The Alpha Ex Made Me a Mistress, His Rival Made Me Queen

Jason stopped at the gate as if he expected someone to open it for him.

Grandfather came onto the porch with the shotgun tucked against his shoulder. I stayed beside him, my skinning knife visible at my hip.

Jason’s smile thinned.

“Is that how you greet an Alpha?”

“It’s how I greet trespassers,” Grandfather said.

Two Bloodfang enforcers climbed out of the second truck. Jason raised a hand, keeping them back. He wanted this to look civilized.

“Freya.” His gaze traveled over my plain wool dress and work boots. “You look tired.”

“I looked better before your convoy filled my yard with exhaust.”

His expression tightened, then smoothed. Jason had always mistaken persistence for charm.

“I came to end this quarrel,” he said. “Clara has agreed to a generous arrangement. You’ll have a private cottage on the southern estate, an allowance, and servants of your own.”

“And what will Clara call me at dinner?”

“You won’t attend formal dinners.”

“Of course not.” I folded my arms. “Mistresses are so inconvenient at family gatherings.”

One of the enforcers looked away, suddenly fascinated by the trees.

Jason’s cheeks reddened. “Don’t cheapen what I’m offering.”

“You did that when you married someone else.”

“I had obligations. Bloodfang needed the Thorne alliance.” He stepped closer to the gate. “What we had was real, but I am responsible for thousands of wolves. You can’t expect me to throw away territory for a healer with no pack and no name.”

There it was: the truth he usually wrapped in silk.

I unlatched the gate.

Triumph flashed across his face—until I swung it open and pointed toward the road.

“Then go be responsible somewhere else.”

“Freya.”

“No.” I walked close enough that only the gatepost stood between us. “You lied for six months. You promised to return, married Clara, then came back expecting gratitude because you offered to hide me behind her house. I don’t want your cottage. I don’t want your money. And I certainly don’t want you.”

Jason’s pupils narrowed.

“You’re still angry.”

“I’m finished.”

“That’s pride talking.”

“That’s self-respect. I understand why you confuse them.”

Grandfather coughed into his fist to hide a laugh.

Jason’s control slipped. His canines lengthened behind his upper lip. “Do you think another Alpha will make you respectable? Men in my position take women like you for amusement. I’m the only one offering protection.”

My hand went cold on the gate.

Had he scented Lucian on the porch? Seen the repaired rail and fresh-cut wood? Whatever prompted the question, I refused to give it weight.

“I protected myself before you arrived,” I said. “I’ll keep doing it after you leave.”

He reached through the gap and caught my forearm.

Grandfather cocked the shotgun.

I moved first.

I drove my thumb into the healing scar beneath Jason’s wrist—the one I had treated when he lived with us. His grip broke. I twisted free and slammed the gate into his chest hard enough to send him back a step.

“Touch me again,” I said, “and I’ll tell every trader from here to the coast that Bloodfang’s great Alpha can’t survive rejection without bringing armed guards.”

For a moment, murder showed plainly in his face.

Then he remembered the witnesses.

He straightened his coat. “You will regret humiliating me.”

“I regret saving you. This is easier.”

Jason climbed into his truck and slammed the door. The convoy tore down the ridge, throwing mud across the fence.

Grandfather kept the gun raised until the engine noise faded.

“He’ll be back,” I said.

“Not first.”

I looked at him.

“The wife,” he said. “A man like Jason blames the woman who rejected him. A woman like Clara blames the woman he couldn’t control.”

We barred the door before dark.

I slept in my clothes with the knife under my pillow.

Just after midnight, glass shattered across the front room.

A metal canister rolled over the floorboards, spraying lamp oil beneath the table.

“Out the back!” Grandfather shouted.

The front door exploded inward before we reached the kitchen. Four armored wolves surged through the smoke. One struck Grandfather behind the knee and drove him to the floor. I slashed the nearest guard across the hand, but another caught my wrist and slammed me against the wall.

Pain burst through my shoulder.

Clara Thorne entered behind them in a pale fur-lined coat, untouched by the mud outside. Her blond hair was pinned neatly at her nape. She surveyed our cabin the way a buyer might inspect condemned property.

“Search it,” she said. “Letters, gifts, anything Jason left behind.”

“There’s nothing,” I said.

Her gaze settled on me. “I know.”

That answer chilled me more than the blade at my throat.

“Jason came here without my permission,” Clara continued. “He returned drunk, furious, and talking about the healer who embarrassed him in front of his men.”

“Then take the problem up with your husband.”

“I intend to keep my husband, his title, and the eastern territories his name gives my family.” She removed one glove finger by finger. “You are easier to remove.”

Grandfather struggled under a guard’s boot. “Bloodfang will smell its own soldiers all over this place.”

“By dawn, there will be nothing left to smell.” Clara glanced at the oil spreading toward the hearth. “A rogue attack. Two unfortunate deaths. An old cabin burned to the foundation.”

“You won’t get away with it.”

“Women like you always say that.” She stepped close and studied my face. “You believe decency is armor. It isn’t. Power is armor.”

“Then why did you bring four men to kill an unarmed healer?”

Her hand cracked across my mouth.

My lip split against my teeth. I tasted blood and smiled anyway.

Clara’s composure fractured.

“Break their necks,” she said. “Then light the floor.”

The guard behind me locked an arm across my throat. Across the room, another seized Grandfather’s head between both hands.

I drove my heel backward, but the grip only tightened. Black spots crowded my vision.

Not like this.

I had survived Jason’s lies, winter hunger, and fourteen months of shame. I would not die on my own floor because his wife found murder more convenient than divorce.

My fingers found the small packet of powdered wolfsbane in my apron pocket. I tore it open and flung it over my shoulder.

The guard inhaled. His hold loosened as he coughed.

I dropped my weight and drove my elbow into his ribs.

Before I could break free, a howl rolled down from the ridge—deep enough to rattle every pane left in the cabin.

Clara went still.

Outside, an engine roared. Metal screamed as something tore through the first truck.

Then a massive silver-gray wolf came through the broken window.