Rejected by the Alpha, Claimed by the King

Three days. Three days since Julian's threat had turned my world upside down, and I hadn't heard a word about my family. The silence was more terrifying than any scream.

I stood outside the pack house at dawn, my healer's bag clutched in trembling hands, watching the guards change shifts near the entrance to the underground levels. The dungeons. My stomach churned at the thought of my parents and sister trapped in those cold, dark cells—if Julian had even told me the truth about where they were.

"Fabricated charges," he'd called them when he'd had them arrested yesterday morning. "Conspiracy with rogues, based on anonymous tips." The words had sounded rehearsed, clinical. "For their own protection, of course, until we can clear their names."

Protective custody. The lie tasted bitter in my mouth.

I waited until the corridor was empty before slipping through the service entrance I'd used countless times to treat injured prisoners. My heart hammered against my ribs as I descended the stone steps, each footfall echoing in the narrow stairwell. The familiar scent of damp earth and old stone was now tainted with something metallic that made my wolf recoil.

Silver.

The first cell I passed was empty, but the acrid smell of silver grew stronger as I moved deeper into the dungeons. My hands shook as I rounded the corner and saw them—three figures huddled in a cell lined with silver-laced bars that glowed faintly in the dim light.

"Mom?" The word escaped as barely a whisper.

My mother's head lifted slowly, and I nearly cried out at the sight of her. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her skin had taken on a grayish pallor that spoke of silver poisoning. She tried to smile when she saw me, but the effort seemed to drain what little strength she had left.

"Selene, sweetheart." Her voice was a rasp. "You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you." I dropped to my knees outside the cell, my healer's instincts cataloging the symptoms with growing horror. Silver exposure. Dehydration. The beginning stages of organ stress. "How long has it been since you've had water? Food?"

"Julian said—" my father began, but a violent coughing fit cut him off. When he pulled his hand away from his mouth, I saw specks of blood.

"Dad, no." I reached through the bars, careful not to touch the silver, and grasped his fingers. They were ice cold. "I'm going to get you out of here. All of you."

"You can't." My sister's voice came from the shadows at the back of the cell. She looked smaller somehow, fragile in a way that made my chest ache. "He said if you try anything, if you don't cooperate..."

She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. I could see the fear in her eyes, the way she flinched when footsteps echoed from the upper levels.

"The Pack Council meeting is today," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'll testify, I'll say what he wants me to say, and then—"

"And then nothing changes." My mother's hand found mine through the bars. "Selene, listen to me. Whatever Julian is hiding, whatever he's protecting—it's bigger than just covering up evidence. Men don't threaten families over simple pack politics."

A sound from the stairwell made us all freeze. Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. Getting closer.

I pressed a small vial of water through the bars. "Drink this slowly. I'll be back."

"Selene—" my father started, but I was already moving, my heart racing as I slipped into the shadows of an adjacent corridor. The footsteps passed by, heading toward the upper levels, and I waited until the sound faded before emerging.

When I reached the main floor, my legs felt like water. I leaned against the wall, trying to process what I'd seen. Silver poisoning. Deliberate neglect. My family was dying by degrees, and Julian was using their suffering as a leash around my neck.

I was supposed to report to him before the Pack Council meeting. Supposed to confirm that I would testify as instructed. But first, I needed to check on the pack members I'd been treating—a routine that had become my only anchor in this nightmare.

I climbed the stairs to the healing wing, my healer's bag feeling heavier with each step. The familiar scents of herbs and antiseptic should have been comforting, but today they seemed muted, overwhelmed by something else.

Something floral and cloying.

I paused outside Julian's private chambers, which connected to the healing wing through a door I'd used countless times when he'd needed treatment. The scent was stronger here. Jasmine and vanilla, but underneath it...

My world tilted.

Underneath Lillian's scent was another fragrance. Masculine. Familiar. Julian's scent, but changed somehow. Deeper. Marked.

The mate bond scent.

My hand flew to my chest, searching for the connection I'd always felt with Julian, that warm thread that had convinced me we were destined for each other. But as I stood there, breathing in the intertwined scents of two people who had clearly been intimate, recently and repeatedly, I realized the truth that had been staring me in the face.

The bond I felt with Julian—it was artificial. Forced. A pale imitation of what a true mate bond should be.

Because he was already marked. Had always been marked.

To Lillian.