The repeated sins of my mated Alpha

Marissa’s voice, smooth yet sharp as a blade, carried through the packhouse corridor.

“Oh, a necklace?” she said with a dismissive laugh. “That’s nothing. My mate bought me an entire set of emerald jewelry at the auction last week. A full set.”

I stopped short at the edge of the hall, keeping out of sight as a surge of unease coursed through me. Her tone wasn’t just smug; it was triumphant. It set off a low, rumbling growl inside me, one I pushed down as I caught sight of her hand, the emerald ring catching the light like a cruel reminder.

The women around her gasped in awe.

“Look at the size of that gem!” one of them whispered. “That must’ve cost an entire fortune!”

Marissa smirked, her fingers idly playing with the massive stone. “Not really,” she said, her voice dripping with casual arrogance. “The whole set was only 900 million.”

The murmurs that followed were sharp and frantic.

“Nine hundred million? That’s outrageous. That’s more than Alpha Kingsley spent on Christina’s necklace!”

I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay in the shadows as the anger coiled inside me. The scent of Kingsley clung to Marissa, mingling with her perfume. It was faint, but unmistakable, and it stoked the fire of doubt and betrayal within me.

“Are you okay?” one of the women asked, glancing at me.

I blinked and nodded curtly, swallowing down the bitterness in my mouth. “Fine,” I replied, my voice steady. I took a step back and turned away before anyone could see the storm brewing behind my eyes.

The car ride to dinner with Kingsley was as tense as a wire drawn tight. He smiled warmly, but the mate bond between us was strained, a thread stretched to its limit. The scent that had been so familiar now carried a hint of something foreign, mingled with the crisp cologne I knew so well.

“Ready for our night out?” he asked, his voice bright.

“Of course,” I replied, reasing his expression as I laced my fingers with his. “You did clear your schedule for tonight, right?”

He nodded, but the slight tension in his jaw was noticeable. “For you? Always. This night is for us. We deserve it.”

But the scent was still there, a faint trace that made my chest ache. It felt like a betrayal, yet I bit down on my emotions and kept my smile in place.

Halfway through the drive, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and sighed, the smile slipping off his face as his eyes darkened.

“Christina,” he muttered, his voice suddenly tight. “There’s an urgent issue at the southern border. I have to take care of it myself.”

My heart stilled as his words hit me, a pang of dread sparking in my chest. I forced myself to nod, to sound understanding. “Of course. The pack always comes first.”

He reached for my hand, squeezing it with a sincerity that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re amazing, you know that? I’ll make this up to you. I promise.”

I didn’t respond, but when he leaned in to kiss my forehead, the faintest trace of perfume—something sweet, something foreign—clung to his skin. The car turned away from the path to the southern border, heading instead toward Moonlit Ridge, and the mate bond between us quivered weakly.

I couldn’t go back to the packhouse. Not yet. The anger churning in my chest demanded action. I shifted under the cover of the dark woods, my fur blending seamlessly with the night as I ran, following his scent like a trail of breadcrumbs. The sharp tang of cologne and that elusive, foreign perfume led me straight to Moonlit Ridge, where the restaurant lights flickered through the trees like stars.

There, I watched from the shadows as Kingsley ’s car pulled up, his face illuminated by the golden glow of the restaurant sign. Moments later, Marissa arrived, her laughter a cruel echo that cut through the quiet of the night. They met with a familiarity that stung, and as Kingsley touched her arm, the anger in me rose like a tempest. The way she leaned in, the way he let her—it was all too much.

I turned away, and went home as the anger inside me threatened to consume me. I needed answers, not just the scent of betrayal.

_ _ _

When Kingsley came home in the early morning, his appearance immediately raised alarms. His usually confident stride was replaced with something hesitant, and the faint scent of rain and forest clung to him. But beneath that was another scent—sweet and musky, unmistakably feminine.

I waited in the dimly lit space in the living room, the soft hum of the fireplace crackling in the silence. My fingers traced the edge of an envelope on the coffee table, my heart heavy.

“Christina,” he said, his voice low, almost startled to see me awake. “What are you doing up?”

I gestured to the chair across from me. “Sit. We need to talk.”

Kingsley hesitated but complied, the weight of my words clearly unsettling him. As he sank into the chair, I slid the envelope across the table toward him.

“What’s this?” he asked, frowning.

“It’s from the pack courier. It was addressed to you but left open. I thought I should take a look.”

His brow furrowed, and he reached for the envelope. Inside was a folded letter and a photograph. He froze the moment he saw the image—a candid shot of him in the woods, his arm wrapped tightly around a woman I didn’t recognize.

“Care to explain?”