When My Alpha’s Mistress Tried to Kill Our Pup

The scent of winter frost and ash clung to the wind for three straight days. Maximiliano hadn’t left. Instead of returning to his territory with his rejected reparations, the Alpha of Shadowmoon had pitched a literal camp just inches from our southern border. His despair was a constant, irritating smog that drifted into my sanctuary.

It was an insult Bridger refused to tolerate any longer.

I stood a few yards behind my mate, the cold forest floor solid beneath my boots. Even without my sight, the tension in the air was suffocating. Bridger’s aura was a raging tempest of cedar and lethal ozone, pushing violently against the pathetic, erratic spikes of Maximiliano’s desperate energy.

"You have five seconds to pack up this pathetic display and walk away, Stewart," Bridger’s voice was a low, vibrating growl that made the pine needles tremble. It wasn't a request. It was an Alpha command laced with pure murder.

"I just need to speak to her," Maximiliano pleaded. The sound of his voice—once my entire world, now just a grating annoyance—was ragged, torn apart by his inner wolf's agony. "Just five minutes, Hayes. She’s my—"

A violent crack echoed through the trees. Bridger didn’t shift, but the sheer force of his aura slammed into Maximiliano like a physical blow. I heard the Shadowmoon Alpha hit the dirt, gasping for breath as his lungs were crushed by my mate's dominance.

"Say that word, and I will rip your throat out," Bridger snarled, stepping closer to the boundary line. His warmth left my side, replaced by the chilling promise of war. "She is my chosen. My fated mate. My Luna. If you or any of your wolves cross this boundary line again, I will consider it an act of war. I will march the Moonridge pack into your lands, and I will burn Shadowmoon to the ground. Go home to your rogue."

Maximiliano let out a pathetic, broken sound, scrambling back from the sheer magnitude of Bridger’s threat. The heavy crunch of his boots retreating signaled his defeat. Bridger returned to my side, his large hand wrapping securely around my waist, pulling me flush against his side.

"He's gone," Bridger murmured, his chest vibrating against my cheek.

But the fallout of Maximiliano’s return to Shadowmoon was far from over.

Later that evening, I was sitting in Bridger’s office, the fireplace crackling warmly, when Beta Marcus burst in. His boots hit the hardwood floor with frantic urgency.

"Alpha. Luna," Marcus said, his breathing slightly elevated. "A Delta guard from Shadowmoon just defected to our borders. He was begging for sanctuary. He brought his smartphone with security footage from their pack house."

Bridger’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. "Why do we care about their security footage?"

"Because Shadowmoon is imploding," Marcus replied, setting a tablet on the desk. "The rogue’s magic is failing. The defector said Cecelia's scent-masking completely collapsed today. She smells like rotting meat and swamp water. The entire pack is gagging when she walks by. They're whispering about her unnatural scent. And when Maximiliano dragged himself back from our border... well, just listen."

Marcus tapped the screen. The tinny sound of the tablet's speaker filled the quiet office.

First, I heard the heavy, deadened footsteps of Maximiliano entering his pack house. Then came the frantic, pathetic clicking of Cecelia’s heels.

"Max? Max, where have you been?!" Cecelia’s voice was shrill, dripping with a desperate, cloying panic. She had realized his obsession with our border. She knew she was losing him.

"Get away from me," Maximiliano’s voice was hollow. Not angry. Just profoundly, utterly disgusted.

"Max, please!" Cecelia shrieked. Suddenly, the audio was filled with the sound of a heavy thud, followed by an agonizing, theatrical wail. "Ah! The baby! Max, something is wrong with the baby! It hurts! Help me!"

I flinched. The word 'baby' struck a raw nerve, echoing the very real, agonizing cries I had made in a cold dungeon while Maximiliano ignored me. Bridger sensed my distress instantly. He pulled me into his lap, his strong arms wrapping around me like a fortress.

"She threw herself onto the marble floor," my mate whispered softly into my ear, describing the screen to me. "She's writhing around, clutching her stomach. Putting on a show."

I listened closely, waiting for the frantic rush of the Alpha trying to save his heir. The same blind devotion that had cost my first son his life.

But there was no rush.

There was only the cold, deafening silence of a mate bond completely shattered.

"Get up, Cecelia," Maximiliano said. His tone was pure ice. There was no pity. No panic. His inner wolf, finally awake to her dark deception, completely rejected her presence. "You're pathetic."

"Max! I'm bleeding! The baby!" she screamed, her fake cries turning into genuine, unhinged shrieks of terror as she realized her ultimate trump card was entirely useless.

The only response was the steady, apathetic sound of Maximiliano's boots walking away, climbing the stairs, and a heavy door slamming shut. He left her writhing on the floor, completely unattended.

Marcus paused the video. The sudden quiet in the office was absolute.

A few years ago, hearing her scream might have brought me a vicious sense of joy. But now? I just felt exhausted by their toxicity. I leaned my head against Bridger’s shoulder, breathing in his deep, comforting scent of cedar and safety.

"Burn the tablet," I said softly, turning my sightless eyes toward the warmth of the fireplace. "Their rot is no longer our concern."