high-ranking wolves, Grant had mentioned once, dismissively.

The Escalade slowed as it approached a gated entrance—wrought iron decorated with crescent moons, security cameras mounted at precise intervals. I pulled to the shoulder a hundred yards back, watching as the gates swung open.

Melina Brooks stepped out of the driver's seat.

My Luna jacket wasn't the only thing she'd taken, then.

She moved with casual ownership, tossing the keys to a young man in a valet uniform who'd appeared from the guardhouse. Her laughter carried on the wind as she disappeared through the ornate front doors of a residence that looked more like a small estate than pack housing.

I sat there for ten minutes, my engine idling, my mind cataloging details with the methodical precision my Alpha parents had drilled into me. The property's size. The security infrastructure. The way Melina had moved—not like someone borrowing a vehicle, but like someone who owned it.

When I finally drove home, my hands were steady on the wheel, but my thoughts were spinning.

***

That night, after Colter fell asleep, I locked myself in Grant's study—the one room in the pack house he'd never explicitly forbidden me from entering, though his displeasure was always palpable when he found me there.

The pack's financial systems were protected, but I still had my old administrative codes from when I'd first become Luna, before Grant had quietly "streamlined operations" by taking over most treasury oversight himself. I logged in, half-expecting the credentials to fail.

They didn't.

The spreadsheets loaded slowly, columns of numbers filling the screen with clinical precision. I started with the vehicle registry—simple, verifiable. The black Escalade was registered to the Luna's office. Primary driver: Lana Strauss. Secondary authorized driver: Alpha Grant Strauss.

No mention of Melina Brooks.

I moved to the broader treasury logs, my Alpha training kicking in as I traced payment patterns. At first, everything looked normal—warrior salaries, facility maintenance, food supplies. Then I noticed the consulting fees.

"Border Security Consulting" had received monthly payments for the past two years, ranging from fifty to seventy-five thousand dollars. The amounts varied just enough to avoid setting off automatic audit flags. The receiving account was registered to a company I didn't recognize.

I clicked deeper. The company's registered address matched the gated residence I'd followed the Escalade to.

My breath came shorter as I searched further. "Diplomatic Relations Maintenance." "Territory Enhancement Services." "Special Project Allocations." All different labels for the same pattern—regular, substantial payments funneling money out of pack accounts into entities linked to that eastern border property.

Then I found my personal inheritance trust.

The account my Alpha parents had established for me, the territorial resources I'd signed over to Black Moon Pack's management when I became Luna. Unauthorized withdrawals, marked as "Luna Discretionary Spending" and "Personal Request Transfers," totaling millions over the past three years.

I'd never made a single request.

I printed everything. The evidence stacked up in Grant's printer with mechanical efficiency—page after page of theft dressed up as legitimate expenses. My hands didn't shake. My vision didn't blur. I felt cold, focused, the way I imagined ice felt before it shattered.

***

Grant came home for dinner the next evening—a rare occurrence that should have felt like a gift. Instead, I watched him across the table with new eyes, noting the expensive watch on his wrist, the subtle tension in his shoulders.

Colter picked at his food, quiet and careful. My son had learned to read his father's moods, to make himself small and unobtrusive during these brief visits.

"I saw the black Escalade near the eastern borders yesterday," I said, keeping my tone light, conversational. "Is it being serviced? I thought it was supposed to be available for Luna duties."

Grant's hand froze halfway to his wine glass. His fingers found his Alpha ring, twisting it once, twice. The gesture was so quick I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching for it.

"It's in the shop," he said, his voice flat. "Routine maintenance."

"Which shop? I can follow up if—"

"Lana." His tone shifted, dropping into that register that made lesser wolves flinch. The Alpha tone, meant to command obedience, to shut down questions. "I said it's being handled. Drop it."

The air in the room thickened with his dominance, that supernatural pressure that came with his rank. Across the table, Colter had gone very still.

I should have backed down. A proper Luna would have smiled, apologized, changed the subject.

Instead, I met my mate's eyes and saw the lie there, naked and unmistakable.

"Of course," I said softly. "My mistake."

Grant held my gaze for a long moment, something dark and warning flickering in his expression. Then he returned to his meal as if nothing had happened.

But my hands were trembling beneath the table, my wolf snarling with suppressed rage. Because now I knew—not just suspected, but knew with absolute certainty.

My mate was a liar. And I was going to find out exactly how deep his betrayal ran.