The Alpha I Built Betrayed Me

"I can hold the flank."

The mercenary captain slammed his wooden mug onto the sticky tavern table. Foam sloshed over the rim, pooling near my knuckles.

"You can barely stand, sweetheart," he mocked.

"I killed three rogues to get to this border. Hand me a sword and I will prove it."

"You dragged yourself here." He pointed a thick, grease-stained finger at my right leg. "Your balance is completely shot."

"I adjust."

"You die. And you get my men killed in the mission."

"I do not need your men to protect me," I fired back. "I need the coin."

"Not my responsibility." He jerked his chin toward the tavern door. "Get out. The Sterling Pack border does not run charity."

"Give me one spar. First to draw blood."

"I do not fight cripples."

I pressed my hands flat against the wood. "I am not a cripple."

"Did you hear me?" he barked. He stood up, knocking his chair backward. It scraped harshly against the floorboards. "Roll out before I throw you out."

"Try it," I challenged.

I dropped my hand to the empty sheath at my hip. I had sold my blade yesterday for a loaf of bread.

He laughed. "You do not even have a weapon."

"I do not need one to break your jaw."

He stepped around the table. Two of his men stood up behind him, resting their hands on their hilts.

I did not argue further. I turned away. My right knee buckled instantly.

Loud, ugly laughter erupted from the table behind me.

"Watch your step, First Warrior!" someone shouted.

I caught myself on the heavy oak doorframe. I ground my molars together until a sharp ache shot up my jaw. I shoved off the wood and limped into the freezing rain.

The innkeeper at the edge of the Sterling Pack territory took my last silver coin. He handed me a rusted key and a torn linen towel.

"Room four," the old man muttered. He did not look up from his ledger. "Checkout is at dawn."

I pushed the door open. A single candle flickered on a wobbly wooden stool. The floorboards groaned under my weight.

I dropped onto the edge of the lumpy mattress. Dust plumed into the air.

"Okay," I whispered to the empty room. "Just the bandages."

I gripped the edge of the blood-soaked fabric wrapped around my calf. The wolfsbane was gone. The stranger's purifying elixir had burned it away. But the trap's iron teeth had chewed straight through muscle and tendon.

I pulled the first layer.

A sharp hiss escaped my teeth. The linen stuck to the raw, healing flesh.

"Come on," I urged myself.

I yanked the rest of the cloth free in one sharp motion.

The wound lay exposed in the dim candlelight. The skin had knitted together, leaving a jagged, violent groove stretching from my knee down to my ankle. The flesh was raised. Angry.

A permanent scar.

I traced the bumpy ridge with my index finger. The skin felt numb, yet a dull ache radiated straight to the bone.

A single drop of water hit my knuckle.

I blinked. A tear. I swiped the back of my hand across my cheek.

The sharp sting in my leg dragged me backward in time.

The scent of pine and fresh blood filled my memory.

"Hold still," Declan ordered.

His hands pressed a thick cloth against my ribs.

"It is just a graze," I told him, trying to push his wrists away.

"The rogue's blade was coated in silver, Elara." He pressed harder.

I flinched. My nails dug into the dirt.

"Stop moving," he scolded gently.

Declan wrapped his arms around my shoulders. He pulled my back flush against his chest. His chin rested on top of my head.

"You stepped in front of me," he whispered, his voice rough. "You took the hit."

"I am the First Warrior. It is my job."

"You are my mate." He turned me around. His golden eyes locked onto mine. "Look at me."

I met his gaze.

"I promise you," Declan swore. He traced the edge of the fresh cut on my collarbone. "You will never bleed while you stand by my side."

"I heal fast," I argued.

"I do not care. I will not let anything hurt you ever again."

I smiled at him then. "I hold you to that, Alpha."

The memory shattered.

I sat alone in the drafty room. No Declan. No pack. Just a ruined leg and an empty pocket.

A heavy knock rattled the thin wooden door.

I grabbed the iron poker from the cold fireplace. I stood up, ignoring the flare of agony in my calf.

"Who is it?" I demanded.

"Brought you hot water," a raspy voice answered.

"I did not ask for any."

"Comes with the room."

I cracked the door open. The old innkeeper stood in the hallway, holding a steaming wooden bucket. His eyes darted to the iron poker in my hand. He looked down at my exposed leg.

"Move," he instructed.

I stepped back. He walked inside and set the bucket on the floorboards.

"That is a nasty bite," he noted, pulling a small tin of salve from his apron. "Wolf trap?"

"Something like that."

"You did not clean it right." He placed the tin next to the bucket. "It is going to rot if you just wrap it."

"I know how to treat a wound."

"Clearly not." He crossed his arms. "Who did this to you, girl?"

I stared at the closed door. I thought of the rogue leader's silver blade. I pictured Ivy's perfect, tearless face in the pack hall. I saw Declan's broad back as he walked away with her.

"An accident," I answered.

The old man scoffed softly. "Accidents do not leave people sleeping with iron pokers."

"It is the truth."

"Suit yourself." He wiped his hands on his apron. "You are a long way from Ashgrove."

I stiffened, raising the poker an inch. "How do you know where I am from?"

"Your accent. And the way you stand."

"How do I stand?"

"Ashgrove fighters always keep their shoulders squared. Even when they are wounded."

He turned the rusted doorknob.

"Keep the salve. You will need it if you want to walk by morning."

"I do not have money for it."

"Consider it a welcome gift to the border."

The door clicked shut.

I limped toward the narrow window. The glass was caked with grime. Through the smudge, the distant peaks of the Ashgrove mountains cut into the night sky.

I pressed my forehead against the cold pane.

No one here expected me to be fine. That was the only mercy this place offered.

I turned away from the window and reached for the hot water.

A shadow detached itself from the darkest corner of the room.

"I told you I needed a mate," a familiar, icy voice said. "I did not say you could run off to Sterling territory without me."

I spun around, raising the iron poker.

The stranger from the woods stepped into the candlelight. He caught the heavy iron rod with one bare hand.

"Put the toy down, Elara. We have work to do."